#beau arlen x female!reader

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances - Part Seven of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 4,458 Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, light fluff, pregnancy, hospital/medical care & stay A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I couldn't resist--I gotta have me some Beau while writing Dean! This is a brand new story of Beau and female reader!

I also couldn't help it! I simply had to get this chapter out! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Seven: The Waiting Game

Y/N pulled into the parking lot of Big Sky General, her heart pounding in her chest. The harsh lights from the emergency room entrance cast a harsh glow over the pavement as she hurried to park the car. Eliza sat in her car seat in the back, her wide eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

“It’s okay, baby,” Y/N whispered, unbuckling her daughter with trembling hands. She pressed a kiss to Eliza’s forehead, her voice more for her own reassurance than her daughter’s. “Mommy’s here.”

She lifted Eliza, grabbed the diaper bag slung over her shoulder along with her purse, and rushed inside. The stark, antiseptic smell hit her immediately, and low murmur of voices filling the air. The sight of Jenny Hoyt, standing near the nurses’ station in her deputy’s uniform, brought a wave of relief and dread all at once.

“Deputy Hoyt?” Y/N asked, her voice tight as she approached.

Jenny turned, her expression softening when she saw Y/N and the toddler in her arms. “You must be Y/N,” she said, stepping forward. “You made it.”

“What’s going on? How is he?” Y/N asked, her words tumbling out in a rush. She tightened her grip on Eliza, who buried her face against her mother’s neck, clearly sensing her unease.

Jenny’s face was serious, but her voice was calm. “He’s still in surgery. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

Y/N felt her knees weaken, and she clutched Eliza tighter, her breath catching. “Surgery? Jenny, what happened?” The worry made her forget any sense of propriety when it came to Jenny’s name. She had just met the deputy but it didn’t matter. Beau was in crisis. Manners would matter later, when she knew he was okay.

Jenny hesitated, then sighed. “It was a domestic disturbance. Beau went in to de-escalate, and it was working… until the guy panicked. They struggled, and the gun went off. Beau took the hit.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, tears filling her eyes. “He—he’s going to be okay, right?”

Jenny reached out, resting a hand on Y/N’s arm. “He’s tough. If anyone can get through this, it’s Beau.”

Y/N nodded, trying to focus on that thought, but the worry clawed at her. She took a shaky breath and looked at Jenny. “How… how did you know to call me?”

Jenny’s expression softened. “You’re listed as his secondary emergency contact. His parents are first, but they’re still in Texas.”

Y/N blinked, the weight of Jenny’s words sinking in. “I’m his emergency contact?” she echoed, stunned. They’d just been dating for a few months…. Surely he would’ve picked his ex-wife or even his daughter. How could Y/N matter that much? Her breath caught again, her heart clenching at the beginning of the realization of just how much he cared about Y/N.

Jenny nodded. “He wanted to make sure someone close to him here knew, just in case. He didn’t want you or Eliza left in the dark.”

The tears she’d been holding back spilled over, and Y/N pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. “That man,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “He’s… God, Jenny, what if I lose him?”

Jenny stepped closer, her grip on Y/N’s arm firm but comforting. “You won’t,” she said softly. “He’s got too much to fight for. For you. For Eliza. He’s going to make it.”

Eliza stirred in Y/N’s arms, her tiny hand brushing against her mother’s cheek. Y/N looked down at her daughter, her chest tightening. “Thank you for calling me,” she said, her voice trembling but sincere. “I—I needed to be here.”

Jenny nodded, a faint smile on her face. “He’d want you here.”

Y/N looked toward the double doors leading to the surgery wing, her heart aching with the weight of the unknown. She kissed Eliza’s temple, holding her daughter close as she whispered, “We’re here, Beau. We’re not going anywhere.”

Jenny studied Y/N with somber regard. “Come on, let’s get you settled. We’re going to be a while.” Kindly, she took the diaper bag to help, and together they moved to a more obscure, comfortable corner of the waiting area. She studied Eliza for a moment, then smiled warmly. “So this is the famous wolf-child.”

Y/N let out a startled laugh, tinged with a sob. “Oh my God… did Beau tell everyone I called her that?”

“It was kind of hard to miss his goofy smiles,” Jenny said with a smile. “He’d come in after one of your dates with this look of… well, the dictionary definition of ‘twitterpated’ comes to mind. Smitten, maybe.”

Y/N sniffled, wiped at her tears, and smiled, picturing the way Beau would look after he kissed her good night. “He… he always seemed like he was very happy when we finished up our dates. Heck, he’d come up with excuses to stay, even if it was to say good night to Eliza.”

Jenny’s eyes sparkled, regarding the fussy toddler. “He cares about you very much,” she said softly. “We could tell. Only one who had any guts to tease him about it was Doris.”

“Oh! The… secretary, right?” Y/N asked, remembering Beau telling her about Doris and how the older woman had performed a Gibbs slap on the back of his head. “Famous lasagna that he absolutely went weak in the knees for?”

Jenny laughed a bit. “That’s the one. She still won’t give us the recipe, so we’re all kissing her feet so we can get some. Beau especially.”

Y/N managed a tremulous smile, thinking of the man she loved— Oh God. Her breath hitched and her chest tightened at the thought of never having the chance to tell him. “Oh God, Jenny…” Tears welled up again.

“Hey… he’ll make it. He’s a tough old bastard,” Jenny said reassuringly.

“I want to believe you,” Y/N said, sniffling and feeling her throat tighten against the rush of more tears. “I just… it… I never even told him.”

“Told him what, honey?” Jenny asked kindly, rubbing Y/N’s shoulder soothingly.

“I never told him I loved him,” Y/N admitted, emotional at the thought of that revelation going unheard and unknown. “And I kept—I kept feeling it in my heart. God. I’d swear I fell in love with him when I s-saw him at the goat pen with Eliza. He was just so good with her. And when he… when he said he thought of her as his… you have no idea. I would’ve said it then and there, but I was just so scared.”

Jenny studied Y/N for a moment, taking in the distress, the way she spoke. Then: “He knew,” she said softly. “I think he knew. You don’t always have to say the words for someone to know. It’s in the way we touch, the way we act, the way we smile.”

Y/N held her daughter closely, lightly bouncing the toddler to get her to go back to sleep. She thought of the life she was holding in her arms, and the newly formed one inside of her, barely weeks old. She stared unseeing at the double doors, and found herself begging Beau to live, to survive, because he had a child that would want to know their daddy.

“W-will you stay with me, Jenny?” Y/N asked, her voice a bare whisper. She didn’t want to face the long wait alone.

“Yes,” Jenny said firmly. “You might have the rest of the sheriff department here in a bit, so trust me… we’ll all be here.”

Absurdly, Y/N gave a start, unaware of the support. “Really?”

Jenny nodded. “When one of us gets hurt, we’re here until we know they make it. All of us. The only reason the rest aren’t here yet is because Poppernak and Jenkins have to make the arrest, the report. The others have to secure the crime scene, take witness statements. But they’ll be here. We never leave one of ours alone if we can help it.”

Jenny let out a breath, glanced at the double doors. “Besides… it’s Beau. He wouldn’t leave us alone either.”

Together, they sat, and waited.

Y/N leaned against the wall of the waiting room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. It wasn’t easy letting her daughter go with her grandmother, but she knew Eliza would be better off away from the sterile halls of the hospital, surrounded by warmth and familiarity. Still, the absence left Y/N feeling untethered, her thoughts circling around Beau.

The sound of voices pulled her attention back to the present. Poppernak was the first to arrive, carrying a paper bag filled with what smelled like burgers. “Figured you two hadn’t eaten,” he said, his easy smile a poor mask for the worry in his eyes.

“Thanks,” Y/N murmured, taking the bag but not feeling hungry. Jenny took one with a muted ‘thanks’.

Jenkins, Morales, and others followed shortly after, their quiet presence filling the room. Morales handed Y/N a steaming cup of coffee. “Jenny said you might need this,” he said, his tone gentle.

Then Doris arrived, carrying a tote bag stuffed with what looked like an entire convenience store aisle. “Snacks,” she announced, setting the bag on the coffee table. “Figured we’d be here a while.”

Y/N managed a small smile, touched by the unexpected camaraderie. The deputies spread out around the room, some sitting, others pacing. Their conversations were low, but their shared worry hung heavy in the air. She found herself wondering if Beau told everyone about her, given how familiar they seemed to be about her.

Jenny Hoyt settled into the chair beside Y/N, glancing at her with a faint smile. “This crew,” she said, gesturing to the deputies, “they’re good people. And they care about Beau.”

“I can see that,” Y/N replied, her voice soft. She glanced at Jenny. “So do you.”

Jenny shrugged, but her expression softened. “Beau’s… he’s a pain sometimes. But he’s a good man. The kind you’d follow into a fire without hesitation.”

Y/N nodded, her chest tightening. “That sounds like him.”

They fell into a companionable silence, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of snack bags or murmured conversations. Doris handed out granola bars and bottles of water, her usual sharp humor muted by the circumstances. Jenkins and Morales spoke in low tones near the window, their expressions grave.

Poppernak glanced at Y/N, his tone gentle. “He’ll pull through. Beau’s the toughest guy I know.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tightening around the coffee cup. She wanted to believe that, needed to believe it. But the fear gnawed at her, a relentless presence she couldn’t shake.

Time dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Just when Y/N thought she couldn’t take another second of waiting, the double doors opened. A doctor stepped into the room, his expression professional but kind.

Everyone stilled, the air heavy with anticipation. Y/N rose to her feet, her heart in her throat. “Doctor?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The doctor nodded. “You’re here for Sheriff Arlen?”

“Yes,” Y/N said quickly, the deputies standing with her. They were all there for Beau.

