#Jensen Ackles Fluff | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluemerakis · 3 months ago

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────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

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The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c��mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

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other works ─ supernatural masterlist

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soldiersgirl · 2 months ago

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— 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 .ᐟ

summary — life had always been cruel to ben; littered with betrayals, heartbreak, guts & glory. somehow, despite it all, the one thing he thought he had lost and could never experience, turned out to be his saving grace. (inspired by this post)

cw — fem!reader x girl dad!soldier boy, 18+ (hints of sex, wrap it before u tap it) established relationship (married). soft ben, fluff, angst, kissing, daddy kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of daddy and mommy, mentions of ben's trauma and war, mentions of drug use.

word count — 2,138 words

ben couldn't count on one hand the amount of trials and tribulations he had been subjected to over his long, arduous existence, but he needed the other one to hold and keep himself anchored to you.

it had all started out innocently. much like the other members of the boys, you were indifferent to ben. but soon enough, you discovered that you two couldn't stand each other, let alone be in the same room without going at it and screaming about "the importance of having a moral backbone" while he told you to go "shove your fuckin' modern values!" in return. but as time does with most things, it eats away at anger and suddenly, after a long day at the office and going over missions, you would retreat to the roof together and share a cigarette between the two of you. words were rarely spoken, but you grew to understand each other just a little bit more with each inhale and exhale of your shared vice.

his complexity perplexed you and you found yourself wishing to understand the man under the armour. how ben had become soldier boy and lost himself along the way.

during one particular cold night, up on the flatiron building roof, he laid it all out to you. he had told hughie and butcher a few bits, here and there, but you got the full picture. all you did was nod in return, not offering any comments like others did. ben couldn't read you and it freaked him the fuck out. he had quite the knack for getting under people's skin and staying there, gnawing on their insecurities and break them down. but when you comfortingly laid your hand on his and he didn't flinch, he knew there was something about you that he possibly wouldn't find again.

within a few tough and challenging months, for both of you and the boys as a team, you and ben had turned to finding comfort in one another. each night, either at his place or yours, you would intertwine your limbs and entangle your tongues with no care for the world around you. he would get lost in your gentle mewls, your soft pleading as he would pound into you and fulfil all your dirtiest fantasies, without a second thought.

you managed to keep your... situation quiet for a while from the others, knowing that no one would approve of it; why complicate things when everything is a already a nightmare with vought and homelander? but when the boys abruptly came back from a mission and walked in on ben taking you from behind on your own desk; you knew you couldn't keep it under wraps anymore. hell broke loose. insults were hurled. computers were thrown, mainly by ben, and you were both told that it wouldn't last long. but you managed to prove them wrong; much to your own surprise.

loving ben wasn't a walk in the park. nothing about ben was ever easy. but when your fingers interlocked and he bared his soul to you, all his worst nights were worth it. the nights filled with long discussions, ingrained toxic reflexes, harsh empty words.

"you need to cut off the fucking pills, ben! i swear to god, i'm gonna flush them down the fuckin' toilet!" you yelled as you held the baggie over the toilet, shaking them, daring him to come closer.

"you're batshit! actually, insane! i should've listened to butcher when he said i shouldn't get involved with someone like you!" he pointed his finger accusingly, a deep scowl on his face.

always turned into...

"i'll never find someone like you." ben sighed as he cradled you close, your heartbeats in sync and your breaths shallow after you furiously apologise to each other. you peer up at him and caress his exhausted face, loving how he leans in and seeks your touch.

"i love you." you stated. his eyes flew open, revealing his moss-green irises as they softened at the sight of you. he exhaled as if the weight of the world fell off his shoulders and his usual scowl turned into a wide, toothy smile as he rested his forehead against yours.

"i love you too, sweetheart." he kissed the tip of your nose and nestled himself deeper into you. he loved you like he did everything else; fiercely and loudly and he was sure he could never love someone like he did you. until he met her.

for weeks and weeks, this was the moment it had all been leading up to this. the final showdown between ben and homelander. you had felt incredibly nauseous for weeks, watching ben the boys strategise and devise their attack plans. it must the anxiety, the fear of the great unknown beyond their fight. until you couldn't deny it anymore. three pregnancy tests stared back at you, the severity of the situation seeped into your bones and overtaking your senses.

you stepped out and admired ben's broad back as he pulled on his suit, buckled his knee pads and gave his shield the once over before sliding it onto his back.

"are you gonna stand there all day or am i a lucky enough of a bastard to get a kiss from my girlfriend?" he hummed before turning around and giving you that infamous smirk. his smile faltered immediately as he noticed your frail composure and the look of absolute fear etched on your face. "baby. don't be nervous about the fight, come on. don't you trust your old man?" he chuckles before dragging you in and kissing the top of your head as a gesture of reassurance. "i got the boys with me, don't i darling? they've got my back."

they definitely didn't have his back.

"when's your daddy coming, sweetheart?" the kindergarten teacher perched next to the pigtailed girl with those captivating green eyes that everyone couldn't help but compliment.

"sweetheart?" the girl giggled as she eyed the playground, waiting for her dad to appear at any moment, like mum had promised he would today. "that's mommy's name, daddy says so all the time. i'm athena!!" she flashed her toothless grin and giggled even louder.

"ah, yes. sorry, athena. i got confused!" the teacher shook her head and feigned confusion, returning the young girl's smile. as if on cue, the intimidating father figure entered the classroom and the young girl wasted no time sprinting and latching onto his leg as he lets out a low chuckle. he picks her up effortlessly and rests her on his hip as he looks apologetically at the teacher.

"i'm sorry, ma'am." his gruff voice filled the classroom which is usually filled with high-pitched laughs and soft tones. "i got.. held up at work." athena pats her father's stubbled cheeks and let out a shriek of laughter as his free hand pokes at her stomach, his eyes fully on her with a smile to match.

"mr. anderson, it was really no issue. i love spending time with athena, don't worry about it."

"ben. ben is fine." he corrects. "alright. well, say goodbye to miss smith, athena. time to go home to mommy." athena waves wildly as ben offers miss smith a curt nod before leaving the colourful classroom. miss smith couldn't help but laugh to herself; somehow the toughest man became the softest father.

the fight had taken a turn for the worst. everyone had turned on each other. chaos ensued and ben was left with no option to erupt and unleash himself on everyone. luckily, with shaking hands and a trembling voice, you had called grace mallory and begged for her help. for her to make you and ben disappear so you could start again, give him what he always yearned for a loving family. that's how you ended up in south philadelphia, ben's home state. despite his denial to face and confront his past, he knew it was something he needed to be able to become the father he wanted. the father he knew he could be. it wasn't hard to do a better job than his own father, but once he regained consciousness after the fight and you shared the news you were too scared to share before, suddenly... all of ben's betrayals, heartaches and suffering became obsolete. all that mattered was you... and her.

ben wasn't made to work under normal conditions, being in an office and stuck at a desk felt like a punishment. like a wild animal trapped in a cage. he wanted the normal life he knew he could've had if he never had become soldier boy, but no matter what, ben was a weapon before he was a man. while you and athena settled into a comfortable daily life, ben was sent on solitary missions by mallory and the CIA. it was the least he could do after the fuckfest that went down in nicaragua all those years ago, mallory had explained. it was the only way the CIA would agree to help him and his family, so he begrudgingly accepted.

you pulled a pink pyjama top over athena's wriggling form before pulling her in and giving her rushed kisses all over her soft face.

"mammaaaa!" she yelled in defiance as her giggles grew louder and pushed away at your quick, planted kisses. you pulled back, gave her a large smile and brushed her wet hair carefully after her nightly shower.

"mummy couldn't help herself. you're too cute, 'thena." you laughed in return before braiding her hair and tucking her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed teddy bears. the soft glow of her sunset lamp cast a warm, orange hue over her cherub face as you gazed into those eyes that you could get lost in.

"can you tell me about where i got my name again, mamma?" athena whispers into her hands, knowing it was already past her bedtime. you open your mouth to tell her no, but a gruff voice from behind interrupts you.

"daddy can do it." ben had been leaning against his daughter's door frame with folded arms and admiring the sight of the two of you, not fully believing how lucky he had gotten. he saunters in, gives you a big kiss on your lips (followed with an "eeew..." by athena) before he sits down carefully on her heart-filled bed covers and holds her tiny hand in his.

"when daddy used to be a soldier, many many years ago before he met you, daddy was in many wars. he worked hard to protect his country and he was always protected by athena. athena helped daddy when he needed to be brave and clever to get the bad people to go back home. like those fuc-." you let out a small cough. he pauses and his eyes flicker to you, as you offer him a warm smile; encouraging him to continue. you let your hand run up and down his back, relaxing him. "fudging commies." he continues. "athena was zeus' favourite daughter, like you are mine." he continues and kisses her small knuckles. "she was the wisest, bravest olympian god and she cared for people, like daddy, when daddy needed it most."

all soldiers need a war, but not the way that ben needed his little athena.

ben's smooth voice had lulled athena into a slumber, her eyes lidded and her lips in a natural pout as her head hung. ben tucked her in tightly and placed a brief kiss on her forehead as you turned off the lights.

"daddy loves both of his girls." he whispers into her hair before quietly leaving her room and joining you in the hallway.

"oh, daddy loves his girls, huh?" you wink and stretch your arms up around his neck. his hands fall naturally into place, on your hips, as you sway slightly together with identical smirks on your faces.

"if you're not careful, sweetheart, daddy will have to teach you a lesson." he gives your ass a light slap.

"how could i say no to you, daddy?" you hum as you bite your bottom lip.

"you're so fuckin' dirty. bet you've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?" he chuckles as you lead him into your joint bedroom, swiftly closing the door behind you and connecting your lips in a frenzied kiss. "daddy will take care of you, sweetheart. lay back and show daddy how much you missed him." ben mutters against your slick lips before throwing you onto your bed and climbing on top of you, his hands gliding across your form and grabbing you with a sense of urgency that you never got tired of.

after all this time, you were still into him, who you watched finally find himself amongst the chaos of his life.

a/n: in my mind, months pass between the boys finding ben and the showdown between him and homelander, rather than only a few days, so that's where this takes place. also couldn't resist writing a girldad! ben as jensen is just the best father ever <3 and still into you is my favourite lovesong ever. hope u enjoyed!

-`♡��- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

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maddie0101 · 5 days ago

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『 chapter four 』

꧁ summary: It’s the day of the gala. you and dean rush through your list of things you need for the event. but when night falls, things start to unravel. because of course, nothing ever goes according to plan.

꧁ warnings: tension, flirting?, slight jealousy, gala, rich people, fluff?, idiots in love, I suck at tags.

꧁ word count: 6.2k

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The morning air was crisp as you and Dean made your way through the city. The streets were already packed, newsboys calling out headlines, cars honking, the scent of fresh bread and coal smoke lingering in the air.

You barely had time to take it all in, though. Your focus was on the two things standing between you and getting the hell out of this time period: invitations and something fancy to wear.

Dean walked beside you, unusually quiet. Not in his brooding, I’m about to punch something way. This was different. Like he was running through every possible outcome in his head.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

Dean shot you a look. “Thanks, sweetheart. Real helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” you said. “You’re usually too busy grumbling or flirting with waitresses to be this quiet.”

That earned you a smirk. “Yeah, well, I got a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

Dean exhaled, glancing around before lowering his voice. “Like the fact that we’re running out of time. This is the best shot we’ve got, and if it doesn’t pan out…” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

You swallowed hard. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but he nodded.

The forger’s shop was easy to miss, tucked away in a narrow alley between a tailor’s storefront and a café that smelled like burnt coffee. No sign, no markings, just a weathered wooden door with darkened windows that made it clear whoever was inside didn’t want to be disturbed. The kind of place you’d walk right past if you didn’t know better.

Dean knocked twice, but as the both of you waited, you were met with silence.

So he knocked again, harder this time. After a long pause, the quiet scrape of a latch being undone sounds through the air. The door cracked open just enough to reveal a single bloodshot eye peering out from the darkness. “What do you want?” The voice was rough, like gravel dragged across concrete.

Dean didn’t hesitate. “We’re here for the special.”

The man let out a dry snort. “Don’t know what you’re talking about."

Dean flashed a lazy, knowing grin. “Yeah, you do. Harrington sent us.”

That did the trick. The door swung open, revealing a wiry man in his fifties with ink-stained fingers and an expression that screamed perpetual disappointment. He stepped aside, jerking his head for you both to enter, then shut the door with a heavy thunk, locking it behind you.

“You cops?” he asked, squinting.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Do we look like cops?”

The forger’s eyes flicked to you, sharp with scrutiny. “She could be.”

Dean smirked. “She’s got a temper, but nah. Not a cop.”

You shot him a glare. “Can we just get this over with?”

The forger exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Alright. What do you need?”

“Two invitations,” Dean said. “For the Whitmore gala. The kind that get us past the door without anyone asking questions.”

A low whistle escaped the forger’s lips. “That’s a tough one. Security’s tight on those things.”

Dean slid a neat stack of bills across the table, casual as ever. “That a problem?”

The forger snatched up the money, stuffing it into his pocket without so much as a glance. “Not for me.” He grabbed a thick stack of paper from a shelf, flipping through it. “Gimme a few hours. Come back this afternoon.”

Dean nodded, then added, “And we’ll need names on ‘em. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester should do.”

Your mouth fell open. “Oh, you son of a—”

“Got it,” the forger interrupted, already jotting down the names. “Pick ‘em up later.”

Dean turned to you with a smug grin as you stepped back into the alley. You elbowed him, hard. “Mr. and Mrs. Winchester?”

“What?” He held up his hands, still grinning. “You got a better idea?”

You huffed but didn’t argue, mostly because you were already focused on the next problem.

Finding something to wear.

The tailor’s shop screamed rich, the kind that belonged to people who had never worried about a bill in their life.

Dark mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly folded silks and velvets, while golden chandeliers cast a soft, warm glow over everything. The air smelled of rich fabric and old money, a luxury you could never afford in your own time. The second you stepped inside, you felt like an imposter.

Dean, though? He strolled in like he owned the place.

The tailor, a short man with wire-rimmed glasses and a permanently unimpressed expression, barely spared you a glance before sniffing. “You’re cutting it very close. The gala is tonight.”

Dean shrugged, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, we’re important people. Just got into town.”

The tailor shot him a look, somewhere between skepticism and mild disdain, but said nothing. Instead, he gestured toward the back of the shop with a flick of his wrist. “Dresses are this way. Suits for you.”

Dean smirked, leaning in just enough to make sure you heard him. “Don’t take too long, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off behind your back as you followed the tailor, ignoring the chuckle you knew was coming.

The fitting room was a world of its own, a lavish space lined with towering mirrors that reflected back endless versions of yourself. Gilded sconces cast a soft, golden light over rows of dresses, each one more extravagant than the last.

Silk, velvet, lace, all fabrics that shimmered under the glow, whispering of wealth and status. Every inch of the room reeked of old money, and for a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in.

The tailor eyed you critically, fingers skimming over the racks with practiced precision before plucking out a dress. “This one.”

You blinked. The gown was a shade of pale blue, almost silver under the light, with delicate beading that caught every glimmer. The neckline dipped scandalously low, the fabric cinching at the waist before cascading over the hips in a way that left nothing to the imagination. It was the kind of dress that turned heads, that demanded attention.

You hesitated. “It’s… a little much.”

The tailor arched a knowing brow. “It’s the twenties, darling. Too much is the point.”

You sighed before stepped behind the curtain, fingers brushing over the cool silk as you slipped into the dress. The fabric hugged your body like it had been made for you, settling against your skin with a softness that felt almost sinful.

When you finally stepped out and faced the mirror, the breath caught in your throat.

Damn.

The dress didn’t just fit—it basically transformed you.

The light blue fabric shimmered with every movement, the intricate beading catching the light like tiny stars. The cut was bold, the kind of elegant that felt dangerous, powerful.

But you didn’t just look good. You looked hot.

By the time you and Dean had the forged invitations in hand, the sun was already sinking, casting long shadows across the city. The gala was coming up fast, which meant it was time to get ready.

Before heading back to the hotel, you made a couple of quick stops to a tiny makeup shop where you grabbed the essentials and a salon where a stylist worked some magic on your hair. It was fast, efficient, and, thankfully, not nearly as expensive as it looked.

Back at the hotel, Dean tossed the invitations onto the nightstand and flopped onto the bed. “Bathroom’s yours first,” he said, smirking. “Don't take too long, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but took the chance while you had it. Once inside, you got to work, applying makeup with quick and finally stepping into the dress. The silk slid over your skin like it belonged there, hugging every curve in a way that was both flattering and mildly terrifying.

Then came the jewelry—the little stash you’d “borrowed” from a pawn shop earlier. Nothing too flashy, just enough to sell the illusion. You clipped the earrings into place, fastened the necklace, then turned to the mirror.

And, well… damn. You barely recognized yourself.

The hunter with rough edges was still there beneath the glam, but the dress? The hair? The way the jewels caught the light? It all screamed money, power—like you actually belonged at that fancy-ass gala instead of sneaking in through the front door with a fake name.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the dress even though it didn’t need it. This was just another job, another con. No reason to feel nervous.

Still, something about this one felt different.

“Hey, you decent?” Dean’s voice came from the other side of the door, casual enough, but there was a tightness in his throat that wasn’t usually there. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck as he shifted his weight, trying, failing—to push down the nerves creeping up his spine. He wasn’t nervous. Not exactly.

But the thought of seeing you all dressed up, wrapped in silk and looking like you actually belonged in this high-society crowd? Yeah, that was messing with his head more than he was ready to admit.

And then the door opened and Dean stopped breathing.

You stepped out, and—fuck him, because nothing in his life had prepared him for this.

The gown draped over you like a second skin, the light blue satin catching the dim hotel lighting, shimmering with every subtle movement. The plunging neckline was downright criminal, teasing just enough to make his brain short-circuit, while the fabric hugged your waist, flaring out just enough to be elegant.

Your hair was styled to match the era, soft waves framing your face, a few loose strands falling just right. The jewelry—stolen of course, glittered against your skin, only adding to the whole walking temptation thing you had going on.

Dean swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Holy… shit.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling like he’d just been sucker-punched. “Jesus, sweetheart, you tryna kill me?”

A slow, smirk curled at your lips. “Guess that’s a good holy shit.”

Dean didn’t trust himself to speak. Hell, he didn’t trust himself to move. His pulse was hammering, and you? You fucking knew what you were doing to him.

The way you shifted ever so slightly, letting the silk slide over your skin like an invitation straight to hell—he was in so much trouble. So much trouble.

“You clean up nice too,” you mused, your gaze dragging over him in a way that made his suit feel about three sizes too hot.

Dean had to admit, he looked the part. The black tux fit like a damn glove, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to keep from choking him out.

Normally, he would’ve taken a second to appreciate how damn good he looked, but right now? He could barely register anything beyond the fact that you were still standing there, looking like sin wrapped in silk.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Dean.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We should go before you combust.”

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking off whatever the hell just happened. “No promises.”

The gala was a blur of rich assholes, a swirling mix of laughter, the chime of crystal glasses, and the smooth, hum of a jazz band playing in the corner.

Golden chandeliers bathed the grand ballroom in a warm, flickering glow, casting soft shadows over polished marble floors and velvet-draped tables. The air was thick with expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and the murmur of whispered deals happening just out of earshot.

But Dean barely noticed any of it. Because every damn man in the place had his eyes on you. And it was driving him fucking insane.

He could see it—the way their gazes trailed after you, lingering a little too long on the curve of your waist, the dip of that neckline. Some of them tried to be subtle, stealing glances over the rims of their glasses. Others weren’t even pretending to be polite, their appreciation obvious, their smirks infuriating.