The doctor’s face softened. “He made it through surgery. It was touch and go for a while—he lost a lot of blood—but we were able to stabilize him. He’s in recovery now.”

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Y/N felt her knees weaken, and Jenny was there in an instant, steadying her with a hand on her arm.

“Can we see him?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet,” the doctor replied gently. “We’re keeping a close eye on him in recovery. Once he’s stable enough, we’ll move him to a room, and then you can visit.”

Y/N nodded, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, “Thank you.”

The doctor offered a faint smile before stepping away. The room buzzed with quiet relief, the tension easing as the deputies exchanged small smiles and murmured reassurances.

Poppernak clapped a hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Told you he’d pull through.”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound shaky but real. “Yeah. You did.”

Jenny squeezed her arm. “He’s a fighter. Always has been.”

Y/N wiped at her tears, her heart feeling a little lighter. “I just need to see him. I need to tell him—” Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, overwhelmed. Did she dare tell him that she was pregnant when he woke up? Or should she wait? Or tell him that she loved him?

“You’ll get the chance,” Jenny said firmly, distracting her from her internal thoughts. “And when you do, he’ll be glad you’re here.”

Y/N nodded, drawing strength from the people around her. As they settled back into their waiting, the relief was palpable. Beau was still fighting, and for now, that was enough.

The waiting room had quieted as time dragged on, the tension gradually replaced by cautious hope. Y/N sat with her hands clasped tightly, her fingers worrying the fabric of her jeans. The low hum of conversation among the deputies filled the space, but she barely heard it. Her focus was on the double doors, waiting for any news.

When a nurse finally came out, Y/N shot to her feet before the woman could even speak. The nurse, a kind-faced woman in her fifties, smiled gently. “Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied quickly, her heart hammering. “That’s me.”

The nurse nodded. “Sheriff Arlen’s been moved to a private room. He’s still groggy, but he’s stable and awake enough to know you’re here. He’s asked to see you.”

The breath Y/N had been holding rushed out in a shaky exhale. “He… he’s awake?”

The nurse’s smile grew. “Barely, but yes. He perked up when we told him you were waiting.”

Y/N pressed a hand to her chest, overwhelmed by relief and emotion. “Thank you. Can I see him now?”

“Of course. Follow me.” The nurse gestured for her to follow.

Jenny stood, placing a steadying hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “We’ll be here if you need anything.”

Y/N nodded, gratitude shining in her tear-filled eyes. She glanced at the others—Poppernak, Morales, Jenkins, even Doris—all of whom offered encouraging smiles and nods. Drawing a deep breath, she turned and followed the nurse through the double doors.

The walk down the sterile hallway felt endless, each step tightening the knot in her stomach. The nurse stopped outside a room and turned to her. “He’s still recovering, so don’t be alarmed if he looks a little rough. He’s been asking for you, though. I think it’ll do him good to see you.”

Y/N nodded, her throat too tight to speak. The nurse pushed the door open, stepping aside to let her in.

The sight of Beau lying in the hospital bed stole Y/N’s breath. He was pale, his usual tan skin ashen, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His arm was hooked to an IV, and the faint beep of monitors filled the room. Despite his condition, his green eyes fluttered open when she entered, and the faintest smile curved his lips.

“Darlin’…” Beau’s voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but it carried a warmth that made Y/N’s chest ache.

She approached his bedside, her steps tentative at first, then quicker as the tears she’d been holding back spilled over. “Beau,” she said, her voice trembling as she took his hand gently in hers.

He gave her fingers a weak squeeze, his smile growing slightly. “You’re here,” he murmured, his words slurring slightly with exhaustion.

“Of course I’m here,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion. “Where else would I be?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening around hers. “When they told me… you were waitin’… made me fight harder.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You scared me,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I thought—” She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

“I’m here,” Beau said, his voice a little stronger now. “Not goin’ anywhere, darlin’.”

She leaned closer, brushing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’d better not,” she whispered. “I’m not ready to lose you.”

Beau’s eyes fluttered open again, meeting hers. Despite his exhaustion, his gaze held the same warmth and strength that had drawn her to him in the first place. “You won’t,” he promised, his voice soft but steady. “I’m too stubborn for that.”

Y/N laughed softly through her tears, her forehead resting lightly against his as she whispered, “I’m holding you to that.”

The nurse cleared her throat gently from the doorway, offering a warm smile. “I’ll give you two some time. Just call if you need anything.”

As the nurse left, Y/N stayed by Beau’s side, her fingers laced with his. She didn’t know what the future held, but at that moment, she was certain of one thing: she wasn’t letting him go.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the quiet room as Beau stirred, his eyes fluttering open again. His gaze landed on Y/N, who was still sitting by his side, her fingers lightly brushing against his. She’d been watching him, her expression soft but lined with worry.

“Hey, darlin’,” Beau rasped, his voice groggy but warm.

Y/N straightened, leaning closer. “Hey, yourself,” she replied softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I wrestled a bull and lost,” he joked weakly, managing a faint smile. “Where’s Eliza?”

Y/N’s brows lifted in surprise at his question. “She’s with my mom,” she said gently. “Eliza wasn’t feeling well, and I thought it’d be better if she stayed with her grandmother while I stayed with you.”

Beau frowned slightly. “Eliza’s sick? She okay?”

“She’s fine,” Y/N reassured him quickly. “Just a little fussy, probably coming down with a cold. Nothing serious.” She paused, her lips twitching into a small smile. “And even if she were feeling a hundred percent, I was worried she might jump on you the second she saw you. You don’t need a toddler climbing on you right now.”

Beau’s smile softened, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Wouldn’t mind,” he murmured. “That kid’s got my heart wrapped around her little finger. She’s somethin’ special.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, her throat tightening as she brushed her fingers lightly over the back of his hand. “She thinks the world of you too, Beau,” she said softly. “You mean so much to her.”

“Means a lot to me,” he said, his voice growing quieter as his exhaustion began to creep in again. His eyes drooped, but he kept them on Y/N, his expression tender despite his fading strength. “You both… mean the world to me.”

Y/N felt tears welling in her eyes again, but she blinked them back, squeezing his hand gently. “You rest, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”

Beau’s lips twitched into a faint smile as his eyes fluttered shut. “Love you, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Y/N froze, her breath catching in her throat as his words settled over her. She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. His breathing evened out as he drifted back into unconsciousness, his hand still loosely clasped in hers.

Tears slid down her cheeks, and she leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I love you too, Beau,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “So much.”

The room was quiet save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor, but Y/N’s heart was full, a mix of overwhelming relief, love, and hope filling the spaces that fear had occupied just hours before.

The hospital room was quiet, the soft glow of dawn filtering through the blinds. Beau stirred, his senses gradually returning as the grogginess of sleep faded. His green eyes blinked open, taking in the room. It was a familiar yet surreal scene, the sterile environment of a hospital. But it was the sight of Y/N that anchored him.

She was partially leaning against his hospital bed, her head resting near his arm, her hand still holding his. Her soft, even breathing told him she’d fallen asleep during the night. Her hair fell in loose waves around her face, and the faint lines of worry that had been etched into her expression seemed to have eased as she slept.

Beau’s heart tightened. Even in her exhaustion, she stayed by his side. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing her shoulder. “Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but warm.

Y/N stirred, her lashes fluttering before her eyes slowly opened. She blinked up at him, her expression shifting from disoriented to relieved in an instant. “Beau,” she whispered, sitting up straighter. “You’re awake.”

He smiled faintly, his hand moving to cup hers. “Told you I’m too stubborn to go anywhere.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she let out a shaky laugh. “You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “Didn’t mean to worry you.”

She leaned closer, her forehead pressing against his as her tears fell freely. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

Beau tilted his head, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss. It was soft, unhurried, but full of emotion. When they pulled apart, Y/N let out a shaky breath, her hand trembling in his.

He frowned slightly. “What is it, darlin’? You’re shakin’.”

“I…” She hesitated, her eyes dropping to their joined hands. “I wasn’t going to tell you this now. Not while you’re still recovering. But—” Her voice broke, and she looked up, her expression raw and vulnerable. “I can’t keep it in.”

“Y/N,” Beau said gently, his hand tightening around hers. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

She took a deep breath, her free hand pressing against her abdomen almost unconsciously. “I’m pregnant, Beau.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Y/N watched his face, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced for his reaction.

For a moment, Beau just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then his green eyes softened, and a slow, warm smile spread across his face. “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

She nodded, her eyes shimmering with tears. “I found out yesterday. Before Jenny called about you. I was going to wait to tell you, but after everything… I just—I needed you to know.”

Beau let out a soft laugh, his chest rising and falling with the motion. “Well, damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his hand moving to rest gently over hers on her stomach. “You’ve been busy givin’ me a second chance at life in more ways than one.”

Y/N let out a tearful laugh, her head dropping to his chest as she cried softly. “I was so scared,” she admitted. “About how you’d react, about everything. And then when you got hurt… I thought I’d lose you before I could even tell you.”

Beau lifted her chin with his fingers, his eyes locking with hers. “You’re not gonna lose me,” he said firmly. “And as for the baby… Darlin’, there ain’t a thing in this world I could be happier about.”

Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she kissed him, her heart full to bursting. For the first time in what felt like forever, the fear began to ebb, replaced by something stronger: hope.

Y/N pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against Beau’s as her tears continued to fall. She sniffled, trying to regain control, but the flood of emotions refused to be held back. “I was so scared, Beau,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “We haven’t been together that long… only a few months. I didn’t know how you’d feel about this.”

Beau tilted his head, his green eyes searching hers, his expression soft yet steady. “Darlin’, I’m gonna stop you right there,” he said gently, his voice rough but full of warmth. “Do you really think I’d ever reject you? That I’d push you away because of this?”