Dean gritted his teeth, fingers twitching at his side. His whole job tonight was to blend in, to act the part of some rich bastard with a gorgeous wife on his arm.

And he was trying, he really was, but every time he caught some asshole giving you a once-over like you were something to be bought instead of a woman who could ruin them without breaking a sweat, it took everything in him not to put his fist through someone’s face.

And the worst part? You knew exactly what you were doing to him.The way you moved, the way that damn dress clung to you with every step—you were enjoying this.

And Dean? He was losing his fucking mind.

He wasn’t sure what had nearly killed him first—the moment you’d stepped out in that dress or the fact that every bastard in this room looked at you like they wanted to take a bite.

“You good, Winchester?” you murmured, amusement lacing your voice.

Dean scowled. “Peachy.”

You smirked but didn’t push him any further. Instead, you let your gaze drift around the grand ballroom, taking everything in like a seasoned pro—because that’s exactly what you were.

Your eyes flicked toward the exits first, noting the grand staircase leading to the balcony, the side doors guarded by two men who looked like they could snap a guy in half without breaking a sweat, and the smaller hallway leading toward the service area. Security was tight but not impenetrable.

And then, finally—there it was.

Near the far end of the room, partially hidden behind a massive column, sat a glass display case. Inside, nestled within an small velvet-lined box, was the reason you were here—the gold pocket watch.

Even from a distance, the thing practically gleamed under the soft lighting, its intricate engravings catching the light in a way that made it look almost too perfect, too untouchable.

But that was bullshit. Everything was touchable with the right plan.

You took a slow sip of your champagne, gaze flicking back to Dean for a split second. Time to get to work. “That’s it,” you whispered you nodded over to the glass display.

Dean exhaled sharply. “Alright. Let’s make this quick.”

With that, the two of you slipped through the crowd, moving like you belonged—because for tonight, you did. The ballroom was a sea of silk and tailored suits, the air thick with expensive perfume and idle chatter. And you? You fit right in.

Dean had to give you credit. You smiled at the right people, nodded at the right moments, even laughed at some passing guy’s joke like you actually found it funny. Meanwhile, you were gliding through the room with an ease that made it look effortless. Like you’d been doing this your whole life.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t here to make friends. He didn’t bother with charm, didn’t bother with small talk. He just kept close, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back—not just for the act, but because it felt right.

The glass case came into view, tucked just behind the towering marble column.

Showtime. Dean knelt beside it, moving smoothly, not drawing attention. From inside his tux, he pulled out a small tool, fingers steady as he got to work on the lock. “Keep watch,” he muttered.

You gave a subtle nod, scanning the room with practiced ease. No one was watching, no guards shifting their focus. Just the same whirl of champagne-fueled conversations and jazz playing softly in the background.

Then—click.

Dean grinned. “Got it—”

“What are you two doing?!” A voice called.

Shit. Your stomach plummeted. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Dean didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the pocket watch, shoving it inside his jacket. “Time to go.”

But before you could even turn—“Stop! Over there!”

And just like that, you were running. The heels of your stolen designer shoes clicked against the marble as you and Dean tore through the ballroom, shoving past glittering guests and ducking into the nearest hallway. The music and laughter faded behind you, replaced by the pounding of footsteps, the shouts of security chasing you down.

Dean yanked you around a corner, weaving through side rooms like he knew exactly where the hell he was going (he didn’t).

You could hear the guards closing in, but adrenaline was pumping through your veins, and honestly? This was fun as hell. You barely suppressed a breathless laugh, exchanging a wild grin with Dean as you sprinted down another corridor.

But then—a dead end.

Your stomach dropped again as you skidded to a halt, Dean nearly slamming into you. A locked door. No windows. Just four walls and the sound of heavy boots fast approaching.

“Shit. What do we do now?” you whispered, pulse hammering.

Dean whipped around, scanning the space like a cornered animal. “Uhhh…” He had nothing. No plan. No exit. But then, something flickered in his eyes.

A bad idea. A probably very stupid, but bad idea.

Before you could even ask, Dean grabbed your wrist, spinning you toward him. His hands cupped your face, his touch burning, and you barely had time to shoot him a confused what the hell are you doing? before his lips crashed into yours.

And you froze. For a split second, all you registered was heat. The firm, desperate press of his mouth against yours. The way he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been dying to do this.

But then you melted into him. Your fingers curled into his tux, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Dean let out a low, needy groan, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him. His lips moved against yours like he owned you, like he wasn’t faking this at all—and oh, fuck.

This was supposed to be a distraction but it didn’t feel like one. Not with the way his fingers dug into your hips, like he needed to feel you. Not with the way his tongue slid against yours, teasing, tasting.

Not with the way you whimpered when he backed you against the column, his body caging you in, hard muscle pressing against soft silk. Everything else—The mission. The guards. The whole fucking gala, disappeared. There was only him.

You barely had time to catch your breath when heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat as you pulled back from Dean just in time, spinning toward the sound. The guard was rounding the corner, his boots thudding against the marble floor.

Dean exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling, his lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. You could feel his breath ghosting across your skin, and when he wiped his bottom lip with his thumb, you couldn’t help but follow the motion. The casualness of it, the roughness of his touch—it was hot.

Your pulse kicked up another notch, and just like that, the adrenaline from your escape had shifted into something else entirely.

The guard scowled, clearly not impressed by the sight of you two. “What the hell are you two doing back here?”

Dean turned, looking like he was about to bite the guy’s head off, irritation pouring off him. “Really? We step away for two minutes to get some privacy, and you assholes have to kill the mood?”

The guard blinked, his expression faltering for a moment. “Uh—”

You stepped in, deliberately keeping your voice soft, your lips still slightly parted, feeling the flush on your cheeks. “We just… we weren’t thinking.”

Dean muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Unbelievable.”

The guard hesitated, clearly unsure, before he sighed in defeat. “Just—just get back to the party—and stay where I can see you.”

Dean took your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a little more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, giving the guy a pointed glare before leading you back into the crowd.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, that wild energy still rushing through your veins. As you stepped back into the throng of guests, you shot Dean a look. “That was your plan?”

Dean smirked, not missing a beat. He ran his tongue over his lips like he could still taste you there, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in your throat. “Yeah. It worked.”

Dean kept walking, completely unfazed by the chaos that had just ensued. You exhaled sharply, scanning the room with frantic precision. Your eyes darted across the sea of well-dressed guests, each conversation flowing like some kind of orchestrated dance.

Your chest tightened as you pushed down the anxiety clawing at you—time was running out. The pocket watch was tucked safely in Dean’s jacket, but the longer you stayed, the higher the chances of someone piecing things together. You didn’t need that. You couldn’t afford that.

Dean leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a hot shiver down your spine. “We’re almost clear. Back door, past the bar.” His breath was warm, intimate, and it felt like it wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the mess you’d gotten yourself into.

You nodded, swallowing back the panic rising in your chest, but you couldn’t shake the way his proximity made your heartbeat race in a way that had nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Just as you reached the edge of the crowd, ready to slip toward the exit, a voice sliced through the air like a knife. “Lock down the exits! No one leaves until we search the premises.”

Shit. Your stomach dropped, the cold wave of realization hitting you all at once. They knew. They know the watch was gone. The blood drained from your face as guards began moving toward the doors, barking orders at the guests, their boots echoing like a countdown.

You were trapped.

Dean’s voice was low, laced with irritation as he muttered a curse under his breath. “Well, there goes the easy way out.”

You clenched your jaw, the urgency in the air only adding to the chaos in your head. “We need a new plan.”

Dean’s eyes scanned the room, looking for any possible escape. Then, without missing a beat, a slow grin spread across his face. “Oh, I got one.”

You followed his gaze and immediately groaned, feeling your stomach drop all over again.

The dance floor.

“No,” you hissed, trying to pull away. “Hell no, Dean.”

But Dean didn’t give you a chance to argue. Before you could protest, his hand shot out and wrapped around yours, pulling you in the direction of the crowded floor. “C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta blend in.”

“I hate you.” The words came out before you could stop them, frustration lacing your tone.

Dean’s smirk was pure trouble. “No, you don’t.”

You barely had time to shoot him a glare before he dragged you into the center of the floor, the music swelling around you, the crowd moving in perfect synchronization.

The air felt thick with the beat, and for a moment, you were lost in it—completely aware of nothing except the fact that you were standing in front of Dean Winchester, his hands now firmly placed on your waist, guiding you with a skill that made you blink in surprise.

You couldn’t help but stop dead in your tracks, your breath catching. “What the hell?” you whispered, completely taken aback.

Dean’s smirk deepened, the edges of it now more smug than ever. He tightened his grip just slightly, his movements smooth, practiced. “Turns out hustling pool and dancing aren’t all that different. Just gotta make ‘em think you know what you’re doing.”

Your throat went dry, but it wasn’t from fear. You were hyper-aware of every single point of contact between you, his hands steadying you, his body pressing close enough to feel his heartbeat through his tux.

You couldn’t think straight. You didn’t want to think straight.

Dean spun you effortlessly, his hand sliding lower on your back as you twirled, pulling you back into him as your body pressed against his. Your skin felt hot, and not just because of the silk fabric of the dress you were wearing. No, this was different. This was Dean. And in that moment, all you could feel was him.

You had no choice but to let yourself fall into the rhythm, every move drawing you closer, every step making it harder to focus on anything but the way he was holding you. It was like he could see straight through you, reading you in a way no one else ever could.

And judging by the way his eyes were locked on yours—dark, heated, and full of something that left your breath ragged, he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“We’re clear,” you whispered, glancing over his shoulder, the guards no longer in sight. But Dean didn’t release you. He didn’t even flinch, his grip tightened, his fingers brushing slow circles against your lower back, sending shockwaves through you.

Dean’s voice was barely audible over the music as he leaned in, lips dangerously close to your ear. “Maybe I don’t wanna let go just yet.”

Your chest tightened, and your breath hitched. It felt like your heart was about to explode in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to tell him that this wasn’t part of the plan, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t because everything inside of you screamed to stay exactly where you were, wrapped in the heat of his touch.

Dean’s lips brushed your ear again, his breath warm and teasing. “Admit it,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “You’re enjoyin’ this.”

You wanted to pretend it didn’t mean anything. To push him away and act like it wasn’t already unraveling you from the inside out.

But you couldn’t. Not when the heat coursing through your veins was all him. Not when his lips had moved against yours like he needed you. Not when you felt the low rumble in his chest as your soft moan slipped out earlier.

Denial wasn’t an option. Not now. Because God, you were enjoying this—every aching second of it. And from the way Dean’s smirk deepened, like he already knew, you were pretty sure he’d known all along.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the music shifted, slowing to a smooth, final note. The applause that followed rippled through the room, and Dean finally let you go, his fingers trailing down your arms in the lightest, most teasing touch. A ghost of a caress that burned against your skin.

You could still feel it—his touch, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had dragged down your arms in that infuriatingly slow way. It lingered like a ghost, even as the music shifted and the moment was gone.

But then, as you turned your head, your stomach dropped.

A guard. But not just any guard—the one who had seen you and Dean take the watch. His eyes locked onto yours, and you watched the flash of recognition snap across his face.

Fuck. “Dean, we gotta go.” Your voice was low but urgent as you jerked your chin toward the guard, who was already pushing his way through the crowd, his expression dark with purpose.

Dean barely hesitated. “Alright, come on.”

His hand landed on the small of your back, firm and steady, and then you were moving—pushing through the sea of guests, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs like a fucking war drum. The music swelled again, another song beginning, drowning out the hurried footsteps of the man trying to close the distance between you.

You didn’t stop. You barely breathed.

The second you hit the edge of the crowd, Dean yanked you down a side hallway. It was quieter here, darker, the echoes of the party fading behind you. You spotted an open doorway, and before either of you could second-guess it, Dean pulled you inside and kicked the door shut.

Silence. And for a moment, you just stood there, adrenaline crackling between you like static. Then, just as you started to breathe, footsteps pounded down the hall outside. You both froze. Dean’s eyes snapped toward the window on the far side of the room and his expression shifted, calculating, considering.

Then he turned to look at you, and you already knew. You exhaled sharply. “You’re gonna make me hate whatever you’re about to say, aren’t you?”

Dean smirked, but it was tight, distracted. “Oh, definitely.”

You stepped up beside him, following his gaze. The alley below was dark and empty, but the drop? Two stories. Maybe more. No fire escape. No ledges. Just a whole lot of fucking gravity and a really bad idea.

You swallowed hard. “Think we can make it?”

Dean shot you a look, eyes narrowing. “Not unless you got a parachute stuffed in that dress.”

You didn’t get the chance to respond before the footsteps outside stopped—right outside the door. Dean cursed under his breath and immediately started yanking off his jacket.

Your brows shot up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Improvising,” he gritted out, stalking toward the heavy curtains that framed the window. He grabbed a handful of fabric and with one sharp yank, ripped them down from the rod.

You caught on fast, stepping up to grab the other. “This is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

“Not even close.” Dean was already knotting the fabric together, twisting his jacket sleeves into the mess for extra support. His movements were fast and desperate.

The voices outside were getting louder.

There was no time. Dean tossed the makeshift rope over the ledge, giving it a testing yank. The knots strained but held. “Good enough,” he muttered. Then he swung one leg over the sill and shot you a look. “You first.”

You blinked. “Like hell—”

“Go.” That tone. The one that ended arguments before they even began, sent a shiver down your spine. You huffed but didn’t hesitate, gripping the knotted fabric as you swung your legs over. Cold air rushed around you as you pressed your feet to the wall, easing yourself down as fast as you dared.

The fabric burned against your palms. Every knot shifted under your grip, tightening and pulling, but it was holding.

Almost there. Just a few more feet—A sudden, sickening rip split the air. Your stomach lurched. “Shit—” The fabric gave way, and gravity did the rest.

The last several feet vanished beneath you in an instant, and you hit the ground hard with a brutal oof, pain jolting through your hip as you crumpled onto the pavement.

For a second, all you could do was breathe through the shock. Nothing felt broken...hopefully.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice was sharp, strained from above.

“I’m good,” you hissed, pushing yourself upright. “Go!”

Dean didn’t waste time. He swung over the ledge, gripping the fabric tight as he started lowering himself, but then another rip shot through the air. “Son of a—”

Dean crashed down beside you with a bone-rattling thud, groaning as he hit the pavement, limbs sprawled in a heap.

You winced. “That looked like it hurt.”

Dean let out a ragged breath, glaring up at you. “No, no, I’m good. Just needed to realign my spine real quick.”

You snorted, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. “Come on, before they realize we’re not still inside.”

The shouts from above grew louder, sharper. Someone had spotted you.

Dean didn’t waste a second. He grabbed your hand, fingers wrapping tight around yours, and took off. The two of you bolted down the cobblestone street, feet pounding against the uneven ground. Somewhere behind you, a whistle shrieked, cutting through the night like a freaking alarm bell.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it! We’re running, assholes!” Dean hissed under his breath.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, wild and breathless, tangled up with the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. You swerved into a narrow side street, nearly losing your footing as your hip screamed in protest. But there was no time to slow down.

Dean suddenly yanked you sideways, pulling you into the shadows of a darkened doorway. You barely had time to process before your back hit the wooden frame and Dean was pressed against you, holding you flush against the wall.

Heavy footsteps thundered past the alley, shouts still echoing in the distance. You held your breath, pulse pounding in your throat. Dean’s chest rose and fell fast, his heartbeat thudding against yours. His hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in.

For a long, dizzying moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick, electric, charged with something that had nothing to do with running for your lives. Dean exhaled, his breath brushing your cheek, and let out a breathless, half-choked chuckle. “That was kinda fun.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were frozen. Your lips still tingled from earlier. And Your body still buzzed. Your brain was short-circuiting from everything.

Dean had finally kissed you. But not just a quick, careless brush of lips. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

And the worst part? You had kissed him back like you wanted it. Like you’d wanted it for a long damn time. Maybe because you had? You swallowed hard, stealing a glance at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was locked just over his shoulder, jaw tight, hands still framing your head like it was the only thing keeping him steady. His hair was a mess, strands falling over his forehead, and you had the sudden, dangerous urge to push them back.

Say something. Anything, y/n..

But the silence stretched too long, heavy and suffocating, filled with everything neither of you were willing to acknowledge.

Dean was the first to break, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Well. That was… one way to make an exit.”

You let out a laugh, but it was shaky, uneven. When you looked at him again, he was still looking away, letting his hands drop from the wall beside your head.

Your stomach twisted. Your throat felt tight. “Yeah. Smoothest getaway ever.”

Dean nodded once, his jaw working like he was chewing on something he couldn’t quite get out. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere to crash.”

Right. Because that was what really mattered right now. You almost forgot that you and Dean were completely out of cash.

The money you’d been using when you first appeared here had been stolen, taken off some poor bastard in a desperate scramble to survive. The bills from your actual time? Useless. Too new, too suspicious. You’d had no choice.

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over your face as the weight of it all settled in your chest.

The hotel had probably tossed your stuff by now—everything you and Dean had come with, gone without a second thought.

You licked your lips without thinking, and Dean’s eyes flicked down, instinctively, but enough to betray him. His gaze snapped away just as quickly, jaw clenching like he was pissed at himself for even looking.

That kiss. God, that kiss. It had been hot—too hot. The kind of kiss that slammed into him like a punch to the gut and still lingered in the back of his throat, thick and heavy. It was all he could think about, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was just a distraction.

That’s what you thought… right?

Dean swallowed hard, but the memory hit anyway—vivid and all-consuming. The way you’d melted into him like you were made for it, your fingers gripping at his jacket, that soft, helpless whimper you let out when he’d shoved you up against the wall. It echoed in his ears, over and over. And your dress, that damn dress, clung to you like a second skin, making it impossible for him to not look, to not want.

You were driving him crazy. And now that he knew what your lips felt like, how you tasted, how you trembled just slightly when he deepened the kiss?

How the hell was he supposed to go back to pretending this didn’t mean something?

Because it did. It did—and that scared the hell out of him.

You shook out of whatever trance you'd been in before pushing off the wall, clearing your throat. “Alright, Let’s go.”

Dean nodded, before starting to heading back toward the street like nothing had happened, slipping into the night.

You walked beside him, trying to focus on the street ahead. But it was there, lingering in the back of your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore.

That kiss had shifted something between you, like the air had changed, like the ground wasn’t quite the same under your feet anymore. But there was no going back now. Something had changed. Shifted your relationship. And you both knew it, even if neither of you said a damn thing.

author’s note:

hey guys! I’m so sorry for getting off schedule. I had to take a break from writing for a bit. It was definitely needed and I am feeling a lot better now! I will be working on requests again so hopefully I’ll have a few of those out this week!

hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! next chapter, things start to get a bit steamy 🤭

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @pressedwater @ladysparkles78 @waynes-multiverse @exansation @darkrose064 @fallingforfictionalmen @jollyhunter @pilotdeanwinchester @kaz-2y5-spn @darling-eos @illicithallways @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @h8aaz @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @taleofmanyships @megara0224 @remzywashere @cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter @lovelywebber (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be removed from the list)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

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deangirlsstuff67 · 4 days ago

Text

I Don’t Believe You

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Your best friend got to go to the convention while you had to work. Jared stole her phone in the middle of you responding to her text leading Jensen and him to have some fun.

Warnings: None

Authors Note: I love Jensen and his family. This is purely fiction and for entertainment purposes only.

—————————————————————————

Jealousy.

Straight up jealous.

You’re stuck at work dealing with people all day while your best friend is at the Supernatural convention that’s in town.

To add to your torture, she’s been texting you photos and videos all day. Torture. Pure torture.

You’re on your lunch when she text you telling you she was up next to ask a question. Laughing you respond with a snarky, sarcastic question she should ask.

Me: oh you should definitely ask Jensen what his biggest turn on is.

Pushing send, laughing to yourself, you knew damn well that would make her blush in front of the boys. Payback is a bitch

—————————————————————————

Meanwhile at the hotel where the convention is being held, Jared has stolen your friends phone so Jensen and him could look at the photo she was referring to for her question.

Just then her phone dinged with a notification of your text coming in.

Jared falls on the floor laughing as he hands the phone to Jensen. Clicking into your message, Jensen’s eyes go wide before he starts laughing as well.

Jared explains to the crowd how y/f/n received a text from someone asking a funny but inappropriate question he won’t repeat. Laughter erupts from the crowd as Jensen begins to type out a response.

Y/f/n: I could tell you sweetheart but it’s so much more fun to show you instead - Jensen

—————————————————————————

Ding. Ding. Ding.

You expected some sassy reply from y/f/n. What you didn’t expect was a text that seemed to have come from Jensen himself.

There’s no way.

Me: oh haha you’re funny. What do I look like to you girl.

Y/f/n: I don’t know what you look like. Willing to send me a photo - J

Okay there is no way this is Jensen. I mean come on, why would he be texting off your friends phone or seem to be coming off as he’s flirting.

What the hell, guess I’ll see where this goes. She thinks she’s funny.

Me: *sends image* I don’t believe you. Send proof or it doesn’t count.

Instantly you get a response.

Y/f/n: *photo attached* believe me now?

Well fuck. You’re staring at the photo in disbelief as the three dots appear again. Oh god how else could I embarrass myself now.

A phone number comes through with a cheeky message asking to continue the conversation because they have to give her phone back now.

Shaking your head and chuckling you send the number a message and begin talking to the man everyone in that hotel convention hall wishes they could text.

—————————————————————————

Taglist:

@spnaquakindgdom @yvonneeeee @syrma-sensei @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @deansimpalababy

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen x y/n #spnfamliy #supernatural

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daylighted · 2 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 !!

𐚁 bull rider ! beau arlen x high school sweetheart ! reader !! home has never been a place but a person, and he's finally ready to go back to you . . . six years too late. ℧ mdni !! sexual content. high school sweethearts to exes to lovers. couple's quarrels. festering tension. angry sex? word count : 14.1k (LMFAO) ☆ minor characters !! kelsey. daisy. delilah gaylestone. rhett gaylestone. moonlight. sunshine. brooks williamson. abigail williamson. ella gaylestone.

FIVE YEARS AGO —

“you really are livin’ proof of the american dream, ain’t you, beau arlen?”

“why, yes ma’am, i’d say so.”

you pause the tv on his face, taking in every single detail about beau that had changed in the last 6 years. his facial hair was fuller, hair a little longer and a lot less kempt. his eyes held deeper bags beneath them, but still shone with the glimmering gold-green that swayed you toward him in the first place.

you hit rewind, and then play again.

“mr. arlen! another victory under your belt buckle,” the interviewer says, sounding breathless even though she had not been the one atop a bucking bull, grasping at the horn of a saddle for purchase to keep from tipping off. “i’m sure this feels typical for you, by now.”

three championship belt buckles, four second-place trophies, and so many medals and roses that the mere announcement of beau arlen being next had the stadium littered in petals.

not that you kept up with him, or anything.

“the thrill never dies, no matter how many times it’s happened,” beau says, dimples dipping into his cheeks. he lifts the stetson off of his head, runs a sweaty hand through sweatier locks of hair.

the interviewer’s name fades onto the screen below her too wide grin. kelsey jones wants in your man’s pants, and you aren’t entirely convinced that he didn’t take her home that night. how many fingers had undone that giant championship buckle, while you sat at home, waiting for a man too busy chasing thrills to remember what he left in the montana dust?

“you really are livin’ proof of the american dream, ain’t you, beau arlen?”

you turn the tv off.

behind you, daisy arlen clacks her toy blocks together, building a tower taller than she was. her gold-green eyes flick up to meet yours, little mouth parted in wonder, forming babbling sentences that were only ever semi-coherent.

this one sounded devastatingly close to the innocent ramblings of a little girl asking for her father.

you scoop her up, placing her in the crook of your hip that she lived in. "sorry, sweetheart," you say on a sigh, with a final glance toward the blank tv screen, "daddy ain't comin' home."

beau arlen was a friend of a friend of a friend. your best friend was a princess of a girl named delilah, most fondly known as del, who was dating a farmer's son named rhett, who was best friends with beau.

of course you knew all about beau. del couldn't seem to go a day without bringing up rhett, which most of the time had beau's name in her mouth too. you'd never properly met him except the occasional shared class in your small town's smaller high school, but you had a backlog of blackmail on him in the back of your mind.

he went to church every sunday after partying all night saturday with his friends. he snuck into rhett's barn to go for a late ride with his favorite of the gaylestone family's horses, moonlight. he so often stole from the arlen liquor cabinet that half of the vodka was water, and he misplaced which bottles were which all the time.

but meeting him? no, you'd never had the pleasure of it. del spent a lot of her time with rhett, but she never skimped on a girls' night every weekend, where you'd get to hear all of the shenanigans that the montana boys got up to.

it was routine. you got to know all of the little things about one of your town's most notorious rebellious cowboys, and pretended that you didn't know that, in turn, he probably got to hear all about you.

del sat on your bed, navy blue nail polish still wet on her fingers as she idly waved her hand around, humming along to whatever song drifted through the radio on your sidetable. "rhett wants to hang out tonight."

you startle from your spot next to her, a second coat of maroon drying on your own fingernails. "what? no. he knows every saturday is girls' night and," you wave your hand in a mock imitation of hers, "boys' night for him, or whatever."

"i know," she hums, like she wasn't trying to completely skew this routine you guys had built up since you were in junior high. "s'just that brooks is sick, and rhett doesn't like hangin' out one-on-one with beau. says they get all drunk n' sentimental."

you could think of so many worse things they could get up into besides cuddly and pouty, but teenage boys were prone to thinking a molehill was a mountain.

you don't look over at del, not wanting to look her in the eyes as she so casually tries to abandon you for a boy. you know, something that best friends always promise they won't do, before they do it. "so, you're gonna go hang with rhett and arlen?"

her eyes are on you; not glaring, but staring hard enough that it could singe your temple. "no. rhett and arlen wanna come over."

"what?" you sound like a broken record at this point, but seriously, what? "no way."

"you've got that ol' barn!" she argues, conveniently looking away when you fix her with your own stare. "your folks will never find out."

"delilah."

del stumbles on a little giggle, examining the handiwork of her freshly painted nails. dark blue like the sky and the headband she wore to keep the stray curly bangs out of her eyes. "it's just a one time thing," she assures, curling her fingers around your wrist, "don't you wanna meet beaauuu?"

"no." passing him in the halls was plenty, thank you. "no, i do not wanna meet beaauuu."

"beau wants to meet you." you close your eyes as if that alone could erase that sentence from your reality. "rhett said so. that's why i ever even brought this up, y'know? i wouldn't drop this on you if i wasn't desperately tryin' to get my girl coupled up for double dates with me."

the ulterior motives were sickening. you were in pajamas, for crying out loud, and now two of the three hellions of your grade were about to be at your house. not that you cared what rhett thought of you, or really what beau arlen did, but...

del had been your best friend since you two were in diapers. she could have read your expression without seeing it, looking straight through the back of your head. she nods toward your closet. "the white sundress. with those boots of yours." she smiles wide, like she wasn't turning the tides of time completely on their axis in one sentence. "beau likes cowgirls."

your family's barn was a rundown little thing on the edge of your property before it delved into fields. your father kept it up for sentimental value, having built a newer, sturdier one closer to your home. makes the walk shorter for me n' my old bones, he'd said once.

the ladder to the loft was unsteady and rickety, but you could still remember climbing up there when your hands were too small to properly grip the rungs, could remember running back to the house at sunset and your mom plucking pieces of hay out of your hair before supper.

it was oddly intimate, having this many people in a space that was once your favorite place. hell, even del had only been in here a couple of times, and now here she was, and her boyfriend, and... beau arlen.

he had that gleam in his eyes that mothers warned their daughters about, a head of hair that poked out through the brim of the hat he wore. he had a plaid jacket tied around his waist, leaving him in a dirt stained white tanktop and an equally stained pair of faded blue jeans.

rhett was already drunk and incredibly sentimental. he clung to del's arm like a bride walking down the aisle, nuzzling his face into her neck like a cat marking its scent. you didn't even get a chance to wish her good luck before he was attaching himself to her.

which left you and beau. beau, who stood in the corner of the barn, looking elusive and mysterious without even meaning to be. he had a sweaty glass bottle of beer in his fingertips, his other hand tracing idly over the splintering wood.

wanted to meet you, your ass. he'd isolated himself, looking just as awkward as you felt. it really was your fault for believing your best friend wouldn't make up some sort of tall tale to get to spend a full weekend with her boyfriend.

beau turned on a dime, his eyes finding yours, too fast for you to pretend you were not, in fact, staring at the back of his head. half of his mouth lifted in a smile. he doesn't say hi, or address it, just jerked his head in the direction of the wall he'd been looking at.

"there's writin' on it," he said, taking a quick swig from the bottle he held. "'m guessin' you're princess peach."

your face flushed against your will. you'd forgotten all about— "no, actually," you blurted out, as eager to throw del under the bus as she'd been with you, "that's del."

his smile widened for a second, before he turned back to the engravings on the wooden paneling. "so you were princess strawberry."

this was not a good idea. this space was not for anyone else but you and the littler versions of you that still lingered in memory. beau arlen did not do anything to earn seeing these glimpses of you.

"come over here n' stop wallowin'," he laughed, tapping a nail against the writing, "'m not judgin' you or anything, sweetheart. i happen to think it's endearing as all get out."

you really did not want to see his live reactions to the little scraps of your childhood in these walls, but what else were you supposed to do? let beau arlen walk your space on his own and third wheel with rhett and del?

so you walked up to him, the chipping wood barely doing anything to mask the words you and del had scratched into the walls many years ago. "if it makes you feel better," beau drawled, his voice softer now that you were shoulder to shoulder, "i used t'do the same thing when i was a kid."

"pretend to be a strawberry princess?" you asked incredulously, eyebrows shooting up on your forehead.

his laugh was as warm as a shot of whiskey. his teeth were straight and blinding in the moonlight. you'd been so adamant on never properly meeting him that you'd forgotten why you wanted to stay away so badly. boys like him, with smiles like that, were nothing but trouble.

"no, i used to..." he shook his head, glancing back toward his friend and yours on the other side of the barn. del was stuck in a sloppy slow dance with rhett now, and somehow, the stetson on his head was now on hers. you barely restrained the amused smile, and beau didn't even bother to try. "i used to pretend i was a cowboy," he finally said, head tipped down as he stares up shyly through his eyelashes. they were so long. his eyes were so green. good lord. "wrasslin' up all of the angry bulls. takin' care of business as the arlenville sheriff."

"arlenville?" you broke into a little surprised laugh. "no. no way."

beau nodded, his lips curling higher up at the sound of your laugh. this was a terrible idea, leaving you two alone like this, because now you were beginning to think that the double dates with rhett and del didn't sound so appalling. "yes way." beau sat the empty bottle in his hand down on a mottled barrel next to him, using both of his freed hands to throw a pretend lasso. "beau arlen, arlenville's hero, gatherin' up all the wild horses and settin' 'em back loose. cleanin' the streets."

it's so damn ridiculous that you couldn't help but laugh again. beau kept the invisible lasso between his two hands, tossing and tossing until he hooked you. his eyes told you that he was well aware of the fact that he'd already gotten you hooked, lined, and he was just waiting for the sinker.

"are you trying to say i'm wild, beau arlen?" you asked, and you couldn't even help it, really — he did have you lassoed! — when you inched closer by his pretend pulling.

beau's eyes raked up and down your figure, and something shifted in his gaze. another thing you'd heard down the grapevine of your interconnected friend groups was that beau arlen didn't date. he didn't ever really have interest in anyone, just on taking care of the farm he grew up on and causing mayhem every saturday before church with rhett and brooks.

but the look in his eyes said otherwise. those dangerous, golden green eyes. "i'm sayin' i'd sure as hell like to find out."

PRESENT DAY —

the radio filters through the speakers of beau's faded red pickup truck, the cab of it rattling as he presses the gas pedal down more firmly. the window is down, his elbow propped out of it, fingers tapping idly on the door's frame.

he hadn't been back in montana in six years.

he still remembers the day he left. you, standing on the arlen family farmhouse's front porch, waving bye as he backed down the dirt driveway. i'll be back after this competition, baby, he'd promised, the gps on his phone spouting monotone directions through the aux. you couldn't yet afford a plane ticket, so he opted to drive the twenty-two hour trip. a small price for following his dream, wasn't it?

you'd given him a kiss goodbye for good luck. it'd worked. he won the bull riding championship down in dallas's championship rodeo. he stayed an extra day to bask in the victory, following where the party went, enthralled by the way his name sounded in everyone's mouths. beau arlen, bull riding champion. had a hell of a sound to it.

and the following day, when the thrill of the rodeo died down, beau went chasing down another, and another. montana became a blurry memory in the back of his mind. he never forgot you, but you were definitely a reason that he kept away. how could he face you after he broke a promise like that?

but it wasn't easy to maintain a champion status when younger, more wily riders kept popping up left and right. there was a reason that most retired before their mid 30s. beau was getting up there, closing in on his thirtieth that year. it was hard to hang up the hat, harder to not think of it as giving up, but he had to be sensible somehow.

god knew he hadn't used his brain six years ago, when he threw something stable away for a job that gambled on his life, risking it for an adrenaline rush and a belt buckle to add to the collection.

still, beau was only a man. he rolls back into the town he grew up in wearing the most recent of his buckles, the final one he'd won. he may have been giving up the lifestyle and dream he'd chased for so long, but he wasn't going to undermine his accomplishments.

he remembers the path home, even years later, without needing to look it up. his parents had gifted him the family home as a wedding gift, making him promise to put it to good use. give us some grandbabies, his mom had told him, in front of you and the entire rest of his family and your family and all of your friends, with the sweetest smile on her face.

another promise he didn't keep. another one in the back of his mind that haunted him, day in and day out.

your car is parked up by the shed when he pulls in beside it. beau doesn't expect a warm, welcome greeting from you. hell, he's sure he's gonna walk up to the front doorstep and be met with your hand stinging his cheek. he'd deserve it, too.

there were so many memories in this house. you didn't want to go anywhere for your honeymoon, so you both spent it breaking in every piece of furniture, the air in the house so thick that the open windows condensated. rhett and delilah's wedding gift to you was moonlight's foal, sunshine. he'd take you down to the river on his property, tucked away between shady trees, paving trails with sunshine's hooves.

what could he possibly say to fix this?

beau bites the bullet, shoving the driver's door open and stepping out. he grabs his duffel from the bed of the truck and hooks it over his shoulder, his expression set in a grimace as he glances at the house again.

you were watching. he could see the bottoms of the curtains swishing with the sudden jostle. the front door stays closed.

he deserves this. he knows he does. but he'd kill to see you smile. to feel your arms around him as you welcome him home. but that sort of treatment was earned, and he hadn't earned any of it, not when he abandoned you for six years for a short-lived dream.

the porch steps creak under his boots, the wood soft and splintered with age. for a moment, beau just stands there. he can hear you moving around on the other side of the door; the soft sound of music drifts out from the gapped windows, your laughter echoes through the the heavy door he raps on.

three knocks. the doorbell doesn't work. he kept promising to fix it, and then he was gone.

your warm laughs gets closer, the music louder when you pull open the heavy door and meet his gaze through the screen door.

beau watches the realization settle on you. surprise, heartache, and horror, all in quick succession. your lips are parted in some semblance of mortification, and beau can't possibly understand why. anger and upset were what he expected — hell, his jaw was tight and steeled, still expecting the slap to come.

he does not expect the screen door to shove open into his shoulder, and a little toddler in a white sundress and cowgirl boots to barrel into him. "playtime!" she shouts, barely even processing the man attached to the leg she'd caught herself around.

his old cowboy hat falls off of her head and on his feet. he's on autopilot, his brain not catching up to the forefront of his mind yet, as he bends to grab it for her, anything to avoid the look in your eyes.

"t'ank you!" she says, flashing him a toothy grin, a prominent gap in the middle of her little baby teeth. she's off again before he can get another word out, but not before he sees her eyes. pale gold-green and glittery; the eyes of a dreamer.

a month passed, and beau and you ended up dating. rhett called it, getting a twenty dollar payout from brooks when he recovered from the bout of flu he'd gotten. they'd had a running joke that you'd end up being the girl to tie him down. it was just fact and fate; rhett was dating your best friend, delilah, and brooks was dating abigail, the third to your little friend group. who else would pair together with the single of his friend group, but the single of yours?

his parents brought you up every chance they could. it was an endless cycle of, when are you bringing that sweet girl of yours over? and do we ever get to meet your little girlfriend, beau? as if the town wasn't the size of his pinky, and they hadn't watched you grow up as much as they'd watched him.

beau wasn't keeping you from them, not really. he'd meant to bring you over for your first anniversary, but you'd both gotten a little tied up in each other in the high school parking lot. and then he'd meant to on prom, but your parents wanted pictures even though you were already running late, and, well, he loved your parents, so why would he deny that?

now, there was no escaping it. you'd both just graduated, and on a day full of celebrations, beau thought there was no better time than now to show you off to his family.

the entire family. he didn't intend for his parents and grandparents and every person in between to be back at his farmhouse when he'd drove up the driveway, but why else wouldn't they have been there?

"no." your feet are firmly planted on the car's floor, your arms petulantly crossed over your chest. "no, beau, i did not sign up for this."

"hell, neither did i," he grumbled, turning off the engine and spinning in his seat to face you better. the hand he had on your thigh squeezed reassuringly, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "c'mon, maybe it'll be fun."

your eye twitched. beau loved the hell out of that eye twitch. "is this revenge for our first date?" you asked, a look of disbelief in your eyes, mouth trembling with all of the panicked words that threatened to spill out at once. "when my dad bombarded you at the front door?"

beau blinked. "honestly forgot about that."

"bull."

"bull?" he laughed, putting his hands up in a mockery of surrender. "okay. you're right. i didn't magically forget about the time your daddy walked outside to meet me with a rifle—"

you poked him hard in the shoulder. "unloaded."

"—unloaded rifle." beau snatched that hand of yours and kissed each of your knuckles. "but i did not set this all up. my mama's been pesterin' me about bringin' you over, so i thought now was a better time than ever, and—"

"apparently the entire arlen bloodline caught wind."

beau snapped his fingers with his free hand. "bingo." already, he can see the curtain's ruffling with the breeze and movement inside, shadows dancing across the glow of gold through the thin fabric. he was pretty sure that was his uncle howling with laughter, too, so loud he could hear it through the inside of his pickup. "hey, maybe it'll be fun."

you gave him a look that said you did not believe him within an inch of your life.

"we can drink?" he offered next, running down his list of reassurances. they were dwindling.

"all of your alcohol is water." you lurched forward to poke him again, and he caught your finger once again. more reassuring kisses. they were all he had to offer.

beau hmphed. "forgot about that too."

you could sit in his passenger seat and argue until your face turned blue. so he takes the initiative and let go of your fingers, shoving his door open with his shoulder.

he circled around to your side of the pickup, pulling open your door for you, a hand extended for you to take. "c'mon, sweetheart," he murmured, nodding toward his hand for you to take, "y'look too damn pretty to hide away in my truck all night."

you really did, too. a part of beau felt bad for dropping all of this on you so suddenly, but the other part is damn glad that all of his family gets to find out at once about the pretty girl he'd managed to snag.

you stared at him, and beau really expected for you to put up more of a fight. you'd fought him harder over less, like how much butter and salt to put in your popcorn at the movies. but you took his hand with nothing more than a little sigh.