She hesitated, biting her lip as she averted her gaze. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “It’s just… everything’s been happening so fast. You already have Emily, and she’s grown. I didn’t know if you’d want to start over again, especially with me.”

Beau reached up, his hand cupping her cheek as he guided her gaze back to him. “Y/N,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing away the tear trailing down her face. “I want you to listen to me real close. There’s not a part of me—no part of my heart, my soul, none of it—that would ever turn away from you. Or from this baby.”

Her breath hitched, and she stared at him, her chest tightening with his words.

“Bein’ a dad again?” he continued, his lips curving into a soft smile. “It’s a blessin’, not a burden. Emily’s my world, and I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance to feel this way again. But you’ve given me somethin’ I didn’t think I deserved—a second chance at all of it. At love, at family, at happiness. And I’ll be damned if I ever take that for granted.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped her, her shoulders shaking as she leaned into him. “I love you, Beau,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “So much.”

He smiled, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I love you too, darlin’. More than I can put into words. You and Eliza, this baby… you’re my world now. And I’m not lettin’ go of that for anythin’.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to his, her tears mingling with her laughter as the weight of her fears finally began to lift. “You’re really okay with this?” she asked, her voice small but hopeful.

“More than okay,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m over the moon, Y/N. This is the best news I’ve had in years.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her hands coming up to frame his face as she kissed him again, deeply and with all the love and relief coursing through her. Beau’s hand moved to her stomach, resting there with a quiet reverence that spoke louder than words.

When they finally pulled back, Beau smiled at her, his green eyes brighter despite the fatigue lining his face. “We’re gonna be just fine,” he murmured. “All of us.”

Y/N nodded, her heart full as she rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to believe that everything would be okay.

She felt his hand, warm and solid, on her back, rubbing and soothing her. Then, oh so very softly, she heard a question she never expected to hear: “Darlin’… will ya marry me?"

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk

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[deansbite]

⠀ ℐ ⠀ beau ⠀arlen ⠀𓏲

⠀hey there !! this is a masterlist of a specific ⠀character, in this case, beau arlen. my fanfics ⠀will have authours notes & warnings as to what ⠀will be in the fics ! i am not responsible for what ⠀any of you decide to read. anywho, if you like my ⠀writing, i’d appreciate feedback or even a ⠀reblog. happiest of reading to you guys !!

🎸 „ fluff  📻 „ smut  🎙️ „ angst

stories are on their way . .

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ memory foam ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ soldier boy x fem!reader

synopsis ─ soldier boy teaches you how to roll a blunt and then makes you hold it between your lips while he fucks you into insanity. just filth honestly bc this man is filthy and i love it

warnings .ᐟ cussing, light misogyny throughout (i mean,, come on), v light dirty talk, masturbation f receiving, hair-pulling, grinding, edging/overstimulation, spanking, fingering, unprotected sex p in v. i feel like these warnings have y’all opening this fic with a therapist on speed dial. if i forgot anything pls lmk!

word count ~ 7.3k (this was supposed to be a drabble 😀)

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Lithe trails of smoke crept over the horizon of your laptop screen, which called your attention toward Ben’s seated figure at the small, rounded table near the kitchen. You reached to lower your laptop screen an inch—just enough to properly reveal the schemes unravelling beneath your boyfriend’s hunched over frame. You didn’t doubt that he was currently unravelling some recent haul of self-indulgent narcotics because as much as you loved your severely traumatised, addict boyfriend, he didn’t have any other tasteful way to pass time. Well, when he wasn’t ploughing you into the mattress and pummelling your senses into an otherworldly abyss of pleasure, of course.

Ben had slipped into the apartment an hour ago with that dubious, white plastic bag in clutch—no print to identify any luxurious takeaway you’d have killed to plunge into your gurgling stomach. You’d been tempted to ask about it then, but he’d entered with such a thick swathe of broodiness cramping his brows that you’d laid off the interrogation entirely. Though, just by stealing a single glance of the bag in its own, unassuming simplicity, it could have branded itself as some sketchy stash of drugs he’d picked up from one of his regular dealers on the way home.

You honed in on the man of the hour, your unflattering nosiness taking the cake on the mental debate of whether or not you should interfere with Ben’s activities. It was a debate that had never happened to begin with because meddling in anything and everything that he did was practically your brand—no questions asked. You’d once called it a loving obsession, but Ben had called it a hounding cock block on his highs. You’d been quick to rebrand your pestering of him as your own guilty addiction, and he hadn’t had much to say in response to that. He had his addictions, and you had yours—him. Oh, he so must’ve regretted accommodating you into his life.

Your boyfriend’s sharp features were currently kneaded into a focused frown, his head tilted down to where he emptied out the plastic packet onto the table. Your chin perked with sly interest, no further surprise to be unwrapped when you glimpsed a sprawl of paper and herbs. Drugs, as expected, but nothing nearly as hard as his usual indulgences. Your attention flickered up to the blunt currently clutched between his lips—the bane of your existence—before you lowered your focus back down to the table, where his busy hands alternated between segregating the devious mess and popping out his smoking stick to dispel a pull.

You didn’t need to squint hard to confidently label said herbs as weed—once the distinct scent left his lips to shroud the modest apartment and assault your sensitive nose, it was a dead giveaway. You’d never been much of a fan of smoking to begin with, and weed might’ve been the rankest pick of it all, but it’s something you’d gradually grown tolerant of. It’s not like you had much of a say in the matter, anyway, given that your boyfriend had his lips wrapped around a cig almost as often as he had them wrapped around you. It was a relationship that had existed long before yours, so who were you to complain, really?

Besides, this was his apartment, which meant that his guilty pleasures were anything but your business. And you doubted that your complaint would manage a graze of his ears before his cock would plug your lips to shut you the hell up about it. He didn’t much like when you had an attitude about his aforementioned hobbies.

“Ah, shit!” Ben exclaimed angrily around the blunt’s body—a muffled sound that banished smoke from his pursed lips. You watched as he tossed aside the plastic packet, seizing his tempter by the throat as he thudded his palm against the table. “Fuckin’ dickless prick sold me short,” he grumbled to nobody in particular, releasing the blunt for a disgruntled exhale before his lips took to it once more like his next, dire breath.

You plugged your lips at his temper tantrum, throttling a chuckle you knew would be severely misplaced during this fit of his. You couldn’t help it, though. Ben loved to pretend that he was ‘man enough’ to be unbothered by trivial things, but it never took much to get under his skin. The irony was so palpable that you could’ve poked and prodded at it with ridicule. “What’re you doing?” You called to him with an accentuated chirp to your tone—you’re curious, oblivious, not probing.

Ben’s eyes lifted from the table for a second to glance in your direction, where you sat comfortably cushioned against the headboard of his bed. His glare hovered for a few measly seconds, holding no adoration at this particular time. It made you utter a mental damn. At most, he’d give you a wink or a scheming narrowing of his eyes that spoke all sorts of dirty he’d have loved to work you through. But he merely turned back to the task at hand, freeing the blunt from his tightly-wrung lips.

Yeah, women are the moody ones, you remarked mentally. What a chuckle-fest.

The supe gave a hefty exhale, smoke streaming out in a slow gust that told you a somber story of a shit-filled day. His whole demeanour was off-put. A good girlfriend would’ve asked him about it, but a smarter one—like yourself—knew err on the side of caution. You’d long since learned not to pester him about his emotions because, to quote Ben: ‘only pussies hold hands and waste daylight wailin’ about this ‘nd that. Me? I ain’t strokin’ anybody’s cock with some me too bullshit. You gotta act the man and suck it up.’

Yeah, you weren’t going to open that can of worms again.

Without sparing you another glance, Ben jerked his head in your direction. “Get over here,” he demanded distractedly. “It’s ‘bout time I teach ya the hustle o’ this shit.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll leave the lung cancer to you,” you poked light-heartedly, but you shifted your laptop aside to scamper across the mattress regardless. Unfortunately, you were the type to spend any given chance at your boyfriend’s side, and it didn’t matter how trivial the activity was—it was all about the quality time. Ben was overly tolerant of your clinginess, so much so that you almost thought he enjoyed the attention more than you did. But that wasn’t anything he’d ever admit to, were it true to begin with.

You ambled across the open-plan apartment towards his smoke-enveloped figure, and upon reaching the table, you pulled out the chair opposite him to take up his company. All the while, Ben’s attention remained fixed on his concoctions, never once straying from the table to acknowledge that you’d joined him.

“Why would I need to know how to do any of this, anyway? You know I don’t smoke,” you asked once you sat yourself down, hand swivelling through the air to disperse the suffocating haze of the weed, lingering under your nose like an intoxicating fart. You watched his free hand sort the dried and shredded weed into evenly-sized piles with one of your ancient loyalty cards—a card you’d lost a few weeks back. The bastard must’ve nicked it from your purse. And knowing him, he’d probably used it for plenty more than sorting weed.

“No,” he agreed, “but I do. Besides, it’s somethin’ every fine woman such as yourself oughta know. It’s not usually what women waste their time learnin’, but I’m sure I could have ya mastering this shit in no time. You’re a surprisingly quickly learner,” he murmured busily, pausing only to secure the blunt between his lips once more.

You didn’t know whether to feel offended at that observation, or to accept it with the knowledge that Ben didn’t usually hand out compliments—even backhanded ones—outside of, well, being inside of you. You dismissed the thought with a flick of your eyes, but soon, you were drawn to his face once more. You could have grown jealous with the amount of time his lips spent wrapped around that paper-wrapped crap, but you’d long since laid off the visuals. He enjoyed your pouting way too much—always finding a way to ridicule you for it.

“Why the sudden insistence that I learn this crap?” You asked.