"let's go meet the arlens."

beau's face had never been so red in his life. his family flitted up to the both of you in waves, always with the same routine. congratulations! what a pretty couple you make! marriage? kids? did his mama tell you about the time he played in cow patties thinking it was mud?

he'd never been so glad to have an excuse to drag you away. your family's graduation party wasn't even until tomorrow, but you'd on the spot made up the lie to save you both.

his intentions were pure. they were! he'd planned to sneak you out of the house and take you down into the woods on his family property, to show you the little rushing river deep in the trails, to show you the trees that he'd carved his name into, like you had with your barn.

and then he'd remembered that barn you had.

far enough away from your house to keep the both of you out of sight from your parents, and unofficially deemed as your special place that they never entered without warning.

the story wrote itself. your last act as reckless teenagers before you delved facefirst into adulthood. he'd insisted on being a gentleman, testing the ladder to the loft and making sure it didn't fall. he even held the top steady when you started the climb up. making it back down would be a different story, but you'd get there when you got there.

the stars were so bright from up there, through the open window in the wall. the moon hung high in the sky, the crickets chirping outside, talking to each other through the wind.

you were on his lap before he could even get properly settled on the dilapidated pile of hay, little pieces tickling along his skin as he shifted into it further to let you get comfortable.

he worked your dress's zipper down carefully through the onslaught of kisses. his tongue swiped against your lips, tasting the faint traces of vodka clinging to your mouth. it was definitely watered down, and definitely his fault, but it only made you all that much sweeter to taste.

your fingers trailed down his flannel, working the buttons open with ease as you stumble across them, until the shirt was open and spilling off of him. beau slipped it off of himself, laying it in a beginning pile in the hay next to your jacket.

the kiss broke, and you lifted your head enough for the moonlight to pour in and light your skin aglow. he couldn't look away for a moment, captivated. your teeth held your bottom lip tight between them, looking up at him through the expanse of your eyelashes, and he's gone. he's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

there was no rush to it, no sense of urgency. it was you and the moon to keep him company, and he didn't want to rush through the good things, not when it came to you.

beau slipped one sleeve of your dress off of your shoulder, his fingertips dancing over your collarbone. he followed their kiss with a proper one of his own, mouthing softly at the sensitive skin until he made his way up to your ear.

the words that came out aren't what he expected. he meant to say i love you, to seal it into your skin with his lips, to embed it into your veins and bloodstream. maybe he even would have said it a few times, permanent ink below your ear, on your neck.

instead, beau said, "marry me."

you stumbled on a laugh, your hands flattening on his chest. "what?"

he should have taken it back. "marry me." he didn't. "don't have to be right now. don't have to be next year, or the year after that. but promise you will."

your eyes glimmered in the moonlight. you looked so damn beautiful. he thought proposing would have been all nerves and jitters, that he'd get cold feet at the simple idea of marriage and commitment, but his mind made the decision for him, and he already knew that you were different. nothing felt hard or scary with you.

"beau," you said his name like a breath, "you're kiddin' me."

he shook his head, and now he was laughing, giddy and bright. his arms encircled your waist, tugging you closer to him in his lap. "say yes."

"no." but you were grinning from ear to ear. "you're crazy, arlen."

"say yes," he whispered again, nuzzling his nose against yours as he steals a kiss. "don't you wanna be a crazy arlen along with me?"

you extended the kiss, prolonging it, your palms going up to his face to hold him that close a little while longer, until you're panting breathlessly on his lips. "yes."

beau eyes popped open. he grabbed your hips with his big hands and flips the both of you so that your back was pressed into the hay. "say it again."

"yes," you nearly squealed with laughter, and he wanted to bottle the sound, he wanted to swallow it whole and never forget how happy you were right here, now, beneath him, "i'll marry you, beau arlen."

your happiness was a virus he was destined to catch; tugging a grin onto his already gleeful expression. "welcome to the arlens," he breathed as he leaned forward and stole another kiss, and another. "now we got somethin' to celebrate on our own."

daisy sits at the kitchen table, legs swinging and kicking straight out in front of her. she has a plate full of peeled apple slices and colby jack cheese cubes in front of her, mindlessly babbling as she pops them into her mouth.

she is oblivious to the tension between you and beau at this table. beau, sat at one end of the table; you, propped up against the other, hipbone digging into the sanded wooden edge.

"when did this happen?" beau asks, and there's some sort of accusation in his tone, but you aren't sure if you really hear it or are just at a predisposition to think negatively about every word from his mouth.

you both stare at each other for a while. certainly he doesn't think that you'd broken your vows when he skipped town. certainly he didn't look at your daughter and not see the arlen green eyes in her.

you glance down at the table, disbelief still clouding in a haze in your eyes. "when do you think?"

when your eyes dance back up to his, his smile is tight-lipped and force. "she's six." it's not a question, or something requiring confirmation. he knew. knew, and just didn't believe what was in front of him, almost like you couldn't, either.

"i am!" daisy pipes in through a mouthful of mashed apples. she offers beau her brightest, toothiest smile. she even had the same dimples as him.

beau spares her a glance, then, like he couldn't any longer ignore the pull toward her. hair in low pigtails over her shoulders, already coming loose around the ponytail holders, shorter strands poking awry from underneath the too big cowboy hat she wore too.

it's tense. you're sure he's going to blow up. beau wasn't really the type to lose his cool, but the beau you thought you knew wasn't this man, either. this man was aged six years, and just as capable of leaving you as much as he promised not to.

daisy holds out an apple for him, kicking beneath the table so wildly that the dining chair's legs screech against the hardwood floor.

he takes it, the tightness of his smile never loosening.

there's something he wants to say. beau always got this twitch on the corner of his lip when he was keeping something back, locked tight away behind a carefully placed mask of coolness. you saw that expression a lot - in high school, when rhett started to get clingy, or brooks got mouthy, or at his family's graduation party, when he was reaching his limit with the endless interrogations. each time, you'd slide in and swoop him away before he popped off with something he didn't mean.

there was no saving him this time, because he'd already lost himself.

you glance out toward the open fields in your backyard. a little playground sits in the dead center of the grassy plains, like it popped out of the earth itself. the chains of the swing ding against the metal poles as the wind blows them wild, bringing inside the scent of daisies and sunflowers.

"coffee?" you ask, because when have you ever been able to help yourself when it came to beau arlen? he'd had you hooked and lined from the beginning. it was just a part of you, by now, that need to calm the storm that brewed behind his eyes.

beau glances over toward the machine by the fridge. "machine's broken."

your turn to smile tersely. "was broken. six years ago."

his parents bought you a new one, after daisy was born. the least they could do, they said, considering their son was across the country living a dream that he promised he wouldn't let get in between you two, while you were at home alone raising his little girl.

there is just as much that you want to say as he does. so much anger and cruelty you want to spew at him, just to hurt him like he'd hurt you.

instead, you turn to the coffee machine to start a pot. it can wait. all of the fighting can wait until daisy isn't here. she was already wrapped up too much in the both of your mess, and she didn't deserve to become a weaponized pawn.

the screen door slams into the wall behind it, just hard enough for you to know exactly who it was without turning around. great.

"where's my pretty li'l berry princess?" abigail calls from the doorway, and from the little whiny fusses, you know that del is right behind her. the guys were probably on diaper bag duty, using that as an excuse to linger in the driveway and smoke.

beau inhales sharply. at least he's aware of how much his leaving and returning would stir things. and now he could fester in his guilt a little more, knowing that his friends and yours rallied behind you.

daisy's out of the chair before you even turn around to greet any of them. her excited squeal and sprint have the cowboy hat falling to the ground again.

the porch steps creak under the weight of the guys' heavy steps, and rhett's cough is a telling sign enough of the cigarette he shared with brooks if the smell wasn't. "delly insisted we bring you some of this cherry pie she made last night—"

"it came out so pretty," del interjects, the closest one to the kitchen doorway now that abigail had gotten hung up with your daughter. "i had to!"

"it's real good, girlie," rhett sighs, a soft thud creaking the floorboards as he drops the diaper bag down, "so damn good, i left it in the car so we can just take it right on back home—"

"rhett gaylestone!"

del peeks her head into the kitchen with a sweet smile. there's a baby carrier across her chest, a tiny head peeking out of it beneath her chin. she doesn't even glance in beau's direction; why would she? no one ever expected beau arlen to show his face back in montana.

"sorry about him," she says, wiping her palms on the skirt of her dress, "you know how the montana boys are. unreliable as sin—"

you watch it unfold. the moment that beau straightens his back, and the movement draws del's attention. she visibly startles, her mouth hung open.

it's a trainwreck. neither of them speak, but the tense smile had yet to leave beau's mouth since the realization of daisy clicked in his head.

"what the hell was all that?" rhett asks with a laugh, coming up behind his wife to prop in the doorway behind her, one hand coming around her to rest his hand on her stomach, just beneath the baby carrier. "about us montana boys being unrelia..." of course rhett would know to look where beau was sitting. they used to sit at the kitchen table, on that exact end beau was at, gambling away pocket money in games of poker, straw hanging out of their mouths. "unreliable."

beau clears his throat. "hey, rhett."

rhett scoffs out a sort of laugh, sounding more discomforted than anything. "brooks owes me twenty bucks."

brooks laughs from the other room. still as oblivious as abigail and your daughter to the fact that her daddy was home now, and what that meant. "no fuckin' way," an audible slap from abigail, and a groan to follow, "sorry, kiddos. no flippin' way. don't flip with me this time, i ain't fallin' for it this time. you can't convince me for nothin' that beau arlen's at that table—"

beau sucks in a deep breath through his teeth. he looks ready to bolt, and you're sure, from previous times, that he will.

"you should stop bettin' against me, williamson." his voice is raspier than it typically is. maybe you'd feel more bad for beau if he didn't do this to himself.

you shake your head. you'd kept silent, and calm, and collected for the last two hours of him being in your space, sharing snacks with you guys' daughter. "no, beau," you say, meeting his gaze when he finally turns it toward you, "i don't think he should."

the river cut through the forest, the sound of rushing water echoing around you. little splashes of waves spilled over the edge of it, sloshing against the damp muddy grass lining it. a little farther up the hill leading down to it, you're perched on a red and white plaid picnic blanket.

there was a book in your hands, held open with your left hand, the wedding ring on your finger glittering under the sunlight. these early days of your marriage were the easiest by far. it felt so natural, being in beau's space, your lives woven together like crochet.

beau was in the river, trying to catch frogs. you didn't remember what even led him to want to, just that you were adamant that you weren't joining him. sunshine was tied to a tree a few feet from you, chewing on patches of grass and whinnying.

"baby, you ain't gonna believe this," beau called from the river, the water splashing as he trudges out of its shallow depths.

you glanced up, and then immediately back down. "i don't wanna see whatever frog you've got captive."

beau laughed, something held in his one hand, the other coming up to run through his wet locks of hair clinging to his forehead. "i gave up on the damn frogs," he grumbled, each footstep squelching beneath him, "ain't no fun when you're a grown adult and not an eight year old. damn things are too quick."

you set your book aside, tucking it back safely in the picnic basket. you snatched a strawberry from the wicker, biting off the sweet end off it. "so what on earth are you about to drop in my lap?"

he flung his arm out at you, throwing stray water droplets across you. you knew he would; that's why you protected your book, after all. you were well adapted to the antics of your husband, by now.

"guess."

"i already guessed a frog." you sat up a little straighter, cringing at the dirty water droplets in your dress. "i lost. now you gotta just tell me."

beau dropped down in front of you, legs crossed, water pouring down his bare torso and onto the corner of the blanket he sat on. he opened up his fingers to reveal what was in his hand.

you blinked a couple of times. "a... rock?"

he groaned. "baby. i love you so much." he leaned forward to snatch your hand, yanking you a little closer to him. "so much, you know that. my beautiful, beautiful girl. you gotta open up that mind a little."

you huffed as you ended up kneeling in front of him, your knees sinking into the wet cloth beneath you. you snatched the rock out of his palm, and just faintly on the rock's smooth surface, in faded white paint, was rodeo champion, beau arlen.

"bingo," he snapped his fingers, leaning up a little to duck his head and see your expression. "told you, remember? when we met? used t'carve my name into tree trunks. used to leave it everywhere."

you tilted your head curiously at it, a small smile curving your lips upward. "i thought you were pretendin' to be arlenville sheriff, not rodeo champion beau arlen."

"when the life of justice got borin', i switched it up." he took the rock back from you, something wistful in his expression as he reads the words over himself. "s'what i wanted the most, y'know."

you did know, somehow. beau wore his dreams and his heart so proudly on his sleeve. you'd lived with him long enough to know that, after work, he'd settle onto the couch, kick his legs up, and turn on reruns of the rodeo championships. he could predict who would win, which bulls were more troublesome than the others, and when a cowboy made a bad call on a dime.

beau glanced up to meet your eyes, that same wistful smile on his lips. "what were your dreams like?" he asked, setting the rock down next to him on the picnic blanket. "not the strawberry princess ones, or the silly ones. what did my little sweetheart see herself growin' up into?"

you hummed a little to yourself, shifting a little so that you could splay your legs over his lap. forget not wanting to get dirty or wet. "a nurse, once," you said, scrunching up your face at the memory, "i used to insist on havin' every baby doll in the market, because i wanted to take care of them. make sure they were alright, y'know?"

beau nods, his arm slipping around your back to cradle you properly against his side. "you would look good in the scrubs," he teased, but you knew, like you always did, that it was never with bad intent.

"mmm, maybe," you agreed idly, "but i didn't want to go through all that school. i wanted to just... just launch into somethin'. and so i shifted gears completely. no more baby dolls, but flowers. made up my own little garden patch just outside that old barn down at my folks' place."

beau's fingers traced lines and shapes down the curve of your spine. "that when the strawberry and the peach princesses come into play?"

you slapped him lightly on the arm, chuckling a little to yourself. "stop it. but yes. del and i planted everything we could to see if it would grow, and call it our princess magic if it did."

"a damn flower girl," beau murmured into your neck, planting little kisses on the skin. "it suits you. what changed?"

"nothing changed," you said, tipping your head to press your temple to his. "i still dream about flowers. havin' a big garden in the backyard, havin' a shop downtown."

beau scooped you up, settling you comfortably in his lap, straddling his waist and the wet denim clinging to his legs. "well, what the hell is stoppin' us now, from gettin' you that flower shop of yours downtown?"

there were those eyes again, the ones you always knew meant bad news, back when you were younger and still dancing on the cusp of being in love and running before he could fully swoop in and steal your heart.

your lips curled, teeth worrying at the bottom one. "maybe nothing. maybe everything."

"no. nothin' is." beau leaned in to capture your lips in his, pulling the bottom one loose from your teeth with his own. "we'll get my baby a flower shop. we'll get you a garden in this backyard. hell, we'll fill all the fields with sunflowers and daisies."

your head fell backward in a laugh. "stop it!" but it's half-hearted, because beau always knew how to lasso you into all of his crazy dreams, and he was already beginning to sell you on it without needing to do much convincing at all.

"we'll name all our kids after flowers," he mumbled against your jawline, kissing upwards until he met the corner of your mouth. "daisy. rose. violet. lily."

"what about the boys?"

beau paused, taking a breath before he stole a proper kiss from your lips. "we jus' won't have boys."

you're silent for a long while. beau always made the impossible and the unachievable seem so pretty and within reach. you lifted your hand to touch his cheekbone, swiping gently across the smooth, sunkissed skin, before you let it fall to the ground next to the both of you, grabbing the little rock he'd placed down.

rodeo champion, beau arlen.

"but then who will continue on with your bull ridin' legacy?"

beau's gaze is unbelievably soft when he meets your eyes. his fingers close around yours, bringing them to his lips to place a gentle kiss to each knuckle. "you're worth more than every dream, sweetheart." again, he kisses each knuckle, one by one, lingering on them this time. "i think a flower girl and a cowboy make a mighty fine pairin'."

you'd let beau tuck in daisy. daisy. his baby girl's name was daisy. she looked just like you, all except for the fire in those pretty green eyes she'd inherited from him. she was tiny, and a little spitfire, and it ached so desperately that he didn't get to watch what shaped this little girl. that, in a way, his absence did more for her than his reappearance had.

her room was a scattered mess of baby dolls and plushie horses. on her small dresser, beau had plucked that old hat of his off of her head and popped it there before he'd scooped her up and tucked her into the baby blue blankets on her bed.

"are you staying?" she asks him quietly, her voice a little slurry and sleep addled, tiny fingers curled into the hem of her blanket, holding it up to her chin.

beau brushes those stray, wild hairs off of your forehead, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her temple. "of course i'm stayin'. and miss out on my future rodeo champion growin' up? no way."

daisy's giggles spread a warmth through his veins that he hadn't felt in this house in far too many years. for the first time since he came back, he felt welcomed, though he knew that it was only because she didn't know, not really, who he was. "mommy told me about you."

"what did mommy say?"

under her little elbow was a little white horse plush, near identical to sunshine. his smile is hesitant, but there, as he drops his hand down to pat its head, and then hers.

"mommy said you were a dreamer," daisy says wistfully, her eyes fluttering as she forced them open, "that you chased things and chased things, no matter what it meant. she said you rode off into the sunset."

beau frowns when her eyes fall shut and stay shut, the rise and fall of her little breaths deepening and slowing. there was a time when people said that about him and meant it in a good way. there was a time when his name was spoken with reverence and awe.

that was before he'd moved up from local rodeos to the big time, where he proceeded to take all of his dreams besides that single, blinding one and dump them away.

one more time, he leans down to kiss the top of daisy's forehead, before he pushes off of the edge of her bed and flicks the light off as he leaves. he pulls the door shut behind him, leaving it gapped so that the golden light in the hallway filtered through. he didn't know if she was scared of the dark. beau didn't know much of anything about his daughter.

he did know, though, that someway, he had to make this right with you. you, who was sitting on the couch in the living room, filtering through channels on the tv screen. you glance up at beau when his steps creak on the old floors, before you quickly glance away.

"i'll put on the rodeo for you."

beau grimaces. like hell he'd want to see what the newer, spunkier cowboys were doing after he'd hung up the hat. like hell he'd want to watch it anyways, not right now, not after those showings were part of the reason his head got too big and he stopped thinking rationally.

"put on the simpsons or somethin'," he waves a hand idly in the tv's direction, "not that shit."

"whatever you want, arlen." you press the remote into the arm of the couch, your smile forced and sickly sweet at once. "you'll be the one down here watchin' it."

beau sidesteps as you pass, his face screwing up in irritation he didn't deserve to feel and confusion. "we're not even gonna talk? you're just gonna go to bed?"

"yes, beau," you toss back at him, spinning on your heel to face him. there it is, he wants to think. the anger he'd expected and didn't get, not once, until the sun fell and the guests cleared and their daughter drifted off. "yes. i'm gonna go to bed. because in the morning, i have to drop daisy off at kindergarten. i have to go to the shop and work. not all of us have the luxury of hangin' up a hat and callin' it done."

beau's lips thin. he nods a couple of times, his arms crossing firmly over his chest. "go on, sweetheart. keep 'em comin'. what else have you been stewin' on while i was gone?"

"you're a coward," slips out of your mouth as easily as i love you once did. "you abandoned everything at the first sight of freedom from this town. you didn't even think twice."

beau shakes his head, now, and doesn't stop. "you think i was free out there?" he takes a step closer to you, towering over you. you don't shrink. not even a little. "you think i felt free any of the days i wasn't in the ring? that i didn't feel suffocated by the weight of your hurt, back here?"

"you don't know a thing about hurt, beau. not if it hit you in the face."

"so hit me in the face. show me how it felt."

your palm cracks across his cheek, his jaw slackening with the force of it, skin reddening beneath the pale brown of facial hair. "there it is," he says out loud this time, a hand coming up to rub at the stinging scruff, "my pretty girl's fire."

"i am not," you shove his chest back, pushing his spine into the back of the couch, "your pretty girl."

beau throws his arms up and glances around. "and why the hell not? you got another man around here i don't know about? hidin' under our bed?"

your eyes flare. he's lashing out. he knows that all he's doing is finding all of your wounds and prodding at them until they rebruise, but he can't seem to stop. "so it's true, then."

"what's true, honey?" his eyebrows bounce, shoulders lifting in a shrug. "you'll have to talk to me if you wanna get pissy with me."

the eye twitch. beau missed everything about you while he was gone, but goddamn, that eye twitch. there was a twisted sort of comfort in the fact that only he could ever bring it out of you.

"you fucked kelsey."

"hey, watch the language, alright?" he tsks. "baby girl's upstairs tryna sleep n' all that."

"you fucked kelsey jones from tv, and now you're projectin', tryin' to make up some random man that i cheated on you with—"

beau's expression sharpens. "never once did i cheat on you." something has gone awry, and his control in this battle of words and anger has slipped. somewhere in your anger and your hurt and his guilt and shame, something got validated that shouldn't have been. "you think i cheated on you?"

"don't even lie to me, beau arlen, i'll go grab a goddamn butcher's knife, and—"

"i. never. cheated. on. you." his voice comes out firmer, and more harsh, than he intends. you fall silent. the echoing buzz of it in his ears is louder than any of your fight, so far. "never once was tempted."

your mouth trembles with, he hopes, anger and not tears. if you started to cry, he'd crumble. every bit of his resolve would crash down. "she wanted to fuck you."

"hell, a lot of people wanted to fuck me," he laughs, tries desperately to dampen the fire, but it only seems to stoke it a little higher. "kelsey jones only saw the big belt buckle. if terry gold had won, she'd have been all over him, too."

you don't even move. beau would have thought time was frozen in place if the simpsons wasn't quietly playing behind him on the tv.

"and 'i didn't think twice' about leaving?" he continues when you still don't say a thing. "sweetheart, i thought about you every damn day. no win was a win without you there, seein' your grinnin' face on the sidelines. i kept chasin' and chasin' because i thought i'd feel good if i won enough, or if i won the right championship, but by the time i realized that it never felt like a win because you weren't there, six years had passed."

not an excuse. beau knows he has no excuse at all for not just immediately turning to go back home, so he wasn't even going to bother trying to make one.

"i was going to tell you when you came home," you say, and the familiarity of your quiet voice is like a knife. "i knew you'd win. i told you that day that all of our dreams were coming true."

beau winces. "i know."

"and then you never came home." the knife plants itself in his heart and twists. the anger rises like a flush over your heated face. "you just kept movin' around, and i was left in your house, with all these little reminders of you, and an even littler one inside of me, and you were gone."

what can he do besides take it? he did make that choice. he made it over, and over, because he was a coward, and didn't want to face this exact conversation.

he thinks you might slap him again. but all you do is walk closer, like you really want him to feel the force of the consequences, until you're close enough for him to breathe in that perfume of yours.

"i can't even say i hate you," you manage, even though the words are stifled and choked on, a physical lump in your throat, "even though i want to."

beau's hands raise to cup your face between them, tilting your head up to properly look in your eyes. his always shimmered with wildness, something uncontained and dangerous; yours shimmered now with tears and everything broken between the two of you.

he doesn't mean to kiss you. he leaned down to whisper his apologies into your breath so that hopefully you'd breathe them in and know he meant them. but beau was not very good at doing the right thing, or the thing he intended to do.

you're tense when your lips meet. you taste like cherry chapstick, or maybe it was the two bites of delilah's cherry pie you'd had. he almost pulls away, has the apology lined up on his lips along with all of the others, but then you grab his face and force him closer.

your grip is harsh. nails bite into beau's skin as he follows your lead, his hands sliding under your thighs and hoisting you up into his arms, helping you to wrap them tightly around his waist. there's a lot of blind stumbling, but he makes it down the hall to your room.

your room, his room, both — what did it matter anymore?

it's even more haphazard as he collapses down on the edge of it, more focused on keeping you planted in his lap than he is on where he's landing. the room is still decorated the same, in the little glimpses he catches between breaths. the pictures in the frames on the dresser, the calendar still months behind, though he wonders if it's now months and years behind.

beau's heart aches, tight and taut behind his ribs, so he kisses you harder. his fingers find the zipper of your dress and start to trail it down, going back up to unclasp your bra in that same swoop.

your hands are on his chest, ripping at the flaps of his flannel, popping the buttons open, some of them flying loose. you look so beautiful in your anger, all bright eyed and flushed. beau lets you peel his shirt off of him, tossing it aside in the room. he lets you run your soft fingertips down his chest until they reach his jeans.

"stupid ass belt buckle," you grumble under your breath, looking up at him through your eyelashes, almost as if you were teasing him rather than trying to hurt him.

but the words hit their mark. yeah, the buckles were stupid, in the long run. he threw away the first six years of his daughter's life and six years with you for this stupid ass belt buckle. he'd wore it home as if it was some sort of flex that this is what his life boiled down to, on his own choices.

"let me make this right," beau murmurs down the column of your throat, sucking little marks into the skin, tasting the bruising skin with his tongue. "i'll make it right."

the belt buckle unclasps, and you're yanking it off of him wordlessly, though he can hear the little pants of breath falling out of your mouth. "can't," you manage to say, tugging open his jeans and trying to pull them off under your own weight.

"can't i try?" beau tugs the sleeve down your shoulder, helps you slip your arm loose from it.

you nudge his face up with your nose and steal a punishing kiss, teeth colliding and pinching the skin of his inner lip between them. "i'd rather you just shut up."

you'd hate him for this in the morning. hell, you'll probably hate him for all of this the moment that your orgasm subsided. he'd take these little moments of tension-ridden peace while he could.

the dress pools down on his waist, hung up by the fact that you were still in his lap, just like his jeans were. beau raises your arms to work the straps of your bra off, tossing it away as aimlessly as you'd thrown his shirt.

he goes back to your throat, trailing kisses downwards now, between the valley of your breasts and everywhere in between.

beau hooks his fingers into your panties with his lips sucking little marks on the tops of your breasts, tugging on the hem. "gotta get up for a sec, baby," he mumbles, kissing the sensitive marks he'd left, "got us at a standstill."

you raise up on your knees, kicking the dress away from you. the look you give him is some variation of malice, but he can look past the lingering hurt and see it for what it was. passion laced in with your anger, turning into something beautiful and violent, lashing against your veins and threatening to get out.

beau kicks his jeans off, his boxers following suit moments afterwards. he grabs you by the waist to get you to step between his legs, tugging your panties down your legs once you were close enough.

the lack of clothes seems to revitalize that rage warring inside of you. you go from complacent and warm against him to looking completely furious that this is happening at all. beau again expects another slap, but it doesn't come this time, either. instead, your hand shoves him back down onto the mattress.

"i want to hate you so bad," you say to him, a wobble to your voice that is more than enough proof that you meant it.

he reaches down for your hand, tugging you on top of him. "show me how bad," he whispers against your mouth, before he teases at your lip with his teeth.

you interlock your fingers with his, and for a second, it feels like it used to, back when you were both twenty and everything was fun and easy. it feels like the cool wind of nostalgia and the warmth of love. you lift the conjoined hands to rest against his chest as you shift from straddling his waist to settling into his lap, sinking down onto him in one slow motion.

beau watches every second. watches as your lips part as he stretches you open, your eyelashes flutter against your cheekbones. you still fit so perfectly around him, even if it hurt to admit that. how could he have thought for even a second that there was a dream better than the one he had in his lap?

your eyes lock onto his, and somehow, it's more intimate than your first time together was. more intimate than the entirety of your honeymoon. every emotion flashes across your face at once, and he reaches up to thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away the stray eyelash, though all that was, was just an excuse to touch you.

his other hand finds your hip, reluctantly having let go of your fingers, helping to guide your movements on him, even if you didn't need it. you knew what you were doing, knew what you wanted.

"i'm sorry," beau finally breathes out, the words more of a grunt than anything else. he opens his mouth to say more but you slap your hand over his lips, and it's all he can do not to laugh.

you grind down into his pelvis a little harder this time, smearing slow circles where you're connected, your lips open in wordless pants. "i told you to shut up."

"can't." he groans this time, his hips bucking up into you, the tip of his cock brushing along your cervix. he starts, and can't seem to stop it, as he meets your movements and buries himself into your tight walls. "got too many — too many things to apologize for."

even with glassy, dazed eyes, you manage a glare at him. it's probably the sexiest thing beau's ever seen. "you didn't answer my calls."

"felt like a dumbfuck," his voice is muffled against your palm, and your grip tightens over his mouth like a silent urge to shut the hell up, but he's never been one for listening, "sorry. dumbflip. thought it'd make it worse — when i didn't have an explanation."

you're not usually as domineering as this. you weren't exactly submissive to him, but you'd never held the control you had over him in positions like this and used it against him. because one moment you had a quick, steady pace as you rode him, and now you were agonizingly slow, your jaw ticking.

"you should have answered." beau wasn't listening. he could feel each time you stretched around him and could tell by the way your thighs tightened around his when he'd hit that spot deep enough inside of you to make you squirm. your hand squishes his face between your fingers to draw beau's attention again. "should have answered. should have checked in."

"i'm sorry." what was he even apologizing for again? all beau could think about was how his head was tipped back to meet the stern look in your eyes, and how pretty your mouth looked when it was pursed in that little pout. god, he was going to fucking bust like a teenager. "won't do it again."

"that's a terrible apology."

"sorry." all he can say is sorry. he'd been reduced to a mess of a man beneath you, and when he seemed to be reaching the point of desperation that you wanted him at, you finally stopped fighting against his grip's guidance and quickened your pace again. "really sorry, baby."

you move your hand away from his mouth, replacing it with a kiss that was almost loving, slow and languid. "you've got six years to make up for in one night. good luck."

yeah. good luck, alright. he didn't think he'd make it to the morning alive.

the adrenaline and the thrill that came from being in the bullring was an intoxication of its own, but beau found that it was nothing at all compared to the look on your face when he found you in the stands.

he'd pull you half over the gate and kiss the daylights out of you, until your lips were swollen pink and his ached with the loss of it. he'd stand on the podium with the local montana championship buckle on his belt, and it wouldn't even settle in that he'd won at all until you were dragging him back to his truck in the parking lot.

the people around town started saying his name differently now. he was outgrowing the reputation that he, rhett, and brooks had left as a heathen montana boy and was becoming his own name. a renowned name. one that, he could tell, you were proud to have attached next to yours.

"did you see?" you asked him one day at breakfast, sliding the newspaper across the table to him. "the next rodeo's gonna have scouts for the big leagues."

you were always his biggest fan. you told him to pursue this dream of his, ensured him that it was just as important as yours were to him, and so it only made sense that he take this next step for you. that he outshine every other guy in the county and take it big, down to dallas, texas.

and so he did. beau sustained a minor ankle sprain and a dislocated arm, but by god, did he ride hard, setting a local record and capturing the eye of that scout.

dallas has been waiting for a guy like you to come out, the scout told him. and beau saw gold; bright, shining, blinding gold.

"come with me," beau said the night before he had to leave, throwing handfuls of clothes and necessities into a duffel bag. he dreamt big, but he didn't plan big, and when given a week before the championship, he'd waited until two days before it to start and finish his packing.

you're taking the hangers that he tosses onto the bed, hanging them back up in the closet. "can't. i've got a shop to run and a horse to keep happy."

"sunshine'll live without her favorite girl for a few days."

"okay. scratch that." you snatched his stetson off of the dresser and put it delicately on your head. "someone's gotta hold it down here in arlenville."

beau laughed heartily, shaking his head in pure, unbridled amusement. "and you've taken up the mantle?"

"a sheriff's gotta do what a sheriff's gotta do."

he wanted to keep pushing, but he knew that you were stubborn — and right. you had a shop here to run, had a garden to maintain, and someone did have to watch over sunshine. as much as he wanted you there alongside him, he understood where you were coming from.

"i'm gonna bring it home, baby," he said when he rises to his feet, zipped up duffel sitting on the end of the bed. he tugged you into his arms, dipping down to kiss you once, twice. "gonna get the gold."

"i know," you nuzzled up into him, noses brushing together, "my cowboy can do anything."

beau ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "i should teach you how to ride," he murmurs, leaving little kisses down your cheek, just below your ear. "give her a li'l lesson on cowgirlin' up before i head out."

you laughed as he scooped you up in one arm, his other hand adjusting the hat properly on your head.

beau had put the hat back on you, too, that next day, when he was about to head out on the road. "keep it nice n' warm for me."

"don't you want it for good luck?"

beau's eyes ran all over you, his expression melting at the sight of you. "no. don't need it. i'll be back after this competition, baby," he promises, brushing a knuckle over your cheekbone, "and i've got all the good luck i need right here."

he brings his ring finger up to his lips, kissing the wedding band he wore. your eyes were a little glossy, but you still looked beautiful. a little nervous, maybe, but so was he.

beau takes a hold of your face between his bigger palms and drags you down to press his lips to your forehead, lingering there for awhile.

"i've got to tell you something," you breathed onto his lips, glancing between the both of his eyes. "but i'm gonna wait until you're home again. gotta keep your head on straight, don't you?"

beau laughed, taking your hand to kiss your wedding ring, too. "my head's always a little screwy around you."

"i'm serious," you laughed, too, and there those tears were again. he wished he could take them away, if only so you didn't look so devastated about these few days apart. "all of our dreams are coming true, beau."

he nodded, leaning in to kiss the tip of your nose once more. "they are," he agreed, brushing your hair out of your eyes, "and we've got so many more to make."

letting go of you was the hardest decision he'd ever made. if beau didn't, then, he wouldn't have. he'd have stayed there in your arms and wiped away all of those tears as they fell. but some dreams were infinite and some had a time limit, and he wasn't capable of letting this one slip through his fingers.

"i love you!" you called from the porch, waving at him through the windshield of his truck as he turned the engine.

beau hopped up to sit in the open window of the driver's seat, head peeking out over the roof of the truck. "i love you more, baby."

you open your mouth like you were going to argue, but you must have known that again, it would have kept him there for hours, going back and forth until one of you caved and you wound back up in bed.

he gives you a little wave this time, as he shifts to settle back into the driver's seat. beau starts to back out of the dirt driveway, alternating between your shrinking form on the porch, waving at him, and looking out the rearview mirror.

leaving one dream for another. it made him feel a little sick, knowing that he was leaving you here and not having you next to him, but at least it wasn't forever. at least it was just a few days that he'd be gone, and then he'd get to see you again.

just a few days.

the sun crested over the hill that the arlen farmhouse was planted upon, spilling bright gold through the glass and onto the sheets that you'd gotten tangled up in. last night was a blur of sweat and sex and too many apologies to count. at some point, you'd deemed beau forgiven enough to get some sleep, even though you felt a little nauseous over the thought of beau in the bed next to you.

too familiar, and yet not enough so.

at least beau seemed to get it, in a way. it may have taken a fight and a few mean words to get through to his skull that this wasn't something that could be solved in one night. he'd missed the birth of his little girl. he'd missed her first steps, first words, and her first lost tooth. missed her first day of kindergarten.

you felt as angry at him for it as you felt guilty. you did try to tell him, but beau didn't pick up the phone, and there was never a solid address to send letters to. you'd tried, but it still wasn't his fault that you found out about the pregnancy the day that he left. it was just his fault that he chose to not come back.

beau shifts a little in his sleep, his arm tossed over your waist and tucking you closer into his chest. he still smells a little like sex, but underneath it all is that cologne of his that you'd missed so desperately.

"g'mornin', sweetheart," beau rasps into your hair, pressing a kiss into the mop of it, just behind your ear. his voice is like gravel and sin. you'd both changed a lot in these last missed years, but fundamentally, he was still beau, and you were still yourself.

you see those traces of him in his smile when you tilt your head up to meet his sleepy eyes. the alarm clock on his side of the bed read 5:43. you'd have to start rallying daisy for breakfast, soon, so she had enough time to play and watch cartoons before school, like she always did.

just because your life routine changed didn't mean that hers had to.

beau brushes the hair away from your forehead. "what's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

"nothing." too quick to reign true. what was the point of trying to lie, anyways? you'd already slept with him. the anger was already dealt with, leaving nothing but a dull sort of ache in its place. "just... thinking how i have to wake daisy up, soon."

and that you felt a little guilty for everything. guilty for the fight. guilty for kissing him. guilty for pulling him back into your bed like he hadn't walked out on you. guilty for hearing his apologies and still not knowing whether it was safe to forgive him.

his smile doesn't fade, not even for a second. there's still the underlying fear that he was going to leave again, but at least there was the reassurance that he was still beau arlen, sweet as a man could be when he wasn't so caught up on the what ifs.

"let me."

your eyebrows furrow. you open your mouth to insist otherwise, but he steals a kiss before you can. his lips dance with yours slowly, savoring the taste and the familiarity of the motion. "i'm serious, baby. let me."

beau shifts again behind you, this time to ease you onto your other side to face him better. words don't come to the surface now that you need them to.

"what was her first word?"

"baba." you smile a little, thinking back to little daisy in your arms, her tiny fingers grasping impatiently for the bottle in your fingers. "she was hungry."

he smiles, too, a shadow replica of yours. just as hesitant, sad; the same feeling of loss over what could have been a shared memory. "first steps?"

"she ran." you lean your forehead against his, closing your eyes for a second, remembering those days when she was littler but just as rambunctious, barreling into everything without a care of the scrapes and the bruises. "i was walkin' with her, holdin' her up on my feet, and she just... took off."

"sounds like you," beau teases, kissing the tip of your nose.

you snort, opening your eyes again. "no. it sounds like you."

beau's little smile fades. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb across it. "i'm sorry," he whispers, sincerity oozing out of the words so thick that you could almost taste their bittersweet honey, "i should have been here. hell, i should have long already been here."

"you should have answered the phone, too."

he nods. "should have done a lot of things differently."

it's not that you didn't forgive him, or that you were entirely angry with him. those feelings still existed, but at least he was here now, and at least he knew he messed up. you couldn't exactly make a proper judgement call on if he'd changed and learned from those mistakes, now; not until he proved that he meant these pretty promises he was making.

"daisy..." beau mumbles to himself, a little huff of a laugh falling from his lips, now. "i can't wait to get to know her."

"she's just like you," you say, desperately hoping that he ignores the voice crack in your words. "full of dreams and energy and wonder. she's great, beau. she's really great."

the pad of beau's thumb swipes underneath your eye, tracing the lift of your cheekbone. "we gotta get the hell up," he says around a yawn, a dimple poking through his muss of facial hair as he gives you a little grin, "we've got a little girl to drop off at school."

TWO YEARS LATER —

daisy is seven, almost eight. she calls beau dad with ease, even though she had from the moment that she met him. she brings home report cards with straight a's and b's and notes from the teacher about being a little bit mouthy, a little bit wild, but otherwise a wonder to have in class.

beau has her in front of him on the swingset, pushing her even though she insists she can do it herself. he knows she can, but he has a lot of parenting to make up for, and he was so damn glad to.

inside the house, he could hear the chattering of his friends and yours, cleaning up the remnants of a get-together dinner. ella gaylestone is just as crazy as rhett was, and so she was leashed to his belt loop to keep from running and tearing things up, even though beau knew that she just wanted to come out here and play, too.

he was picking up these things, these natural instincts that came with being a parent. rhett and delilah probably knew that their little girl wanted to play, but they also knew that sometimes, like now, daisy just wanted some time with beau.

he'd never deny his baby girl these moments, either.

abigail was pregnant with her and brooks's first. a boy; the first boy to get granted heir to the montana boys legacy, they'd said, though the girls were already proving themselves to be just as worthy too. daisy was so clever, and ella was crazy; they would pick up where beau, rhett, and brooks left off just fine.