After a deep pull, Ben retrohaled the smoke off to the side, conscious not to direct it onto your intolerant senses. “Cause it sure hits the spot when your girl can slip you a win after the day’s been a fuckin’ ball-buster,” he mumbled.

“Or,” you countered, head tilting with a pretence of consideration as you watched him sort the piles of weed into small plastic bags. “Here’s a thought—and just humour me, would you? You could make yourself one,” you finished, hands coming forward to fold onto the table as your eyes flickered up to Ben expectantly.

He lifted his head to fix you with peeved eyes, the card’s rim stilling against the last herded pile of weed as his free hand plucked the stick from his lips. “The hell you think I been doin’ all this time?” He challenged pointedly. The blunt’s ignited end pulsed with heat—as if to emphasise his words. “Is it too much to ask that you fix me a goddamn escape after a long fuckin’ day?”

“It is in that tone, Mister,” you scoffed, leaning yourself across the table in an attempt to pluck the blunt from his fingers, but he was quick to catch you at the wrist. Your lip quirked at the force with which he restrained you, your eyes slurring up to his with a heavy, seductive whisk of your lashes.

Ben always caught the intention behind your every act of defiance. He enjoyed it, even, despite the permanent hint of dour in his expression. “Hands off my shit,” he warned, his pretty green eyes drilling into yours to emphasise his point. “Don’t make me fuck the nerve right outta you—you know better.”

You took your lower lip into an amused bite, enjoying the way you so easily seemed to rile him up. Yeah, your boyfriend was a Supe, but it was moments like this that made you feel like you held all the power—and you revelled in it. ‘Nobody controls me’, your ass. You had Ben wrapped around your finger. He knew it, too, he just wouldn’t admit it because what man wants to admit that he’s pussy-whipped? No, he’d rather bathe in denial by fucking you senseless each night, smothering your head into the sheets and coaxing his name from your foul lips so that he felt he had some semblance of control over the way you made him feel.

You succumbed to his possessive grasp, leaning your body further across the table as your head tilted in cheek. “Do I know better?” You absolutely did, and so did he. But part of the fun—part of what made this dynamic between the two of you so riveting, is that you pretended to act stupid, and Ben eagerly indulged it as an opportunity to condescend you and further inflate his toxic ego. And something more.

The supe’s lip quirked in amusement as he glared you down, but the sentiment didn’t reach high enough to mould his eyes into kindness. “Gonna play it like that, hm?” he murmured, bringing the blunt back to his lips before he leaned further into your proximity, his lips brushing against yours with the tease of a kiss. But he didn’t follow through with his unspoken promise. Instead, his lips parted only to huff the smoke directly into your face.

Your nose scrunched at the scent, your free hand lifting from the table to shoo away the smoke. “Ben!” You protested, but his grip on you didn’t budge until the intrusive fog thinned out into the rest of the room. You gave a light cough at being a forced second party to his smoking, and that’s when he finally released your wrist—more like discarded it in a careless toss. You retreated with a huff and sat yourself back down. “Dick!”

“Pussy,” he retorted through a shit-eating smirk, but he quickly came to realise that the amusement was wholly one-sided when he glimpsed your ruffled brows. There were very few times you could have convinced him that his actions weren’t funny. “Ah, come on,” he drawled, attention lowering back to the weed as he suckled on the smoking stick once more. “You know ya love it,” he mumbled.

“Oh, bite me,” you murmured lightly, crossing your arms as you watched him continue his work. You could have chosen to pout a little longer, but you’d have been naive to settle down with somebody like Ben and not expect him to pull a nasty stunt now and again. Besides, you did like him mean. The subtle glow that beamed briefly within the crook of your thighs was testament to that.

“You ever roll a blunt before?” Ben muttered, eyes downturned to where his hands began prepping an irregularly squared piece of paper. The question was sheer stupidity—so much so that you felt the the weight of the frown on your brows as you parted your lips to answer him with far too much eager spunk. But Ben pulled the cancer stick from his lips and interjected without missing a breath.

“Just pullin’ your leg—‘course ya haven’t. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the fuckin’ Mother Reverend of the Church of Holy Smokes.” At that jab, his eyes lifted to yours with a smugness that wound his lips thin.

You gave a dismissive roll of your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you hummed, your arms unfolding to rest your hands against the table. “You can keep shitting on me, Benjamin, but let’s not forget just how ancient you are. Once your light’s snuffed out, old man, maybe—just maybe, I’ll consider learning how to smoke, and it’ll be your ashes I probe in that damn ashtray.” Oh, how the roles would reverse.

Ben neglected the piece of paper he’d been gripping and straightened himself from the table. He leaned back into his chair with a gruff chuckle, his gaze raking you over with a light air of amusement. He plucked the blunt from his lips and hovered over the table as he gave a compliant cock of his head—a gesture that said, yeah, I could get behind that.

“Just make sure you put the tray somewhere I can get a good view of your ass,” he retorted with a brisk wink before he pressed the cigar’s inflamed nose into the ashtray loitering beside his hand. “And the tray better not be this ugly fuckin’ thing. Get me somethin’. . . quaint—none o’ this modern day lifeless shit and a half that’s got fuckin’ pussy power or some ball-less, feministic propo shit like that scribbled on the side.”

You narrowed your eyes mischievously. “Only you will demand everything your way even in death,” you chuckled, then you tilted your head inquisitively. “So you’re telling me that if I had to get my breasts casted with clay to make two matching bowls for your ashes, you’d have a problem with that? Is it too modern for you?”

Ben’s brows hoisted up a look of consideration, then his lips pursed with content acceptance. “Baby,” he drawled. “You do that and I’ll be back to fuck you in your dreams every. goddamn. night,” he promised.

“I guess that might help me not to forget you,” you retorted cheekily.

“Damn right,” he mumbled cockily. “Can’t forget a dick as givin’ as this one, anyway—and you’d be kiddin’ yourself otherwise. Little cock-slut like you? You were made to memorise every inch of my dick like a butt-print in a shitty velvet sofa.” He birthed a grin so condescending that it barely left room for you to breathe.

Smug, obscene asshole, you scoffed silently, but you couldn’t deny the truth behind his claim, and you had countless memories to serve as evidence. Ben knew that—it was the singular thing that warranted his sheer audacity to boast. For lack of better words, you flashed him the finger before bundling yourself back up, arms crossed against your chest as a ruffled gesture for him to continue his little project.

He made an amused noise halfway between a grunt and a chuckle before shifting in his seat and guiding his hands back to the concoction before him. “C‘mon, take a look,” he urged, plucking up some of the shredded weed between his fingers and gingerly placing it onto the squared paper. He took a moment to prod along the scattered herbs until a coherent line was formed atop the material. “This right here,” he said, prodding the paper, “s’called rollin’ paper. Gotta wrap it around the weed real nice and tight, like the foreskin of a sexually-abstained father of the church. Or some creakin’, ol’ geezer.”

“So like you, then?” You interjected, and you could’ve sworn you heard the snap of his neck as his eyes darted up to scorn you.

“Callin’ me old when you’re the one who can’t walk after one night in my bed is a li’l comical, don’tcha think?” He retorted, eyes lowering to where he rolled his thumb along the ball of his index finger to dislodge the clinging weed scraps. “Man,” he laughed in disbelief. “You got helluva mouth on ya.”

“Oh, so that’s what it’s called?” You chirped sarcastically, rubbing your lips together as though smearing some chapstick along the edges. You knew it was a stupid, bratty punch to throw, but you thought it worth it if it would coax any sort of reaction from Ben—and it did.

He glanced up at you from beneath hitched brows, pushing out a chuckle so forced, it could’ve starred the backtrack of some poorly made sitcom. But the faux amusement in his expression was dropped in an instant, his chin making an impatient jut in your direction—like the firm finger of a mother’s chide. “Shut the fuck up and pay attention.”

Your eyes widened in mock as you muttered a “yes, sir,” and turned your attention back to the table, your heading craning with far too much curiosity for your liking. Your eyes trailed every whisk and wander of his skilled fingers as he prepped another paper like the last. “Does it matter how much weed’s in a single blunt?”

Cautiously, Ben moved back to the first paper, his lips subconsciously jutting into a focused pout. It was something he did often without a notice, and you couldn’t help but savour the scene with a subtle grin. It was adorable, but for the sake of preserving the clueless tradition, you never said anything about it. You knew he’d find some way to get butt-hurt over you pointing it out, and then you’d be stuck with him forging some permanent, stoic expression to fend off the horrors of being called adorable.

He anchored the topmost corners of the rolling paper with his middle fingers before grabbing the bottom corners between his thumb and index finger, finally folding the square in half. “‘Bout a gram or two’ll do,” he finally replied. “But the paper’s already sized, so it’s just gotta be enough to fit in it. . .” he murmured busily, trailing off as he focused his attention onto carefully lifting the assembly from the table—determined not to spill any of the contents and further rob himself of the stock he’d been sold short on.

“Now,” Ben cleared his throat with utmost enthusiasm, his eyes momentarily lingering on the wrap before they flickered over to you with a scheme glinting in their green depths. Just what the hell was he up to now? “We gotta wet this baby real good, so why don’tcha stick out that tongue o’ yours for me, yeah? Lend an old man a helpin’ hand once in a while.”

He held the makeshift blunt tenderly between his thumbs and index fingers as he presented it in your direction with an annoyingly smug furnish to his handsome features.

Your eyes widened in surprise at his request. “You do it,” you told him through a chuckle, pressing your index finger against his nearest hand to gently nudge the dissembled blunt back in his direction. “You’re the pro of the fucking cancer sticks, so you show me how it’s done. Like you said.”

Ben cocked his head in slight disappointment, a smirk pitching up the corner of his lips as he withdrew the blunt with a light huff. “To think you’re usually all I can do it myself, Ben, I don’t need your help, Ben,” he mocked deeply, which caused your face to contort with a hint of offence.