"daddy, you never told me about the bull ridin'," daisy says suddenly, craning her head back over her shoulder to look at him. her green eyes were so pale and bright in the setting sun. "i thought you'd have so many stories."

she loved sunshine as much as beau had once loved moonlight. you and beau had signed her up for horse riding lessons that she didn't need, not when she was already a natural. she was his kid, through and through.

"what do you want to know?"

she hums, tapping her fingers along the chains she holds onto. "was it scary?"

"very scary."

"why did you do it then?"

beau wasn't very good with the why questions that came with parenting, though, but was any parent? he mimics her humming noise, just to make her laugh. "sometimes the scary things are the best things."

it was as good of an answer as he could give. that was something she'd learn with time, just like he'd learned how to slip into the role of father. something innate that clicked into place when the time was right.

it'd been terrifying to leave you, that day. it'd been terrifying to come back. it'd been terrifying falling in love with you, and even more so when he fell deeper in love. it'd been horrifying to meet his daughter at six years old. all of those things were things that he did not regret.

he glances out toward the open fields of land behind the arlen family home. daisies and sunflowers and, now lining the fence of their yard, roses. the wind blew and with it came the sweet smell of flower petals and pollen.

the back porch door swings open, and out toddles a wobbly stepped little girl, heading straight for the playground. rhett looks a bit sheepish in the doorway, tossing his hands up in exasperation. "she's got a mind of her own."

"that's alright," beau reassures, slowly pulling daisy's swing to a stop, even with her protests. "you gonna be okay hangin' out with uncle rhett and little ella?"

"do i get to stay up late tonight?" already bargaining with him. daisy arlen was definitely his little girl. you'd been right about her being just like him.

beau sighs dramatically. "i guess so. only tonight, though. you've got school again in a couple days."

daisy picks up ella and puts her on her hip, and it nearly makes beau's knees buckle. he doesn't want her to grow up just as much as he does want her to. it's so bittersweet, watching kids become adults, seeing how quickly it all happens. he used to carry daisy on his hip like that.

he turns to head back inside, waving away rhett's offer of a cigarette as he does. brooks seems to smell the cigarette through the florally scents in the wind and passes beau on his way in.

"they're havin' girl talk," brooks warns, snatching rhett's cigarette from between his lips, "good luck in there."

beau snorts. what did beau need luck for when he's already gotten lucky enough to have earned your forgiveness and your trust again?

still, he lingers a little longer in the kitchen, listening in for a good time to dip in and see you again. no amount of time anymore was enough time with you, in his mind.

"do you know what it is, yet?" abigail. beau smiles a little to himself, knowing exactly what they were talking about.

your voice chimes in next, a little hum to the words out of your mouth. "no. i don't think we want to know, either."

"that couldn't be me. i had to know the second i could." delilah. her voice is louder than the others, and before he knew it, she was about to run straight into him. "oh, sorry, beau. girlie, your beau's in here!"

beau shakes his head, stepping out of her way. delilah goes straight for the lemonade pitcher, and so beau goes ahead and grabs her a cup. "very original, delly."

"hey, i got a lot of cheesy beau jokes to catch up on!"

beau snorts, letting delilah pour her glass of lemonade before he steals it right from her hand, dipping out of the kitchen and into the living room as she protests behind him.

"beau," you say with a little sigh, looking up from your spot in the rocking chair to meet his eyes. he comes to stand next to you, bending down to kiss your temple.

abigail's nails tap mindlessly on her own lemonade glass. "maybe you will tell me," she says, sitting up straighter, "since your girl here won't."

you roll your eyes fondly, your hand coming up to steal beau's off of the armrest. he lets you take his hand, tracing shapes on his palm with your fingertips. "she's being nosy."

"i'm always nosy! so tell me!" abigail looks over at beau, now, one hand strewn over her swollen belly. "what are your name ideas?"

beau huffs out a laugh, taking the stetson off of his head and draping it on top of yours. "this is what that's about?"

"told you," you hum, your free hand lifting up from your own swollen belly to adjust the brim of the hat on your head, "nosy, nosy."

beau doesn't mind it, though. he's got years of talking about his kids and boasting about his family to make up for. "rose. we were thinkin' rose."

notes. u may be thinking omfg dahlia finally watched big sky !! beau arlen !! no i did not. i stole his name and the lil info i could find on the big sky wiki n i made an au <3 bc that is my specialty!!! not knowing canon shit so i make aus!!! terrified to post this literally bc what if the beau arlen lovers think i did bad. i will pretend i don't see. anyways this is long asf sorry i had a STORY TO TELL !!! LOL

tags. @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @couturewinx @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra

#dahlia's ☆ journal #divider by thecutestgrotto #bull rider!beau arlen #high school sweetheart!reader #big sky #beau arlen #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen one shot #beau arlen smut #beau arlen fluff #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles smut #jensen ackles fluff

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losers-clvb · 2 days ago

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meeting the family soldier boy x female!reader

a series of events including you, ben, and your crazy family.

follow the story:

meeting the family

#x reader #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy fanfic #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x female reader #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #soldier boy fluff #yapper!reader

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cheynovak · 5 days ago

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Cramped and Cranky

Pairing: Y/N (Butcher’s niece) x Soldier Boy (Ben)

Summary: Request: Y/N has more pain during her period after taking tempV. Nothing seems to help. So Ben offers a somewhat alternative solution.

⚠️ warnings⚠️ This story is NOT for everyone. 18+! MDNI! Sex during period, mentioning of blood.

This request is so old I forgot who asked me and I can't seem to find the conversation anymore. It's has been sitting in my drafts for soooo long, I'm glad I finally finished it. I have to be honest, I had no idea how to start this. Please if it's not your cup of tea do NOT read it. I hope the person who requested it finds it 🙈

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Sharing, liking and comments are appreciated.

Read warnings before reading this story, this might gross some people out and it's totally ok.

You didn’t sign up for this.

Well, technically, you did. You agreed to help your uncle. Uncle Billy doesn’t ask for much unless it’s everything. And apparently, “everything” now included babysitting rhe most psychotic, narcissistic, 1940s man-child Supe in the country.

Soldier Boy was parked in front of the motel’s TV, flipping through channels like he owned the damn place. You were hunched in the kitchenette, gripping the counter like it might save you from the hellscape that was your uterus.

Temp V hadn’t just messed with your nerves and muscles — it had dialed your cycle up to demonic. You felt like your insides were staging a mutiny with knives.

“You okay?” Annie peeked in, concern knitted between her brows. “You look... pale. Have you tried working out? That sometimes helps.”

You whipped around, eyes flashing. “Working out? I can barely crawl to the bed, Annie. How the hell do you expect me to drag myself to a gym?!”

From the other side of the room, Soldier Boy chuckled low. “Well, there is another kind of workout, sweetcheeks. One where you don’t need to leave he bed."

Your face twisted in confusion — then realization.

You blinked. “Ew. That’s gross.”

Ben just shrugged, eyes still on the TV. “It gives the same endorphins as sports. Besides a little blood never hurt nobody.”

“Again, ew! No!”

“Moisture is moisture,” he replied with a smirk, finally glancing over his shoulder at you. “If you need someone to lend a hand... or anything else, just yell.”

You gave him a withering glare before locking yourself in the bathroom with the loudest door slam you could muster.

The next few days were hell. Pain. Cramps. Nausea. Temp V withdrawal. More cramps. Soldier Boy’s suggestive comments. You’d screamed into a pillow more times than you cared to admit.

But on day four, you cracked.

You stumbled out of the barhroom, sweat-slick and dead-eyed, collapsing next to him on the couch. Your body felt like it had been through war, and even the shitty motel couch felt like heaven.

Ben raised a brow. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” you muttered. “Feel like it too.”

He shifted slightly to make room. “You here to take me up on that offer?”

You snorted weakly, resting your head back. “Only if you promise I'm not gonna to die halfway through.

“Sweetheart, I invented halfway through.”You cracked a tired smile. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to.”

You shook your head, but you didn’t move. Not yet. You were too tired. Too sore. Too everything.

But for once, he didn’t push. He just turned the volume up and let you rest, the heat of him radiating against your arm.

Maybe, just maybe, this whole “babysitting” thing wasn’t entirely hell. Well not if he kept his mouth shut.

You sat there in silence for a long moment, eyes fixed on the screen but not really watching. Your body was a war zone, every nerve ending firing off like a bad fireworks display. Still, maybe it was the fever haze of pain or the desperation for anything to distract you that made you speak again.

“So... let’s just say someone wanted to... have sex while...” You gestured vaguely at your abdomen, grimacing. “You know. Theoretically, obviously.”

Ben slowly side-eyed you, his brow lifting. He reached forward and turned the volume on the TV down, a small smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.

“Theoretically?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” you said stiffly, arms crossed over your stomach. “Theoretically.”

“Well,” he started, casual like this was an after-dinner conversation and not completely unhinged. “Theoretically, it all stays the same. Boy meets girl..."

"Yeah I know the bees and birds crap Ben. I mean what about, you know the mess one might make." Ben shrugged. "Could put a towel in bed. Lay on top of that.”

Your expression twisted like he’d just suggested using a white couch. He noticed, of course. “Or,” he added smoothly, “the shower. Clean. No mess. No stains. Everything washes right off.”

You blinked at him. “The shower?”

He leaned back, one arm slung lazily over the couch, looking a little too pleased with himself. “Yeah. Hot water, slick bodies, less of the whole murder cleanup situation.”

You stared at him like he’d just done calculus in front of you. Then, suddenly doubling over with another sharp cramp, you grabbed your stomach and hissed through your teeth.

Ben didn’t move to help, just watched with a tinge of concern—and maybe, annoyingly, amusement. "You know way too much about this,” you groaned.

He shrugged one shoulder, all nonchalance. “A man learns things in seventy years. Some things stick.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He grinned. “And you’re the one asking me how to bang on your period, theoretically.”

You let your head fall back against the cushion, hand still clutching your stomach. “God, I hate that this is somehow the most helpful conversation I’ve had all week.”

Ben reached for the remote again. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents. And for you I'm free of charge."

You snorted. “Yeah, okay. Let me survive this uterus apocalypse first.”

“Take your time, sweetcheeks. I ain’t going anywhere."

---

Later that night, the TV was playing some rerun he wasn’t watching, and the dim lamp by the bedside barely cut through the motel’s perpetual gloom. Ben’s attention flicked from the screen when he noticed you get up slowly, one hand on your lower back, the other cradling your stomach, and shuffle toward the bathroom.

“Need a hand?” he asked, voice light, teasing.

You grunted something that sounded suspiciously like *go to hell* and closed the bathroom door behind you.

Ben didn’t move. Not right away. But he listened.

You stood there for a moment, just breathing, one hand on the sink’s edge, staring at yourself in the mirror.

The cramps hit hard again, a sharp, twisting pain that pulled a whimper straight from your throat before you could stop it. You hated being weak. Hated needing help. But the pain was relentless — and, annoyingly, the stupid Supe lounging out there might be the only one who could distract you from it.

“Ben,” you called out, voice tight and shaky.

There was silence. Then the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps.

The door creaked open a few inches. “Yes?” he asked, feigning innocence like he didn’t already know damn well what this was about.

You swallowed, trying to focus on anything other than how flushed your skin felt. “If we do this,” you started carefully, “if we try it, and I don’t like it—”

“We stop,” he finished easily, his voice softer than it had been all night. “Simple.”

You looked at him. Really looked. There was no smirk. No joke. Just heat behind his eyes and something unexpectedly patient.

You nodded once, lips pressed into a line. That was all he needed.

Without a word, he stepped inside and pulled the curtain back."After you."

You should’ve felt awkward dropping your towel. Shy. Something. But as the warm water ran down your skin and Ben stepped in behind you, tall and solid and radiating heat, all you felt was the faintest flutter of something else entirely—something that, for once, wasn’t pain.

“You sure?” he murmured, his voice close against your ear now, steam curling between you.

You took a breath, still clutching the edge of the shower wall for balance.

“No,” you admitted. “But I’m tired of hurting.”

The water poured steadily between you, steam curling around your bodies. Ben’s hands found your hips first — warm, steady, not rushing. You expected something crude, immediate. But instead, his touch was patient. Slow.

His fingers moved deliberately, rubbing small circles along your lower back, then upward between your shoulder blades. The tension in your body was impossible to miss — you were practically locked up, muscles clenched like you were bracing for pain.

“Relax,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “You’re tighter than a damn vice, sweetheart.”

You huffed, half a laugh, half frustration. “Yeah, well... maybe if you hurried up I wouldn't think about it too much. ”

Ben chuckled, the sound low and rough against your neck. “That’s not how this works,” he said, planting soft kisses against your damp skin, trailing down the curve of your shoulder. “If you don’t ease up, it won’t help. Your body would just be fighting me the whole time.”

You exhaled, long and slow, eyes fluttering shut. His mouth, his hands — they were still gentle, still coaxing instead of taking. It was disarming in a way you hadn’t expected from him.

You didn’t even notice you were leaning into him until you felt his chest against your back, solid and warm, anchoring you.

Then his hand moved lower. Fingertips brushing between your thighs, slow, testing, teasing. You stiffened instinctively and your hand shot down, grabbing his wrist.

“Relax,” he said again, softer this time, voice more coaxing than before. “I got you.” You held your breath for a beat. Then you let go. And just like that, the pain didn’t feel so loud anymore and you focussed on his touch.

When Ben felt you were ready — really ready — his hand gently guided your hip, turning you toward the tiled wall. His voice dropped, commanding but low, not cruel, just... certain.

“Bend over,” he murmured. “Hands on the wall.”

Your body hesitated. Just for a second. Because this — this — was Soldier Boy. And this moment wasn’t supposed to be this vulnerable. Not with him. But his touch was steady, patient. His warmth surrounded you.

You did as he asked.

The first moment he pressed against you, it was strange — not painful, not intense, just... surreal. The kind of moment you never imagined you’d live through. You braced yourself, heart hammering — and then he started to move.

Slow. Careful. Gentle in a way you didn’t think Ben even had in him. And for some reason you need to feel more of him. Gradually you moved to stand up straighter, wanting to feel his chest against your back while he dipped in and out slowly.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your neck, one hand steady on your waist, the other tracing light, grounding circles along your breast. “You’re doin’ so good. Just breathe. Relax.”

The words. His voice. They did something.

You started to move without thinking, syncing with the rhythm he set — gentle, measured, built more around soothing than pleasure, though somehow, it gave you both. Every time his hips met yours, another layer of pain peeled away, like your body was finally letting go.

“Ben,” you breathed, barely a whisper. He kissed the side of your neck, still cooing in that low, reverent voice. “I got you, sweet girl. I’m right here.”

And for the first time in days, you believed it.

You weren’t just easing the ache in your body — you were finally letting yourself feel something other than pain. You moved for him. Grinding against him. Guided by the sound of his voice and the heat he left on your skin.

And for once, in the middle of a shitty motel bathroom with a literal war relic whispering soft praise into your ear, you forgot the pain.

And then — he shifted just slightly, angle changing, and hit that spot that made you see stars. You cried out, a broken, breathless sound that echoed off the tiled walls, sharp but laced with something sweeter. Relief. Release.

Ben stilled for half a second, then his voice came low, rough, but tinged with a little smugness. “That it?” he asked against your ear, lips brushing skin.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, yes… oh god, yes.” It came out like a prayer, desperate and grateful all at once.

He adjusted his grip on your hips, grounding you with strong hands as he started to move faster — not rough, but with intent. Purpose. Each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, until your thoughts scattered like ash.

Your hands slipped a little against the wall, knees weakening with every stroke. And then you were gone — falling over the edge with a shuddering gasp, hips stuttering as pleasure rolled through you like a wave.

Ben followed right after, a sharp grunt of breath at your shoulder. He pulled out fast, just in time, one hand guiding himself down as he spilled into the tub with a low groan, keeping his other hand steady next to yours on the wall.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Just the sound of the water and your shaky breaths filled the space. You turned your head slightly, blinking back at him with your lips parted, legs still trembling beneath you.

He caught the look and softened — just barely — leaning in to press a kiss to your damp, overheated forehead.

“Take your time,” he murmured, voice gentle now. You nodded, still catching your breath, your fingers gripping the wall for one last moment of stability.

And for the first time in days, your body didn’t feel like a battleground.

The moment you walked out the bathroom you noticed the bed was semi made and a glass of wine on the nightstand. Ben was watching the tv but got up to guid you to the bed.

Instead of telling him to leave you alone, like you would have any other time, you held his arm will sliding into the bed. "I... I eh.." He smiled, a genuine soft smile and nodded, climbing in begin me.

You lay there in the quiet, wrapped in Ben’s warmth, his hand still gently moving over your belly. The pain had dulled to a low hum now, manageable, distant — and your mind had space to think again.

Maybe too much space.

“…Why’d you do that?” you asked, voice soft against the hush of the room. He didn’t answer right away. His thumb kept drawing slow, absent-minded circles.

“My ex,” you added after a moment, “he would’ve never. Not when I was… like this.” Ben scoffed under his breath — not at you, but at the idea of the guy.

You turned slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder

“Why would you?” you asked. “Why not be grossed out or weird about it like every other guy?”

Ben’s hand stilled for a second before he pulled back just enough so you could fully turn and face him. He was propped slightly on one elbow now, looking down at you, serious — maybe more serious than you’d ever seen him.

“Real men don’t give a damn if you’re shaved, if it’s that time of the month, or any of that bullshit,” he said, voice low, firm. “Your bodies? They’re incredible. You carry life. You bleed, you break, you keep going anyway.”

He touched your face, knuckles brushing your cheek.

“If a man can’t handle that — can’t respect it? Then he’s not a man. He’s a coward. And he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you, sweetcheeks.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how much weight his words carried — like he wasn’t just saying them to soothe you, but because he believed them.

Your fingers found the side of his chest, holding him there. You stared up into his eyes, the space between you almost buzzing with something new — something real.

Ben held your gaze, then leaned in, kissing you softer this time. Slower. And before you could even process it, he shifted, gently moving you onto your back, his body pressing against yours with care.

You felt him, hard and ready, But he didn't act on it — no rush, no teasing. Just heat and connection. Eye to eye. It was different now. He was different.

Or maybe it was you who saw felt something else for him. Something... deeper. More intimate. There was no pain this time. No tension. Just the soft sound of your breathing the quiet rhythm you fell into together.

Your fingers curled into his shoulder. He kissed you again. His forehead rested against yours, both of you quiet in the soft glow of the motel lamp, tangled together in the after heat.

You didn't move. You didn’t want to. You loved the weight the feeling of him close.

His hand brushed your side again, thumb stroking light, lazy patterns over your skin. There was something almost... reverent in the way he touched you now. Like he knew exactly how fragile this moment was, and didn’t want to be the one to break it.

You exhaled slowly.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said into the silence. He huffed, a soft laugh vibrating against your ribs. “You never took your time to get to know me.”

You glanced up at him, and he was already looking at you. That stupid cocky glint wasn’t there this time — just quiet intensity. “Still think I’m disgusting?” he asked with a half-smirk.

You smiled, lips quirking. “Maybe. But you’re disgustingly sweet, which might be worse.” He chuckled again and leaned down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “Don’t go spreading that around.”

You were about to reply when — *bang*. The motel door slammed open. Ben didn't flinched, groaning like a man who already knew what was coming.

You scrambled to yank the sheet up as a very furious, very loud voice filled the room.

“What the bloody hell is going on here?!” Butcher stood in the doorway, eyes wide, face a redder shade of fury you didn’t know humans could turn.