“I don’t sound like th—“

“Yeah, you do,” he cut you short, the smirk on his lips playing into a full-blown grin as he drank in your affronted pout. “You and your fuckin’ feminist high,” he scoffed, bringing the paper up to his lips. “Now, stuff it and watch, ‘cause I’m only gonna show you once—and I expect ya to nail it off the fuckin’ bat.”

You hitched a brow at his subtle threat. “Or what?” You challenged.

He left that question unanswered—verbally, at least. But he fixed you with an intense glare as his tongue slipped past his lips to drag a slow, accentuated line along the edge of the paper, and you knew that to be answer enough. A promise—and hardly one of a good time when he was calling all the shots with the intent to punish you. Still, you felt your core jolt at that singular gesture, your thighs discreetly pressing together with the memory of that very movement that must’ve become etched into your folds by now. That teasing bastard, getting you all hot and bothered just for the sake of it.

When he reached the end of the jagged material, he drew the line back up one more time before his tongue retreated back to the concealment behind his lips. He lowered the concoction to the table, gaze still trained on you. Then, with a beckoning gesture of his chin, he said, “get over here.”

You obliged silently, quickly—guided by your arousal more than your own will, if you were being honest. Your chair screeched in protest as you pushed yourself up from your seat and slipped around the circumference of the table towards Ben’s seated frame. You’d barely reached his side when he freed a hand to eagerly outstretch and receive you, his large palm snaking along the small of your back to hook around your waist. He pulled you into his lap, legs spread in a wide v to comfortably accommodate your frame onto his.

As you settled yourself onto his lap, you made a point to dramatically shimmy your ass into the crook of his legs, causing him to grunt as you ground yourself against his prominent manhood. His free hand snaked over your thigh to settle at the tender, inner skin with a warning squeeze, his lips coming to press against your ear.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured lowly—a gruff sound that sent a jolt directly to your already-compromised core. And it was hard to ignore your arousal with the added stimulation of his stubbled jaw grating the sensitive skin of your cheek.

You turned your jaw partially, causing his soft lips to trace a seductive line along your cheekbone. “Always am,” you murmured in return, a cheeky grin beaming through as your gaze flickered down to his lips. Those darn lips. A taste you’d never get sick of, despite your tendency to grow bored of things rather quickly. Maybe you were no better than Ben—a shameless addict infatuated with the highs, only, your highs were being fondled by him.

For a moment, Ben entertained your play with a second of silence, and you were almost hopeful to feel his lips snag onto yours, but instead, they retreated from your jaw and left you in a state of hot disappointment.

“Pay attention,” he ordered, removing the hand he’d burrowed at your thigh to frame your jaw firmly. He turned your head forward and downwards, forcing your attention onto the makeshift blunt gripped in his other hand. His thumb trailed to your lips, kneading the tender skin aimlessly before slipping his hand from your jaw entirely. “Stick your tongue out.”

Obediently, you did as told, your tongue slipping through until you felt too ridiculous to go further.

“Atta girl,” he praised, your waist now straddled by both his arms as he held the corners of the makeshift blunt in his fingers and lifted it to your dangling tongue. “Now, I want you to lick it, just like I showed ya—and don’t crap out on showin’ it a good time, yeah?”

You gave a small nod and leaned your head down to meet the paper with your tongue, starting at the left corner. When the tip of your tongue made contact with the sheet, you could feel the cool, lingering trace of Ben’s saliva. It felt so primal, but you knew that he was enjoying every second of it—you lapping up his taste like an eager mutt, so you decided to give him one hell of a show.

You pressed your tongue against the paper more firmly now, and you began to drag a slow, sensual line toward the other corner, making sure to deliver a quick flick over Ben’s waiting thumbnail. He made a hald-amused, half-entertained noise, but waited patiently as you retraced the line back to the starting point.

Pulling back your tongue, you smacked your lips triumphantly. “All wet now,” you said.

“Bet you are,” he chuckled lazily, fingers moving to seal the paper and twist the ends into a reputable blunt. He brought the finished product up to your lips, urging the nozzle between them. “Be a good girl and hold onto that for me.”

You pulled your lips inward to deny the entrance of the blunt, turning your jaw to reject the offer. “No, thanks,” you said, but Ben wasn’t having it.

You felt his hand stroke up the curve of your thigh before forcing way beneath the hem of your shorts and underwear, where his fingers stroked a rough line through your folds. You gasped at the feel of his cool fingers playing at your hot core, and before you could process his foul play, his other hand was quick to push the fresh blunt between your parted lips.

“You talk too fuckin’ much,” he murmured against your ear, delivering a harsh squeeze to your clit. Your lips tightened around the blunt and you moaned into the smoking stick, eyes screwing shut as your head collapsed back into the crook of his neck. He pressed a hasty kiss to your temple, and you knew that it was more of a branding than a gesture of adoration. You were his to cherish, exploit and discard, all at once.

“What, you gonna tell me you didn’t see that comin’?” he chuckled lowly, the mocking sound vibrating against the crown of your head. “Been actin’ the brat this entire time, just hopin’ I’ll shut you the fuck up, huh? Yeah, I heard ya—loud and clear, baby.”

Your lips tightened around the blunt as Ben brutalised the pace of his fingers between your folds, vigorously toying with your clit like it were the worn strings of the guitar he couldn’t seem to master the tuning of. Your lips tightened around the blunt as his finger prodded at just the right spot, an explosion of pleasure slinging your thighs into a weakened and sprawled mess. All control over your body seemed to retreat as you slumped further into his strong frame, which cocooned you like it were your last hope at survival. Oh, you were done for, all right.

“You like that, huh?” Ben cooed into your ear, his free hand sliding beneath your tank to grab ahold of your breasts. He palmed both in a rough, careless motion, then settled on one with a teasing pinch to your nipple. The combined stimulation of his toying at both ends rendered you so speechless that you couldn’t even salvage a coherent moan, so you laid there in complete arrest, succumbing fully to your boyfriend’s mean ministrations. “What, nothin’ to say now? Not even a fuckin’ please or thank you? I know chivalry died when I was buried on ice, but I didn’t think the women had lost their manners, too.”

In all honesty, you could barely comprehend your boyfriend’s words through your numbed haze. Your vision slurred into darkness as your eyes fluttered closed, your saliva beginning to seep into the blunt’s contents as your lips clutched it like a lifeline. Ben released your breast, but the weaving of his fingers down below didn’t stutter. You felt his free fingers graze both your temples in sequence, where his knuckle pushed back the foremost strands of hair that had slipped the keep of your ears. Your heart fluttered an inch at what you thought to be an intimate gesture—which he gifted very few and far between. But knowing the type of man Ben was should have clipped your wings of hope and had you grounded from the get-go.

Suddenly, his hand trailed through your hair and fastened through as many strands as he could collect. Then, with a smooth roll of his wrist, he twined it into a harsh grip, your neck arching at an angle you couldn’t have achieved out of free-will. A weak protest slurred within your throat, which made Ben utter a sound half way between a low laugh and a scoff—the sound so demeaning it flushed your cheeks red. His exploitation hurt—but at the same time, it felt so good, so much so that your body did anything but pull away from his touch.

“Now this is a view I can get behind—you, all pretty and practically fallin’ apart on my fingers,” Ben murmured, his head lowering to your ear so that the sharp button of his nose nuzzled at your temple. “Fuck, I could take you right here, right now,” he continued sultrily. “You want that, sweetheart? Want me to give you exactly what you’ve been cravin’ all fuckin’ day? All you gotta do is ask. Nicely, you know, stroke my cock with your good-doer attitude. That achievable for a brat like you, hm?”

For all the questions asked, you couldn’t offer one damn answer—not with your lips plugged by Ben’s newest fix. You moved a hand to reach for the blunt, eager to pave way for the word that would lay your urges to rest for the night, but the hand he’d buried between your legs were quick to come up and seize your wrist in disapproval. A hot, disgruntled tut from Ben streamlined your ear, but all you could focus on was the sudden barrenness between your legs, a cold neglect left in the wake of his hand.

You weren’t afforded the opportunity to mourn that loss for long before he had both your palms pinned flat onto the table in front of you, the hand in your hair tugging further so that your upper body became suspended within a ruthless game of tug and war. Only, the two contestants—both his hands—were playing for the same team. Ben’s. The advantage was far from yours.

“Dirty stunt,” he hummed almost admirably, his nose tracing your jaw to place a single, devouring kiss over the arch of your neck. You felt the way his lips lapped at your skin in a large motion, like he craved to garner every inch of you in that single touch. He solidified that point with a harsh nibble, the sort that would pucker your skin for a good few minutes, before he brought himself back to your ear. “You don’t get to use your words for this, baby. Your right to an opinion has been worn out for the day, and quite frankly, I’ve had enough of all your fuckin’ chitchat. You wanna get fucked, you’re gonna show me just how much y’want it,” he husked with a dramatic pause, then added in a low murmur, “with your body. Got that?”

With your head practically immobilised by his grip, you echoed a muffled mhm. Your response seemed to be satisfactory enough because he relented his hold—just enough to relieve your pipes so that breathing came with a little more ease.

“Atta girl. It’s gets my dick salutin’ when you’re all obedient,” he praised. His claim was firmly backed by the bulge you felt growing beneath you. It pressed between your thighs like a brash beckoning, and it was enough to cause all the heat that had dissipated between your folds to re-emerge in full force. “Well? The hell you waitin’ for?” He asked in a tone a lot louder—and firmer—this time around.

You pushed out a clueless noise, which made Ben shift a thigh beneath you. Suddenly, the bulk of his leg was hoisted up between your own, the blunt force striking your core at just the right angle that sent a jolt up your body. You gasped a breathless sound into the blunt, your teeth burrowing into the softening paper, and your eyes screwed shut with the pleasure currently coursing your entire being.

“Get that body o’ yours movin’, or we can call it a disappointin’ night,” he instructed. God, you couldn’t come up short after all you’d endured thus far, so instinctually, your hips began to roll against his thigh at a jagged pace, seeking out the only stimulation you could manage in your stilted position. “Yeah, that’s it,” he cooed. “All yours for the takin’, if you’ll hold out long enough to see fuckin’ rainbows. A lot like bein’ on a high, ain’t it? Got my own li’l addict in the makin’.”

He was right. Actually, you thought this felt a whole lot greater than sniffing a line that would simultaneously have you losing your sanity for a few hours. Desperate whimpers began to stew in your chest, polished with so much passion that the sounds felt saturated, almost animated. And Ben, he was devouring every second of it. You couldn’t glimpse enough of his face to say that, but going off of everything you knew about him, and how mean he liked to get with you, you absolutely knew that you were something akin to his own personal heaven right about now. Oh, he’d forsake every personal belief to follow the religion that was you—your undoing.

Almost as though your body had grown frustrated with all the prolonged teasing, your high came on at a rapid pace that made you chest heave in desperation. You felt the arousal bundle into a tightly-knit ball, just yearning to be yanked at by the singular thread that would make it come undone. But the satisfaction was plucked out of reach within seconds when Ben released the grip on your hair to grab at your thigh, forcing your hips to still against his leg. And just like that, the fire within was snuffed out.

Your lips fell loose in exhaustion, the blunt you’d been so loyal to finally making an escape and toppling into your lap. “Ben,” you pushed out frailly, the disappointment heavy on your brows.

“The nerve o’ you,” Ben scoffed, utterly dismissive of your feeble protest. He released your thigh to dip into your lap, and shortly after, he pulled up with the blunt in clutch, wasting no time in pressing it back between your lips. You fumbled with the paper for a few seconds before you finally took it in, but you knew your boyfriend would have something to show for your disobedience. “Yeah, you are a brat,” he said, the hand pinning your wrists suddenly tightening as he pulled your arms to one side, his other hand hooking around your inner thigh.

In one large and effortless motion, he managed to sling you over his lap, releasing your wrists so that you were able to grasp the legs of his chair for support. You clutched the blunt between your lips a little tighter, fighting the villainous pull of gravity, and stifled a moan at the sudden spank that struck the curves of your ass. The aftermath of that contact had your body contracted with a mixture of shock and painful arousal, air blowing from your nostrils like harsh gusts.

“Fuckin’ quiverin’ already?” He chuckled, his large palm smoothing up the fabric of your shorts until you felt every inch of your ass dimple under the cool air of the room. You felt utterly exposed. “Baby, I’m just gettin’ started with you.”

Oh, you were so fucked.

His palm came down for another assault, this time louder than the last. The raw contact echoed through the apartment, narcissistically suffocating the whimper that rattled your chest. Tears began to hoard along the rims of your eyes, but you blinked enough to scatter the moisture. You didn’t need to give him another kick out of this—some lingering stubbornness wouldn’t allow it.

“Fuck, all that noise o’ yours is makin’ me lose count,” Ben scoffed. He rubbed soothing circles over your aching skin, which no doubt glowered an angry red that should have made your boyfriend feel some ounce of sympathy. But then the next words left his mouth, and you knew then that the Supe had no concept of remorse. “Guess I gotta start right at the beginning.”

You braved yourself against the rest of his spanks, your legs drawing together more and more with each touch—not from a place of pain, but from hot, embarrassing enjoyment. The slick within your folds was hard to ignore now, and it seemed to have snagged Ben’s attention because he let up on the harsh punishment, his fingers finding way beneath your shorts and drenched undies. You felt his fingers play at your slick, dragging a line all the way down to your yearning entrance.

“It’s a damn oil slick up in here,” he chuckled, his thumb teasing circles at your hypersensitive clit. “Whaddya say I give her some love, hm?” His finger dipped an inch into your entrance, as if offering a measly taste of his proposal. You rocked your hips back into him as a reply, urgently seeking out the length of his fingers. He gave a low chuckle, and to your shock, actually indulged your plea. Maybe it was your reward for finally playing by his rules.

You weren’t going to fucking question it.

Your back arched by instinct as you felt his fingers prowl into your entrance, your hands clutching the wooden legs of his chair as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The full force of multiple of his fingers should have coaxed forward some fleeting sense of pain, but you’d been so incredibly aroused for so incredibly long that your entrance welcomed him in like an open-house party. He pumped into you as deep as he could, an appreciative grunt leaving his lips as he revelled in your velvety warmth. His other hand came to wrap around the front of your neck, offering some much needed support as your strength began to collapse with each pump of his fingers.

Your whimpers became more frequent and dishevelled as he picked up the pace, his fingers curling at just the right angle. Every. Fucking. Time. Ben knew how to do the job well—a tactic that had you coming back time and time again, begging for more.

“That’s it, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he husked out, his own voice slightly abraded by exertion. The subtle breathlessness woven through his words spurred you on even further, making you feel some type of special with the knowledge that he was giving you his all. Just to see you break. Just so that he could put you back together with cherishing kisses.

It only took a few more pumps of his fingers to have your eyes clenching in wait, your lips throttling the blunt as his fingers curled right into your blooming bundle of pleasure. And then he struck it head on, causing an explosion of colour to invade your vision. For a few seconds, you couldn’t comprehend anything beyond your own ragged breaths, your ears ringing with the overwhelming aftermath of your high. You felt your juices trickle from your entrance, and you heard the squelching as Ben slowly retreated from your entrance.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he chuckled with a minuscule, congratulatory pat to your ass. “That was one o’ your best runs yet. Think ya can handle one more round?” Ben murmured, releasing your neck to rub a soothing line down your back. You didn’t honestly think you could, and you felt the way every inch of your body ached in an answering protest, but something else tugged your chin into that subtle permission, and then the Supe had you hoisted up in his arms bridal style as he carried you to the bed.

He laid you onto the mattress rather gently, but the caution was instantly discarded as he flipped you over and tugged your hips sky-high. His fingers hooked under the hem of your shorts and undies, and he couldn’t have yanked them over the curves of your ass at a faster pace. Your garments were tossed to some other corner of the room, followed by the rustle of fabric as Ben freed his stoic erection. You heard him huff a breath of relief, and you glanced over your shoulder in time to see him whisk across his shaft with a hasty pump.

You met his eye patiently, making a point to pout around the blunt so that he couldn’t miss the visual image of your dedication to this wretched thing. It made him smirk with satisfaction, a hand coming forward to hook around your pelvis and tug you back an inch. You grunted at the rough yank, turning your head forward as you settled yourself into your folded arms. You felt his tip nestle between your ass before dipping down to glide with ease into your slicked entrance. Both his hands took up firm grip at your pelvis, his large palms fanning across your navel as he pummelled into you with a guttural noise.

“Fuck,” he spat, his length retreating only to return with a force more brutal than a last. His hands shifted across your ass, delivering a hard spank before they slunk up to the small of your back. There, he pushed your stomach into the mattress, and you burrowed further into the material with every possessive thrust of his hips. “You’re just the fuckin’ release I needed after this shitty day—and god, you never disappoint,” he breathed out.

You whimpered in response, pressing your forehead into the sheets as your fingers curled into the bedding. God, this man was overstimulating—he seemed to forget that your frail body was no match for his super-abled one. Or, he simply revelled in that fact. Either way, you were done for.

The blunt’s body quirked against your lips as you practically smothered it against the mattress, but you could hardly be arsed about that now. Ben’s figure came to hover over you, his clothed chest pressing into your back. His hands came up beside your head, frantically searching for yours, and once he found them, his fingers threaded between yours. He held you firmly as he spread your hands out in front of you, trapping you below him as he continued to drive you into the bed. The worn bed frame was creaking so loud that it was almost absurd, and you half expected one of the neighbours to blare a shut the hell up from the top of their lungs. But the only noises to be heard were the gruff moans spewing from Ben’s lips, and your own muffled whining.

The mattress wasn’t anything as fancy as memory foam, but you were sure that by now—with how brutalised Ben’s pace within you was—that the mattress would never forget. You supposed you both had that in common.

──────────────────────

a/n — i’m not gonna lie, i was starting to think this piece would NEVER see the light of day good gawd i think i have commitment issues. anyhoo, if you are a pro at making blunts, mind your business! 😭 i did a quick google search and rolled with it (pun unintended), so if something’s inaccurate you can blame google pls and ty LMAO. i’m just a non smoker girly trying to bring the drug-addled fantasies of loving soldier boy to life, as best as i possibly and very limitedly can. if this fic traumatised you im sorry (also you’re welcome). y’all know the drill, it’s 2 am—if there are typos; no there’s not.

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

tags — @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @figthoughts

want to be apart of the taglist?

other works — the boys masterlist

© bluemerakis — do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[zepskies]

Headcanon: Wearing His Clothes

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: I haven't done one of these in a while! This one was requested by the lovely @luci-in-trenchcoats. 💜

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff, spiciness/implied smut

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to you (getting caught) wearing his clothes.

Dean Winchester

Ugh, what a cocky SOB. 😆 (And yet, not the cockiest of them all.)

You've been doing it for weeks now, without comment from him.

But every time he sees you in one of his undershirts, getting ready for bed, it's always accompanied by a little once-over. A curve of his lips. A smirk, if you will.

He likes the look of you.

He likes that you're his.

And he likes the fact that you feel comfortable enough to steal his clothes.

He also likes welcoming you into bed next to him, with a hand running up your back, or venturing under whatever undershirt you've decided to slip on to feel the warmth of your skin.