“Uncle,” you said flatly, heart pounding. Ben didn’t move an inch from where he lay with you, one arm still slung across your waist. The other holding his weight above your head.

“Billy.” He said in his grumpy soldier boy voice.

Butcher’s gaze flicked between the both of you — you, flushed and half-buried in sheets; Ben, looking smug and completely unapologetic.

His eye twitched. “You were supposed to babysit him,” he snapped at you. "You told me to watch him." You shrugged. “Technically, I still am.”

Ben smirked. “She did a thorough job.”

“Jesus Christ,” Butcher muttered, already turning to walk out, probably to punch a wall or throw something. “I’m gonna be sick.” The door slammed again, leaving the two of you in stunned, awkward silence.

Then you burst out laughing. Ben looked amused seeing you feel so good but most importantly without pain. "So," he said. "How about a movie and wine?"

You kissed his lips and whispered "Sounds perfect." Ben draped himself behind you facing the tv. He kissed your ear and whispered. "Just yell whenever it starts to hurt again. I place a few towels in bed."

You elbowed him and joked. "you’re disgusting".

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn @cevansbaby-dove

#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #fluff #soldier boy #the boys #smut #soldierboy #the boys fanfic

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lacydollette · 6 months ago

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pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially younger gf ! four

youruser

Liked by tatemcrae and others

youruser moments I didn’t get to share yet ☕️

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girlytingz tate and y/n serving iconic duo 🤐

youruser u best believe so 🙂‍↕️

forjensenandy/n she is so trophy wife coded

j2lover for real! @/jensenackles where’s the ring at?

gibson-g1rl the face card is LETHAL

bowblogger y/n should def be a pinterest blogger

casmybeloved still not over the fact that they’ve been dating for 8 months now

tatemcrae miss ya already, can’t wait to see u in Dallas!

youruser me neither babes 😽

luvfory/n in my head im best friends with her

dreamyjackles last pic is my fav

jensenackles

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jensenackles had the best time at the premiere of The Boys Season 3 ! and thank you @/youruser for tagging along and being my biggest supporter 🧡

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jacklesfan_1 so nice to see jensen happy !!

youruser so so proud and beyond excited for u my love ❤️

jensenackles couldn’t do it without you

forjackles im crying 🥹 my parents

yourfavwichester soldier boy is the best character

beausling HIS HAND IN THE 3RD PIC??! GOING FERAL

forjensenandy/n if they break up i’ll never believe in love again

jaredpadalecki so deserved brother 🧡

liked by jensenackles

ev1lwitch y/n should join the show

ellielovesdean can we pls not make this about her rn and just focus on jensen’s work instead? thx 😊

mymishabear luckiest man alive rn

youruser

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youruser drum roll please 🥁 go watch Season three of The Boys on @/primevideo now !!

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samstielcore y’all are the perfect couple

girlblogger1 THE FIRST PIC??!! IMMA THROW UP HE’S SO- 😩

yourbestiesuser “no sex in the elevator”

youruser sry, i suddenly forgot how to read 🙂‍↕️

casmybeloved oh so they’re freaky like that 😶

acklesbabyy WDYM??! I CANNOT DO THIS RN WTF

girlyvampz literally my wattpad dream couple

witchyville all these reaching 50 adults wanting to be with someone who’s barely past the drinking age is wild to me 😂😂

rowenalcver gosh ur life must be so miserable 😔

carasblog how to be y/n’s bestie no borax no glue pls

dazzlingsammy wish i was that wine bottle

verslaafd tryna flex u r not cool or smt

y/n_defender jealous much?

deanieboy BRAT

youruser 14min

492.817 Viewers

back to feeding my kids 🎀

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated!!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @nuemanfilms @beausling @angelicjackles @nxptvn @sammyluvr @starkeysprincess @drewsarms @lailawinchesterr @hischrrypie @alluvthegurlz

#works ₊˚⊹♡#jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles smau #jensen ackles social media au #jensen x y/n #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader #social media au

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pearlzier · 7 months ago

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────⠀ ⠀AT THE FAIRGROUND w/ SOLDIER BOY.

NOTES .ᐣ idea came from the loveliest @sl33pylilbunny :3 this is SO cute i love it so much ohmygosh. used a jellycat cause i love em n want one really bad.

"i'll win y'every single thing in this damn place if it'll get you to stop whinin' 'bout it," ben grumbles as he stares down the plush toy stuck within its glass enclosure. it's taunting him, taunting you. those beady black eyes.. it knows exactly what it's doing. and ben'll be damned if he loses to a fucking teddy bear with a pumpkin for a body. he'd beat countless of threats before—a teddy bear was nothing. and besides, you'd been giving the thing the softest, most adoring googly eyes from the moment you'd seen it. which was approximately.. almost an hour ago.

the staring was fine, sure, but the moment you started begging him to win it for you, for a good ten minutes? yeah, he has to get it over and done with, he realised. after the fifth, "ben, please, it's half teddy bear half pumpkin," he'd been practically sprinting across the fairground to make it to the infamous claw machine holding your future plush toy hostage. that toy would be yours, he'd make sure of it. it has to be.

he also wanted to prove the stories wrong, the ones saying that the claw machine was 'unbeatable' or that it took only luck to win it. he's soldier boy, for fuck's sake. "which one you want again, sweetheart?" he sighed, scratching the back of his neck momentarily. ben knew exactly what you wanted but he wanted to see the twinkle in your eyes when you mentioned it.

your brows raise skeptically for a minute when he asks, but a soft smile settles on your lips. "that one right there," you hum, "teddy bear, pumpkin body, it's literally perfect, oh my god," ben just watches you for a minute, a scoff escaping him. though the corners of his lips flit up at the sight of you and he sighs, "yeah, yeah, i got it. just watch 'n' learn." he gestured for you to step back a little bit, so he could work his magic.

honestly? anyone else looking on would've been so confused to see a guy like ben winning a stuffed toy. or at a fairground in the first place. he'd been totally reluctant, actually—it's not exactly his kind of fun but it is yours. he was wrapped around your finger wholeheartedly, he'd do every damn thing you asked him to. even if he wouldn't admit it, even if it was a little embarrassing for him. so dragging him to the fairground wasn't difficult at all when it came down to it.

and he had to admit, it was pretty cool here. it's halloween themed, with all the trimmings—haunted house, kids in cute costumes, the music. it almost makes him nostalgic, in a way. going on the rides was a lot of fun too, seeing the way you screamed and shriek when the two of you went on the drop tower was so much fucking fun.

"stop being a pussy—! holy fucking shit, this is it, it's over—"

what he didn't want to admit was the way he was also screaming and shrieking everytime the gondola got dropped. despite how he denied it, those photos you'd gotten on the way out completely corroborate your statement and destroyed his. those'd be perfect for your wallet, you knew. and y'know what'd be even better for like, your life, just, in general? that teddy bear.

"people say these things are rigged," ben starts, rubbing his hands together as if that's summoning the power he needs to beat the machine.

you stare at the back of his head for a moment, a skeptical sound escaping you. an interesting take from ben, sure, but everyone knows he has a lot of those. "is that not because they literally are rigged?" your words are amused, and you full on laugh when he pins you with that unamused look of his own. "just saying," your shoulders shrug, a smile playing on your lips at the sight of him.

"gotta have faith, baby," he tells you, deciding not to actually address what you'd said in favour of channeling any and all energy towards winning you the toy. "with all this strength o'mine it's gonna work," ben murmurs, holding onto the joystick like it owes him money. you won't be surprised if it does end up owing him money considering the odds of a claw machine like this one.

if he didn't manage to win the teddy bear, you wouldn't mind all that much. sure, you wanted it, but at the same time, the dedication that ben had to do it for you would've been enough. but also, you knew you wouldn't be leaving that damn machine without a pumpkin teddy bear in your hands. "you see, it's all in the technique."

"technique, huh?" you muse, moving a little closer to stand beside him and watch for a moment, hands moving into the pockets of your jacket. well, his jacket. you'd taken it since it was warm and smelt exactly like his cologne. "yeah, technique," ben nods, completely serious, not an ounce of sarcasm in his tone compared to yours. "told y'to watch 'n' learn, so watch 'n' learn," he cleared his throat, before his brow furrowed in concentration.

your watching and learning soon became watch and learn how to get narrowly close to being banned from a fairground. you're pretty sure the amount of profanities that came out of ben over the past.. probably ten minutes is enough to get the two of you thrown out considering how many children are nearby. might get a record for the most mothers covering their childrens' ears at this rate.

"ben, it's okay, i can just buy one off the websi—"

"you're getting this fucking bear tonight, darlin'," everytime you'd tried to convince him it was okay, that you guys could go get burgers and fries and call it a day, he told you that the two of you wouldn't be moving from there. "almost got it.. almost.." his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, as he inserted another coin into the machine. this time the joystick actually owed him money. and the thirty other times, but that didn't matter now.

you zone out a little bit now, assuming this'd be like the aformentioned thirty other times, where he'd spewed out obscenities, then proceeded to shove another coin into the machine like nothing had happened prior. ben had assured you this was his 'method' and everything was happening according to plan. he'd never exactly been great at planning, but there you were.

"i told you!" that snaps you out of your thoughts, and much to your surprise, when you look up, there's a teddy bear with a pumpkin for a body in ben's hands. he's beaming like an idiot, so proud of himself even if he'd been acting previously like he wasn't even breaking a sweat. he wipes his forehead, some sweat having accumulated from how hard he was working. a little concerning, considering it was a pretty cold day, but.. the dedication.

"oh my god, ben!" you're practically squealing, looking between him and the teddy bear back and forth rapidly before you find yourself wrapping your arms around the two of them. subtly tucking the toy by his armpit, he eases his arms around you in return. a smug smile settles on his lips, his head cocking to the side momentarily to get a full look of you so happy and clinging to his figure.

"just doin' what i gotta do, y'know," ben shrugs, his free hand cradling the back of your head gently. the two of you were completely blocking the claw machine from anyone else, some kid standing there awkwardly since he wanted to use it, but he decided you two were having a bit of a moment so he thought maybe the haunted house was a better choice. "you uh.. really like that thing, huh?"

"like you a lot more, actually," you mumble, grasping at his face and drawing him closer so you can peck your lips to his own. his eyes widen for a minute, and before he gets the chance to melt in more, you pull back. he pouts, glancing around a minute. it made sense, yeah, this is a fairground, but still. can't leave a guy hanging like that. he sighs, "had me workin' real hard there. think the least a guy can get is some good food, right?"

you hummed for a moment in mock thought. as if you were gonna say no and make him win another plush toy. he quite literally would've lost his mind if you'd asked him to. luckily, you nodded, "okay, yeah. burgers?" you offer too, head tilting.

"and fries, can't forget 'em," he murmured, nodding his head in return. before he walked with you to the food stands, he reached for the teddy bear and pushed it into your hands gently. a soft smile played on his lips, "yeah, now we're ready. c'mon, m'fuckin' starvin'."

ִ ֹ ★ @blue-d, @dayzeandhaze, @gibson-g1rl, @stevelacylovebot, @psychicnatural, @funkycoloured, @lovesickgrlsrh0t, @soldierboycunt, @hrtsoldierboy, @beetlejenna, @venusiers, @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @pr3ttyf4wn, @pillwebb, @beridollie, @sincerebabydoll, @angelicjackles, @sweetrelieef, @deansbite, @morganwrites12672, @chevroletdean, @fallbhind ִ ꒱

#𐙚˙ ana writes ⋆.˚#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy fluff #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jensen ackles #jensen ackles fluff #the boys #the boys x reader

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deansbeer · 2 months ago

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♡ under wraps ⎯⎯ jackles.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. you and jensen keep your fiery, forbidden relationship secret—until lingering tension threatens your composure.

kari talks ◞ everyone thank daddy dolly for giving me the idea of fucking costar!jensen behind the scenes <33 he's so yummy in this photo and what i had envisioned in my head the entire time writing it :) am i slut for daddy jackles ??? fuck yeah i am. n a proud slut too.

it's a dangerous fucking game you're playing with jensen.

you'd known it from the start. the second you walked onto the set of countdown—a brand-new, high-stakes action series—you felt the pull. it wasn't just his looks, though those were undeniable. it was the way he carried himself, the way his eyes lingered just a beat too long when you first shook hands, the way his deep, gravelly voice curled around your name like it belonged to him.

you weren't supposed to fall for him. hell, you weren't supposed to even look at him like that. but he made it impossible, especially when the two of you were cast as love interests on the show.

the chemistry was instant, explosive. every scene you filmed together felt like a live wire, and it didn't take long before you crossed that unspoken line.

it started with a kiss that wasn't scripted.

you were supposed to pull away after a brief, chaste kiss during a rehearsal, but neither of you did. his lips pressed harder, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer until the director called cut.

"jesus christ," jensen muttered under his breath that day, his voice low enough only for you to hear. he didn't let go of you right away, his green eyes dipping to your lips.

that was the moment everything shifted.

now, weeks later, you're tangled up in a secret relationship that's equal parts thrilling and dangerous. nobody on set knows, or at least you don't think they do. you and jensen are careful—no lingering touches in public, no stolen glances when others are watching.

but behind closed doors?

he's got you screaming his name, your nails raking down his back as he fucks you so thoroughly you can't see straight.

like now.

you're in his dressing room, pressed up against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into you. his hand is gripping your ass, the other tangled in your hair as his lips claim yours in a bruising kiss.

"you're so fucking perfect," he growls against your mouth, his breath hot and ragged. "can't fucking get enough of you."

your nails dig into his shoulders as you moan his name, your body shuddering as he drives into you relentlessly. the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the small room, mingling with your breathless cries and his low, filthy grunts.

you're so close, teetering on the edge, when there's a knock at the door.

"jensen?" a voice calls out. "they need you on set in five."

he freezes, his forehead dropping to yours as he lets out a frustrated groan.

"fuck," he mutters, his voice laced with irritation.

you're still clinging to him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps as you try to ground yourself.

"you've got to go," you whisper, your voice hoarse.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his green eyes dark with lust.

"you're lucky we don't have more time," he says, his lips quirking into a smirk. "because i'm not done with you."

he sets you down gently, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he steps back. you quickly fix your clothes, your cheeks flushed as you try to compose yourself.

"you good?" he asks, his voice softening as he watches you.

you nod, though your legs feel like jelly, and your pulse is still racing.

"yeah," you manage to say, your voice steadier than you feel.

he leans in, brushing a quick kiss against your lips before heading toward the door.

"see ya out there, sweetheart," he says with a wink before slipping out of the room.

the interview is with one of your other castmates, a lighthearted segment for a popular entertainment show to promote the series. you're sitting next to jensen, the two of you positioned on a plush couch with your co-star on the other side.

you're trying to focus, you really are, but your body is still buzzing from what just happened in his dressing room. every time you catch a whiff of his cologne or hear the low rumble of his voice, you feel heat pool in your stomach all over again.

it doesn't help that he's sitting so damn close, his thigh brushing against yours every time he shifts.

but the worst part?

you can still feel him.

you'd barely had time to clean yourself up before rushing out of his dressing room, and now, sitting here in front of the cameras, you can feel the ghost of him between your legs. the dull ache he left behind, the way your panties are damp, not just with your own arousal but with a little of him. it's driving you insane, every slight shift in your seat sending a fresh wave of heat curling through your body.

you cross your legs, trying to ignore it, but the movement only makes you more aware of everything—how sensitive you still are, how wet you still are, and how much you need him all over again.

the interviewer is a bubbly woman in her early thirties, her smile bright as she asks questions about the show.

"so, jensen," she says, turning her attention to him. "your character and [___]'s character have this incredible chemistry. what was it like working together to build that connection?”

you can feel his eyes on you, and you force yourself to smile, keeping your gaze fixed on the interviewer.

"oh, it was easy," jensen says, his voice smooth and confident. "she's an incredible actress. makes my job a hell of a lot easier."

you can feel the heat creeping up your neck, and you hope it doesn't show.

"what about you, [___]?" the interviewer asks, turning to you. "what was it like working with jensen?"

"it was great," you say, your voice steady despite the way your heart is pounding. "he's so talented and professional. he really made me feel comfortable on set."

jensen smirks at that, and you can feel his eyes lingering on you.

"so there was no awkwardness?" the interviewer presses, her tone playful. "no funny moments during the more, uh, intimate scenes?"

you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.

"not really," you say, though your voice sounds a little higher than usual. "we just tried to stay focused."

jensen chuckles beside you, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine.

"we're professionals," he says with a wink at the interviewer, who blushes slightly under his gaze.

you shift in your seat again, trying to ignore the way your body is reacting to him. but jensen notices. of course he does.

his hand is resting on his thigh, his fingers drumming lightly against the fabric of his jeans. it's a small, subtle movement, but it's enough to make your breath hitch.

he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips when he sees the way you're squirming.

"something wrong, darlin'?" he murmurs under his breath, low enough that only you can hear.

you shoot him a glare, but it lacks any real heat.

"asshole," you mutter back, your voice barely audible.

he chuckles softly, turning his attention back to the interviewer as if nothing happened.

the rest of the interview passes in a blur, your focus shot to hell thanks to the man sitting beside you.

the second the interview wraps, you grab jensen by the arm and drag him back to his dressing room, ignoring the curious looks from the crew as you pass.

"someone's in a hurry," he teases, his voice dripping with amusement as you shove him inside and close the door behind you.

"shut up," you snap, your voice breathless as you push him against the wall.

his hands are on you in an instant, pulling you flush against him as his lips crash into yours. the kiss is rough, desperate, and you can feel the smirk on his lips as you tug at his shirt.

"needy lil' thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"you started it," you shoot back, your voice muffled as you kiss him again, your teeth grazing his bottom lip.

he groans, his grip tightening as he spins you around, pressing you against the wall.

"you're right," he says, his voice low and rough as his lips trail down your neck. "'n now i'm gonna finish it."

his hands are everywhere, sliding under your shirt, tugging at your jeans, leaving you breathless and trembling as he takes exactly what he wants.

and you let him.

because with jensen ackles, you'll gladly play the dangerous game.

every. single. time.

ϑ𝛠 SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @floralscented @aileenunfiltered @deanswidow @lacydollette @beausling @figthoughts @frosttbitessam @bluestrd @florchids @honeyryewhiskey @bluemerakis @deansbite @rafespreciosa @voidsuites @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @inspiredangel @deanssun . . . ☆

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bluemerakis · 1 month ago

Text

─────── ❝ drowning ❞ ⋆ 𖦹 ˚.⋆

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ──

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, oral f receiving, face-riding, switch!dean kinda, pet names. lmk if i forgot any :))

synopsis ─ riding dean’s face and pointy lil nose bc i’m just a girl 🤷‍♀️

word count ~ 1.1k

──────────────────────

“Jesus!” You gasp into the air—all thick and slick with the sounds of reciprocated pleasure.

Dean’s nose rams straight into the heat of your core, calloused palms roughhousing the meat of your thighs as his fingers flex into the tender flesh—kneading, grasping, pulling you further into the ravenous fondling of his tongue.

“Hey—don’t go bringin’ the big, ol’ man in the sky into this,” he rasps against you—the breath hot and needy as it sprawls over your exploited sex. “S’all me, baby—every damn minute o’ it. And I’ll be damned if I let that cloud-wearing jackass take the credit for the way you sound—Jesus,” he husks curtly—impatiently—and then he’s buried himself back into everything that you are.

Like you’re everything he needs.

Every jut of his stubbled jaw against you feels like a helpless skim along thawed ice—unforgiving and wet with the history of the countless orgasms that have already rattled your body. Theatrical finishes he seems hell-bent on eliciting—like you’re the lines he can’t help but obsessively recite.

To what end? Yours. All yours.