"'S this mine?" he asks. You give him a quirking smile.

"You know it is," you say, with playful challenge.

Dean accepts that with a hum and leans in for a kiss as payment.

Sometimes that one stolen kiss leads to another, simmering with heat. And he’ll take great pleasure in taking back his shirt, casting it to the floor and rolling you underneath him on the bed.

But it doesn't stop at his undershirts. You steal his plaid ones if you want something to comfortably drown in when you're doing research, or just lounging in the bunker. The material is soft from several hundred washes. (The red and black one is one of your favorites.)

Rare though it is for him to wear hoodies, it's rarer still, because Dean can never even find one in his side of the dresser.

That's because you're keeping it hostage on your side, buried under your lingerie. (Even if he tried to find the hoodie, odds are he’ll get distracted.)

It gets to the point where he can hardly find anything of his.

His brows furrow as he rucks through his drawers for something clean to wear, while clad in only his most threadbare sweatpants.

"Damn it, woman. Where are my shirts?" he grouses.

You bite your lip and pretend to keep reading your book. You're already safe in bed, covered up to your chest by the blankets.

"I don't know. Have you done your laundry?" you ask, smiling to yourself. Dean catches you, with a suspicious brow raise.

He climbs into bed and snatches the covers away from you. You yelp at the suddenness and try to grab at them, but it's too late.

He discovers that you're wearing one of his newer shirts, which he had to buy to replace the ones he just can't seem to find.

"Are you kidding me? This is Theft in the First goddamn Degree!" he exclaims, even though he's close to laughing at the way you're already giggling. He manages to pin you underneath him on the bed, and he has half a mind to take this shirt back as well, by whatever means necessary.

And yes, tickling is one of those means.

"Sweetheart, for the love of God. Why do you keep taking my shit?" he asks, in a way that's half-serious in his frustration, but also half-teasing.

You shrug shamelessly, still smiling. You run your hands up his bare arms and shoulders, and back down his chest.

"I don't know. It's comfortable," you say. But your eyes lower as your face begins to warm with a blush. "Makes me feel safe...like you're always with me."

At that, the tension in Dean's shoulders eases. His smile can't help but soften around the edges as he looks down on you, now with fondness. After a while, he lets out a deep sigh.

"All right," he says.

You grin, because you know he's given up. You lean up for a kiss that successfully distracts him.

Dean still gets annoyed sometimes when he can't find a specific item of clothing in his drawer, but now, all he has to do is go over to your side of the dresser.

There he knows he'll eventually find what he's looking for.

Beau Arlen

Heh, in this episode of “Whose Hat is it Anyway”...

Beau's wardrobe reminds you of a cowboy in modern times.

Lots of browns and beiges, lots of slacks and buttoned-down shirts tucked in with an army of belts to choose from (even though the man only owns a few pairs of boots). Not to mention a slew of jackets that often pull the look together.

But being that he's new to Montana (specifically, Montana winters), you like to buy him sweaters. Cable-knits and soft ones in earth tones that you think bring out his eyes.

Beau accepts whatever you get him and graciously wears them. He trusts your judgment on what looks good on him, and he appreciates the way you think of him.

It's just one of those ways, however small, that you show that you care and that you're looking out for him.

One night while he's working late, however, you find yourself trying to reorganize the closet. The man is "organized chaos" at best, and you find one of his sweaters on the floor. It's a nice burgundy one that you bought him recently.

Ooh, so soft, you think, while feeling the fabric between your fingers.

You don't know what possesses you, but you decide to slip out of your pajamas and try it on yourself.

SO damn soft, you realize, as you practically drown in the sweater. It hangs about to mid-thigh.

Then you see one of his beige Stetsons hanging on the wall. A sneaking smile curves your lips, before you slip on his hat.

To complete the ensemble, you dig into the recesses of your closet and find a pair of your old cowboy boots. You go out into the bedroom and check yourself out in the mirror with a growing smirk.

"Hey there, darlin'," you try to impersonate your boyfriend's subtle Texan twang, and even his mannerisms by winking at yourself, tipping the hat forward.

You giggle at your own silliness in this moment, but alone in your own house, who freakin' cares? You should feel free to dance naked through the whole damn place if you feel like it.

So you spin on your heel and do a little twirl in your boots.

"Who's the sheriff now, huh?" You mime a pair of guns with your hands and shoot at your reflection. "Psh, psh!"

But that's when you catch sight of one Beau Arlen, leaning against the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed. An amused grin is plastered to his face.

You freeze in shock, still with your "gun hands" held up.

"Oh, don't stop the show on my account," Beau says slyly. He gestures at you. "Please, continue."

Your hot blush spreads from your cheeks and quickly begins to travel down your neck. "Uh...I was just...you know, cleaning the closet. You're very messy, you know!"

Beau snorts and draws closer. Those green eyes of his take in the full sight of you, down your bare thighs and cowboy boots, and back up to your embarrassed face. You bite your bottom lip on reflex.

"You know, I like what you got goin' on here," he says, waving a hand down your form. "But it's just...it's missing something."

He takes his badge with the gold star off his belt and pins it to your sweater.

"There you go. Perfect fit," he says, even as his hand slides up the slope of your back. You find yourself pulled further into his orbit as you try (and fail) to stamp down a smile.

"You're late, you know," you remind him. Beau bows his head and presses a kiss into your neck. You feel his smirk there.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Gonna arrest me, or let me off with a warning?" he teases. His other hand comes up to adjust the hat on your head. You smirk and cling to his arms over his dark brown jacket. It's one of his nicer ones.

"I think I can let you off," you play along. You lean up to skim your lips across his cheek, and closer to his ear. "But only for good behavior."

He has to chuckle then. "I can accept those terms..."

Beau's hands slip under your stolen sweater and begin to slide it up your body, inch by inch.

"Though I'm gonna need you to keep the boots on," he says lowly, just before he claims you with a searing kiss.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, here we go. 😅

As with most things, it's a point of pride for Ben.

He'd prefer you be too fucked out to move, let alone put on clothes after he's finished with you.

On the rare occasion that your body doesn't feel too much like warm molasses after a few hot rounds with your boyfriend, you like to at least grab one of his discarded shirts to cover yourself.

If he still has energy, he'll take that as a challenge. He'll try to slip his hands underneath whatever shirt you've found and divest you of it, so he can start devouring you again.

However. Ben does like seeing you in his clothes, in a possessive, claiming way.

There are days when you just want to be swallowed up in one of his large, comfortable shirts as you lounge about the house.

Ben sometimes watches you putter around, cleaning, working, cooking, reading, or watching TV in nothing but his clothes. He wonders if you're even wearing panties. You could be bare faced with a severe case of bed head, but his eyes will still occasionally follow you.

His expression doesn't reveal too much, but he likes it. (And because you know him, you know it too.)

Maybe he'll catch you as you pass by, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You startle with a yelp, but then you grab onto his arms and smile.

"Can I help you, sir?" you tease.

"Think you can just walk by me, looking sexy as fuck?" he remarks. He steals a slow, thorough kiss. You cup his face and bring him back in for more, tenderly stroking his cheek.

"You know why I like wearing your stuff?" you ask. Your smile hints at teasing.

Ben arches a brow. "Why?"

"Because it keeps you looking," you reply. And you reach a hand around to slap his ass, for good measure.

Then you saunter away from him to get back to what you were doing.

Or at least, you try to.

Ben grabs your hand and pulls you back towards him, back into the cage of his arms, where he falls back into the trap you've so often laid. And he finishes what you started.

AN: Well, then. 😂 I hope you guys enjoy this! Who had your favorite reaction: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 😘

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[figthoughts]

helping beau relax after a stressful day at work

— smut, est. relationship. (beau x gf!reader) 18+

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

imagine beau getting home to your apartment after a long day, a deep sigh rumbling from his chest as he sits down on the couch, almost defeatedly.

“what’s wrong, my love?” you ask, seeing the exhaustion etched on his face, taking a seat beside him.

“just a long day, darlin’. don’t worry about it,” he replies, pulling you into his arms, caging you against his chest.

“you say that, but i do worry. i care about you, beau,” you smile, searching his eyes as the soft-spoken words leave your lips. you plant a tender little kiss on his cheek.

he hums with a tired smile as you plant another kiss. and another. and another. you kiss your way along his bearded jaw, your lips eventually finding his.

beau kisses you back lazily, letting his eyes flutter shut as his body melts into the couch, but as you slip your leg over his thighs and settle in his lap, it’s like a flip switches. he kisses you back hard, with a desperate intensity to it.

“so tired,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling at your shirt, “just been wanting to come home and see you. more than anything, darlin’.”

you sense the emotion behind his words; you can tell he’s had a rough day. you know he needs a little lovin’ right now.

you let him slip off your shirt, his mouth attaching itself to your neck, sucking and biting at your skin gently. he pulls at your bra straps and you nod, giving him permission to continue undressing you.

he pulls the rest of your clothes off, along with his, with such reverence in his gaze as he looks at you. his eyes widen as you settle in front of him on the floor.

“oh, sweetheart. you don’t have to do that, you’ve worked all day too,” he breathes out, his fingers tenderly pushing back some hair from your face.

“don’t have to, want to,” you correct him, taking him in your hand, your eyes locked on his.

he gasps at your soft hand wrapping around his cock and the shivers that run down his spine as you begin to pump him. you watch his shoulders begin to relax and the tense expression on his face slowly disappear.

“mmm, are— are you sure?” he asks again, his tone lazy and tired, his southern drawl coming out a little.

“positive,” you reaffirm.

beau rocks his hips a little as you pump his hardening cock, quiet and needy moans falling from his lips.