You’re spread over his face in a helpless straddle, back arched in a tangent of desperation as your hands fly back to cup and paw at the support of his abdomen. Your head buckles back with a shattered moan as the brawny pad of his tongue flattens against your sensitive mound, and for the hundredth time this evening, he sows a long and firm line through the slicked folds.

He terminates the plough at the swell of your clit, but his nose doesn’t stop shy of a harsh prod against the sensitive anatomy. Your hips stutter at the assault, eager to flee the overwhelming pleasure that wreaks havoc on your body—but Dean’s keen on the idea of overstaying your welcome, so the arms curled around your thighs yank you back down. And you’re spent—weak—so you have no choice but to melt back into him.

“And where d’ya think you’re goin’?” He drawls, tossing out a lazy chuckle of triumph as his arms flex to trap your thighs against him.

And then he welcomes you back like an old friend—with open lips that wrap around your core in a fervid slurp. His jaw kneads into you with utmost appreciation as he scrambles to lap up the mingle of arousal and saliva, his throat rumbling with a groan of satisfaction. Fulfilment.

“Fuck, Dean!” Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt that—much to your frustration—shield his skin from the revenge of your pawing nails. But you try, anyway—fingers flexing against his flesh like talons that seem driven to latch onto him and never let go. Your jaw slacks with a huff, and then a confession. “Enough teasing. . . I want to—need to come!”

As if Dean suddenly remembers that air is just as vital to his existence as the taste of you is, his lips free you with a harsh inhale before the deep rumble of his voice rifts the hot air. “Then come f’me, baby,” he pants against you, gently palming your thighs as an act of encouragement. “Hell, y’know I’ll be waitin’.”

Your hot frustration allows you to abide—but on your own terms.

With a final squeeze of his shirt-clad abdomen, you push yourself up from your wilted position of support, and Dean’s grip on your thighs tighten to aid your ascent.

“What’re you up to, now?” He chuckles lowly, green eyes glistening cartoonishly as he gazes up at you in curious awe, his thumbs tracing circles of adoration along your adrenaline-puckered skin.

You hover yourself over him, hands coming forward to bracket his jaw in a gentle cradle. He instantly leans into the touch, eyes briefly fluttering closed as he bathes in the sensation of you, and then he’s back to memorising your every feature with a stare that isolates you from the rest of the world.

Like you’re his world.

“Just go with it,” you murmur through a toothy grin packed with schemes.

Dean’s eyes narrow in consideration as he hums a soft, “Mhm.” And then his throat bops thickly, like he’s a tad bit unsure. But he trusts you, so he listens, anyways.

Your grin broadens at his compliance, one hand falling away from his jaw while the other glides over his cheek, temple, and finally into the field of his unruly hair. There, your fingers tangle with as many strands you can gather—and Dean’s gaze remains steadfast on you through it all.

“You want another taste?” You tease softly, hips lifting from the support of his chest in a purposeful display.

Deans eyes stagger down to the pot of gold looming over him, lip falling loose under the addictive pull of you. His chest heaves a helpless huff. “Screw a freakin’ taste—I want it all,” he confesses in a solemn murmur, eyes flickering back up to you with the ghost of a plea, while his hands tighten around your thighs in want. Need.

And you obey.

Your hand in his hair tightens, and Dean lets slip a strained grunt—a noise you bottle and treasure as the memoir of his undoing. Your eyes bore into his—eager and hungry—as you slowly sink yourself down onto him, and the contact is only broken when your head falters back at the feeling of his mouth enveloping you.

“Shit,” you breathe, eyes screwing shut as your hips begin to sway back and forth along the expanse of his face. And below you, Dean stills into an object of use, the grip on your thighs lax enough to accommodate every driven sweep and pull of your mound against him.

But his mouth—it doesn’t yield any control. His jaw nuzzles into your swaying form, tongue flicking along your drenched anatomy in a flurry that has no purpose other than to ruin you. And then he grows decidedly meaner by firming up his grip on you once more, crushing you against him until he’s swallowing groans and stuttering for air.

Like he’s drowning.

You lift your hips in an attempt to give him some air, but Dean’s grip on you only tightens to the point of no return—forbids. He pulls you back against him, jaw hungrily swivelling into your folds as his grip on your thighs will you to continue riding him in waves.

So you do.

Your hips sway and drag along his face, catching the hump of his nose in a vicious collision that tugs a moan from your lips. Every. single. time. And you don’t stop—neither does he. Even when his lungs beg it of him. Even as you hear him gasp for air below you. And you realise, then—

That Dean is drowning. But he doesn’t want—or need any rescuing.

He’s right where he wants to be.

──────────────────────

a/n ─ pls i missed my dean bby <3 if this is bad then don’t tell me bc i wrote this quick stix on and off between study breaks🤞special shoutout to my bby @deansbeer, this one goes out to u and i 😭. and what if this page becomes a munch hub? can you tell i have an M.O???? word. also this is not the munch drabble part i have been talking about for dean—this is just something born entirely from a moment of hormones LMAO.

thank you for reading! all likes & comments are deeply appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer way—so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @rositaslabyrinth @walkslikesummeractslikerain @daylighted @honeyryewhiskey @deansbbyx @jasvtsc @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @spoontriestowriteandfails @beelzebzb @piptoost @lunaleah @kr804573 @idontwannabehere7 @lanasgirlfr @cas-only-angel @nperoconelcositoarriba @alidiggory92 @idk-123-0 @mahi-wayy @tuxedoe @cassiecourtemanche @rositaslabyrinth @abox-of-rocks @viluren @soldiersgirl @h8aaz @cowboysandcigarettes @bejeweledinterludes

want to become part of the taglist for any future dean winchester works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

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soldiersgirl · 1 month ago

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AT YOUR SERVICE .ᐟ

summary ⭑ he needed your help and you needed his. would be a shame to deny the soldier boy, his right to serve his country and you in the most delicious of ways. (based on this ask) / (part two) / (part three). cw ⭑ pornstar!reader x pornstar!soldier boy. payback era. 18+ smut (mdni). porn with some plot. mean soldier boy. veiled threats. joint smoking. goofy pornstar name. kissing. (slight) knife play. tit play. oral/face sitting (f & m receiving). fingering. protected p in v (safe sex work is important). pet names (bunny, doll, honey, sweetheart, bitch, toots). mentions of taking virginity (just part of the act). word count ⭑ 3,023 words.

the 70's and 80's were a wild time for anyone, but even more so with the increase of supes across america. no matter where you were or what you were doing, you couldn't avoid vought adverts and merchandise and especially not in new york; the epicenter of all things capitalism. but this also meant that you couldn't avoid the scandals that followed supes like the plague, and most notably, america's #1 and leader of payback, soldier boy. drugs, fist fights, sexism, alcoholism. god, you name it and soldier boy had certainly done it and given the pr team a run for their money.

you had never really cared for or about supes, not more than you had to. but the more your career took off, the more letters you received begging for you to include supes in your movies like other adult actresses had done. your fans were desperate for you test your boundaries and reach the level of fame, they knew you could. you had never considered it, not until vought reached out to you in desperation. they needed to rebuild soldier boy's female fanbase, as recent controversies had tanked his numbers, and what better way to showcase his best talent than with you?

you stared at yourself in your pink vanity mirror, trying to convince yourself that this was still a good idea. it would help your numbers, sure, and what's the worst that could happen? you ran your fingers through your styled hair, giving it a bit of life before leaning in and checking your lipgloss before sending yourself a little kiss and a wink before your peace was disturbed. a knock and before you could answer, your pink dressing room door swung open and there he stood, in his full supe-suit with his helmet and shield alongside his trademark joint dangling from his lips; the man of the hour.

"well, well, well." with each word he took a step closer to you, his eyes scanning your barbie-pink dressing room before finally landing on you. you. in the cutest little outfit he had ever seen. baby-pink platform heels, long white-knee socks with a white crop top to match that barely covered your perky tits and pink panties with a little cotton-tail stuck on the back. "aren't you the prettiest lil' bunny around?" he rests his gloved hand on the handle of his pocketed hunters knife, puffing away as you gaze up at him, unimpressed.

"do all supes lack manners or is it just you?" you sigh, turning back around to gaze into your mirror, not wanting to pay attention to him or his snide remarks. a loud chuckle followed by a clap and a shake of his head.

"i'm gonna fuck that attitude outta you, don't you worry." he leans in and admires himself in his mirror, copying the way you pout and pick at yourself. his cloud of smoke follows suit making you cough and splutter at the overwhelming smell. he runs his fingers over his moustache, taming it into place. "grew this just for you. gotta look the fuckin' part, don't i? pornstar gotta have a pornstache to match." he catches your eyes in the mirror and you notice it, that flicker of mischief in his eyes.

"please don't flatter yourself." you scowl. "got a name to match that monstrosity you're growing on your upper lip?" ben almost flinches at your words, scowling at your reflection before turning on his heel. before leaving, he puts out his half-smoked in your favourite orchid pot with a ghost of a smile, taunting you.

"you'll have to wait and see." he never turns to acknowledge you before slamming your dressing room door behind him, leaving both you and the room shaken. you mutter "prick..." under your breath as you swallow the last of your pride and follow behind him onto the set that he decided and the storyline that vought curated for him. you felt like just another pawn of capitalism, but the pay was good and honestly... soldier boy was handsome enough to let it happen, just this once.

you sit cross-legged on the prop bed as the director, hired by vought, frantically explains the plot as the crew hurries behind him to get the cameras and lights set up to soldier boy's expectations. you catch your manager's eye and you both raise a sceptical eyebrow at one another, sharing the same silent message.

what a fucking nightmare.

"so, the commies who had kidnapped you for ransom money from your rich father but soldier boy swooped in and saved you in the nick of time. you're so grateful and thankful and you want to show him that by le–"

"by letting him fuck me, yeah. i know the drill by now." you wave your hand and sigh, feigning boredom. "this isn't one of your dumbass vought movies. i know how this works. this is literally my job." you bite back, but before either of you can say another word, a manager yells "quiet on set! talent on set!" signalling soldier boy's arrival.

"ACTION!"

like before you sat cross legged on the set that was meant to resemble the make-shift tents that was used during the war to accommodate the soldiers. beds line both sides of the tent and the prop department had spared no expense by hanging oil lamps, calendars and pin-up girl posters around the tent on various cork-boards, alongside military-time radios and walk-talkies littered across the tables placed in the middle. you twirled your hair and bit your lip as your character was meant to be as "quiet, jumpy and naive as a button-nosed bunny" hence the cotton-tail. you weren't crazy about the character but for one hour and the pay check you're getting from vought? you could be anyone they wanted.

the tent flap flew open and in stepped soldier boy, his famous all-american smile plastered across his face as he slid his shield into place upon his back, before dramatically turning his attention to you and falling to his knees at your bedside. he carefully removes his burgundy gloves before slowly stroking your hair, attempting to comfort you despite his apparent lack of the skill. his strokes harder and rougher than need be, but you play it off to the camera.

"did those bastard commies hurt you? are you alright?" his hands slide and skid over your body before resting on your thighs, his thumb gently stroking your sticky skin. the summer heat was getting the better of you, but even under all of his layers, soldier boy seemed just fine. you shook your head and pouted up at him, placing your hand over his herculean one, mimicking his strokes.

"you saved me, my brave soldier." you enthusiastically lean in so that your forehead touched against his cold, metal helmet that only accentuated his deep, forest green eyes that you felt you could drown in. "how can i ever thank you, mr...?" you trailed off. soldier boy only replied with a twisted curl of his lip before peeling his hands off you and assuming the salute position.

"Major Cock, at your service, miss." with a nod of his head and a strong salute, he rests his hands on golden utility belt and lets his eyes hungrily roam your body. you unfurl your legs and sit spread-legged at the edge of the bed as your hands shoot up and rest upon his once again, with an innocent twinkle in your blown pupils. your eyes could make the strongest of men fall to their knees and bend to your will, but soldier boy was no ordinary man.

"oh, Major Cock, thank you." you sigh as you chew on your bottom lip and batting your eyelashes at him like trouble wrapped in cotton and purity, which you were anything but. "how could i ever repay you? my father is very rich and he'll pay you whatever you desire."

"what i desire ain't money, honey." his sincere grin turned almost sinister as he grabbed your hands tightly in his as you dramatically yelped in fake-pain. the people certainly weren't going to watch this for the acting, so there wasn't a need to try too hard. "i'm sure we can agree on a different form of payment. wouldn't you say so?"

"whatever are you thinking, Major Cock?" you feign naivety as you cock your head in consideration.

"why don't you show your saviour here," he reaches for his hunting knife and pokes the end of it under your crop-top, that was doing a horrible job of covering you up in the first place. "what you're hiding under here? gotta make sure you're not carryin' any weapons from the state enemy, don't i? or else i wouldn't be completing my service and we don't any problems, do we sweetheart?" he digs the tip into your soft chest and your heart hammers against your ribcage. this psycho hadn't used the prop-knife like agreed upon. he drags it down your stomach and stops at the waistband of your little panties, sighing with content admiring the red line that formed underneath. your fake fear quickly morphed into real fear as you reminded yourself to breathe.

"i don't want no trouble, no sir. i'll cooperate." you slowly remove your hands from his belt and pull your crop-top off with an urgency like never before. a small gasp fell past his plump lips as your breasts spilled out and laid bare for him to use. he reaches one hand down and gropes at your chest, squeezing and enjoying the fullness of you in his palm, before turning his attention to your already erect nipples. he roughly pulls and tugs on them, earning a whine from you and another smirk from him. he brings his knife up and gently taps the tip against your nipples before circling them. you hiss at the coldness of the blade against your sensitive buds, jerking with each flick of his knife. he tosses the knife to the side and you sigh a breath of relief that you didn't know you were holding before he dives down and connects his lips with yours, taking you by surprise. like a man starved, his mouth devours each of your moans as his hands continue to play with your tits. he sits down next you on the bed and dips his head to lick, kiss and bite your exposed chest, groaning as you roll back your shoulders and give him unfiltered access.

"no wonder they wanted to kidnap you with tits like these." he sighs in between enthusiastically sucking and kissing your erect buds. "they're nearly their own fuckin' weapon." he roughly laughs before biting down on them making you gasp and push him away in defiance. he swats your hands away and continues his torment, admiring the assortment of bite-marks that slowly bloomed on your skin. "wonder how good your pussy could be, if your tits are this great." he mumbles as his calloused fingertips find their way down to where you needed them most. angling you so that the camera could catch it all, he spreads your legs even further and hungrily observes the way your body flinches as his fingers ghost over your damp core. "pussy so good that men would kill for it." he hums, leaning in and pressing feather-light kisses against your neck.

"please be gentle, Major Cock. it- it's my first time." you hiccup as you nestle your heated face against his stubbled cheeks. your words almost made soldier boy double-take; the way you wore innocence like a second skin was deceivingly perfect, making him forget the reality of the situation. soldier boy tsk'ed and shook his head before caressing your cheek.

"don't you worry, soldiers always take good care of civilians. especially those as soaked as you." he muttered against your pulse as his fingers pulled aside the thin barrier that separated you from the remaining modesty you had left. the two of you groan in bless as he collects your wetness on his fingers and smear it all over your cunt before slowly easing them past your slick folds into your tight hole, inch by delicious inch. you immediately feel him scissoring his fingers, getting you ready for him and you could barely wait. his eyes barely left yours, he was too busy drinking in all your twitches and the way your breath hitches at his touch. he could do this all day.

after a few minutes of passionate kissing and vigorous finger-fucking, soldier boy couldn't wait anymore. he needed to taste you and it needed to be now. like a feather that weighed nothing, he pulled you on top of him as he laid down and positioned you so that your dripping cunt was right above his panting mouth. god, you smelled intoxicating, like rich honey during a summer's evening. your hands shot down and tried to cover yourself and the trimmed bush peeked out under the underwear, that clung onto your hips for dear life. he yanked your hands away and held them behind your back as he tugged you down so your folds rested on his full-bodied lips.

"didn't you want to pay me back? i risked my life for you, sweetheart." he murmured against your folds, his tongue delving in between. you hid your face in your shoulder as you absent-mindedly nodded and moaned in agreement. your body took over as you grinded your heat into his face, his tongue splayed out and ready for you to use for your own pleasure. he lapped up and welcomed each orgasm that washed over you as he eagerly sucked on your clit and explored your cunt with no shame. as the overstimulation hit you, you lifted your hips for a break and the sight beneath you took your breath away. his pornstache covered in your cum and slick. he kept direct eye-contact as his tongue peaked out and ran along the bottom of the stache, gathering your arousal and retreating back into his mouth with a wicked grin that showcased his deepening smile lines and crows feet. "i could eat this pussy all fuckin' day. but now i deserve that thankin' you were talkin' about, i think."

"huh?" is all you could manage before he flipped you back around and towered over you, still fully dressed in his supe-suit as you laid there with only your knee-socks and platform heels left on. he wasted no time in pulling down his zip and revealing his cock. the tip a glistening, soft pink that begging for attention as pre-cum had smeared all over it. he guided it to your lips and tapping them, tap tap tap, as if asking for permission. "i've never..." you mutter against his tip, giving it only a kitten lick making him loudly hiss.

"don't be shy, open that fuckin' mouth and show me how thankful you are." a choked gasp erupts from him as you wrap your glittery, pink lips around his tip, letting your tongue roll over it and taste him. your doe eyes gazing up at him in awe as you slowly took him, deeper and deeper, until he hit the back of your throat. the way you gag and splutter only spurs him on and his hips slowly buck into your hollowed-out mouth. "fuuuuck..." he drawled out as he threw his head back in pure bliss. tears threatened to form but before they had the chance to spill, he abruptly pulled out. "can't fucking wait any longer." he sighs as he pumps his cock, coating himself in his precum and your spit. he pulls a condom from his back pocket and expertly rolls it on before clutching your thighs with urgency and positioning himself in front of your entrance. your cunt stretched out and sucked in the thick head of his cock with no hesitation and soldier boy was sure it was the prettiest thing he had ever laid his eyes on. his strokes start out slow as you wince and whine underneath him. he clamps a hand over your mouth and shakes his head, wagging a finger right against your nose.

"can't let the others know, otherwise i'd get in trouble. they all wanna piece of you, but i don't fuckin' share." he leans down and in so that his mouth rests against your ear and whispers quietly enough, so that only you could hear. "told you i'd fuck that attitude out of you. bitch." his hips pick up their pace, your plush walls taking his thick cock so well, whilst you frowned and groaned underneath him. he messily pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit and rubbed in tight circles, laughing as you squirm and writhe in pleasure. your heels bounced against each other and clacked in unison with his deep and strategic thrusts. "i'm gonna keep you for myself, no one else is gonna get to fuck this pussy." he darkly chuckles. "mine now." he grunts as he watches your eyes flutter and your pussy clench at his words. with a few more deep strokes and the right amount of pressure on your clit, he spills into the condom as your final orgasm engulfs you. he connects your lips in one final, deep kiss before leaning his head against yours; your noses touching and shallow gasps mixing together. "that was one helluva thank you." he gasps.

"i thank you for your service, Major Cock." you say with a giggle as you give him a small salute with two fingers.

"CUT!"

your manager rushes forward with your signature pink bathrobe and envelopes you in it as soldier boy pulls out, chucks the condom to a poor intern and tucks himself back into his suit. you tie the robe shut and copy him, standing up and analysing him with a slight frown.

"give me a call when you're off, toots. think we could have more fun together." he gives you a curt nod before storming off set, interns and producers scurrying after him. and you can't help but think that he is right.

a/n: well. i hope u all enjoyed this!! i hope it's somewhat accurate as i've never written anything like this before! LIKES, FEEDBACK & REBLOGS are appreciated, if you loved this! -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth @blossomingorchids @deansbbyx @mads-ackles @lunaleah @diawinchester217 @sunnyteume @drakulana @k-slla @deansbeer @h8aaz @samslovebug (comment or inbox me to be added)

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