“ahhh… sweetheart, that feels so good…” he coos lovingly, watching you from the couch in awe.

you smile up at him, watching him through your lashes, enjoying his gaze that’s so full of love and affection.

as you take his hardened cock into your mouth, a deep moan erupts from his chest. beau’s hand comes to rest on your head, not guiding your movements by any means, but just out of desperation to touch you, to have the comfort of your body against his, even in that small insignificant way.

you bob your head up and down his length, your tongue swirling over his sensitive tip, tasting his precum as he watches you in a mixture of adoration and fascination.

“fuck, darlin’. feels so good. you look so beautiful like this,” he mutters, his free hand gripping the couch.

you hum around his cock, enjoying how the vibrations make beau’s hips jerk up towards you.

deep and strangled groans fall out of beau’s mouth as he gets closer, twitching against your tongue. you grab the base of his cock, jerking off what you can’t fit in.

beau bites at his bottom lip, trying to stifle his moans as they get louder. his grip in your hair gets a little tighter, now guiding you along his member. you let him, seeing the neediness and exhaustion still haunting his features.

“ahhh… oh, god— mmm, feels so good. don’t stop, baby…. please…” he whines out, his eyes locked on you.

you bat your lashes up at him, moving up ‘n down his thick cock faster, your hand still wrapped around his base.

he whimpers as he fights off finishing right there in your mouth, “ahh ahh, darlin’…. w-where?”

you look into his desperate eyes as you pull him out of your mouth with a ‘pop’, your hand still jerking his sensitive pretty pink cock. you stick your tongue out and open your mouth, answering his question.

he nods in response and grabs ahold of his length, jerking himself off quickly, “fuck, darlin’… gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours…” he grunts out, hisses and groans flying past his lips.

he lets out a deep pathetic moan as he finishes, his warm ropes of cum covering your lips and tongue as he milks his cock for every last drop.

your eyes stay locked on his as he shoots his load into your mouth. a small smile grows on your face as he slumps back into the couch, a tired but satisfied look on his face, “oh, jesus. baby, you’re so—” he shakes his head, unable to find the words to describe how strong his love for you is.

you obediently swallow, wiping the drops above and below your lips into your mouth, your tongue teasingly wrapping around the tip of your finger. beau groans again, watching you tease him as you swallow his cum.

“so damn beautiful,” he comments, “thank you, babygirl. i— i really needed that.”

you nod, shifting on your knees in front of him with a smile. you tilt your head and look at him as he smiles back at you, “i know. you looked like you needed it, baby.”

he hums again, watching you crawl back up onto his lap. his hands find their way to your waist, “is it my turn to make you feel good now, my darlin’? i’m dying to return the favour.”

you smile widely and shrug trying to play coy, but the excited squeal that escapes your lips as beau pins you down against the couch gives away just how eager you are.

A/N: first time writing for beau !!! the daddy issues in me are SCREAMING for a piece of him like actually it’s so bad.

requests and feedback are welcome!! reblogs are appreciated!! thank youuuu!!!

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[jollyhunter]

Beau!Dean x hunter!reader - The Broken Circle

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! ♡

Characters: (mostly) Beau Arlen / (flashbacks, for now) Dean Winchester x hunter!reader, also Denise and Cassie AU: "Supernatural" x "Big Sky" crossover, set after S15 of SPN

One Shot (???)

Warnings: - Major MC death mentioned (end of SPN spoiler), implied panic attack, angst and just buckets of tears (I'm coping with a certain someone's death here) - No use of Y/N - English is not my native language

Words: ~4,050

Setup: "Winchester" - That's the name you applied with at the police department, when you started a new life in Big Sky, Montana, 4 years ago. It's your deceased husband's name. Or rather, meant-to-be husband, since Dean died 2 weeks before he got to propose to you. Today you return from your one month time-out. But a lot has changed since you went to visit Sam; You've got a new sheriff.

And he's the same man you thought you'd never see again.

The Broken Circle

Cold.

In one word, that's your last memory of when you gingerly cupped Dean’s face. How your tender fingers caressed his bruised cheeks and wiped away the dirt from his battered skin. Shakily combed out the rubble from his damp brown hair and scrubbed the dry blood off his fingers.

The last time you squeezed Dean's lifeless hand before it slipped from your trembling fingers. Cold and busted lips scraped against yours when you gently kissed him goodbye for the last time in this life.

...Or so you hoped. Who knew what heaven had in stock for you two.

You just wished you could have been there, in that damn barn. Been with him in his last minutes. Could have held his hand next to Sam. Could have told him how much you loved him. Reassure him that you'd give up the hunting life like you both had planned. That you'd try and live a good life for him... and that you were sure you'd see each other again.

But instead you had to take leave of Dean's lifeless body. Hollow. Drained of everything that made him the man you loved and had planned to spend the rest of your life with.

Dean gave his life for so many innocent people – hell, for the entire world. But he never got to have his own life. Never got to live it the way he wished to.

It just seemed so damn unfair. You had so much planned for your future. Have yourself some rug rats, a dog maybe, a house, a garden with those ridiculous white picket fences. You’d live a cherry pie life once you’d leave the hunting life behind you.

Or so you liked to picture it in your heads. On those rare, peaceful nights where you'd rest in each others arms like an old couple. His fingers combing your hair while your thumb carefully stroked his battered knuckles. Whispers of daring dreams filling the silence.

But reality was cold. Bloody. Like an animal put down. With a last effort, put to rest on his bed in the bunker by Sam and you.

This image will haunt you for the rest of your life, you know it. It already did for the past 5 years. If only you could have —

"Winchester?"

You blink rapidly, your mind thrown off for a moment when you snap out of your spiraling thoughts.

Denise waves with a paper in front of you to get your attention back. "She was mutilated. And it wasn't a bear. Her heart had been cut out."

"Jesus," Cassie breathes with a look of shock and disgust, shifting uncomfortably next to you.

"Yeah," Denise's face grimaces into a painful one. Her eyes are darting from Cassie, down to the report and back up to your still slightly absent gaze. "What do you make of it, Winchester?"

"Sounds like a werewolf." Damn it. The words slipped your lips before you could fully snap out of your memories. “I mean, sounds like a bit far-fetched but I’ll let Sheriff Tubbs know.” You force a wry smile when you grab the piece of paper from Denise’s hands, ready to head out of this messed up conversation.

“Sheriff Arlen,” Cassie calls after you and you stop in your tracks to look back at them with arched eyebrows.

“Sheriff who?” You inquire with a puzzled look. How the hell could you have missed this much in just one month off duty?

“Sheriff Beau Arlen,” Cassie repeats and Denise quickly adds with a teasing hum, “And his ass is just- mmmh-” she makes a chef’s kiss hand gesture while Cassie rolls her eyes with an amused chuckle.

You let out a huff in mock-annoyance but can’t help the faint grin on your face. Maybe, one day you’d dare to befriend them. Maybe, whenever you’d feel ready for letting people into your life again. But not today.

Ready to pick up your work at the police department, your eyes immediately land on the new name on what used to be Sheriff Tubbs office. ‘Sheriff Beau Arlen’ is written in an arched, golden text across the door’s glass.

You raise a sceptical eyebrow at the name. “Beau” you spit out the name under your breath, already feeling a distaste for this new sheriff.

In your defence, it wasn’t personal. It is just in your nature to feel sceptical towards anything new, especially people. Perhaps you gave up your hunting life. But any hunter will tell you between a swig of whiskey and a loaded shotgun that you’ll never lose your hunter instincts, no matter how hard you try. That’s not how it works. You don’t end this business by walking out the door.

It ends you.

In some way you were like trained bloodhounds. Always one chase away of your next kill. Unable to ignore the smell of blood. You were painfully aware of that fact. You could never live a fully normal life without the occasional hunch or a nervous look over your shoulder.

But you’d learned to accept it and make the best of it.

Here you can still help people. Save people. And once in a while nudge the sheriff into the right direction when you suspected something more than a suicide. Or you’d discreetly plant anti-possession charms on people when you had a hunch that demons were involved in a case.

Yet Sam believes you had retired fully from hunting like he did. And you liked to belief so, too. But on some days you weren’t so sure whether you even wanted to.

In some twisted way, hunting will always connect you with Dean. And at the same time it pains you, like a slow poison. Because you know it’s what he hated and never wanted for you.

And what took him from you.

It is a walk on a tight rope, really.

With a little huff of defiance you push the door to the sheriff’s office open. Your eyes dart around the empty room as you lean slightly forward, “Sheriff Arlen?”

Nothing. Oh well. With a quick glance over your shoulder you decide to take the chance and just drop off the report. You step inside, your fingers tracing the edge of the paper as your mind is instinctively drawn back to the case. I’ll have to look into this… bloody werewolf —

“Ah, Deputy Winchester, ain’t it?”

You freeze in mid motion.

And so does time. The paper slowly slides from between your trembling fingers and flutters to the floor. The unmistakable voice jolting through your mind and body like a lightning bolt. Your breath is caught in your throat, your mind and body paralysed.

The world holds its breath.

This is impossible.

“...Winchester, innit?” he repeats as he steps into the office and casually walks up to you, a wide smile spread across his face.

It can’t – NO.

You don’t dare to turn around.

Not that your body would be capable of any movement anyway. Every muscle is tense, your spine’s gone completely rigid. And your heart’s hammering against your ribs like it’ll crack your chest open from the inside.

You stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Headlights of a ‘67 Chevy Impala called Baby.

It has to be my imagination.

“Ya got somethin’ for me there? Oh-” You feel his elbow briefly brush your side as he bends down to pick up the paper next to your foot.

You don’t move an inch and stare ahead.

He straightens up again and steps around you to place it down on his desk. When he finally moves into your view and turns around to face you with his warm smile – your heart stops.

Emerald green eyes look back at you. Deep and sparkling green oceans. Alive.

Your brain freezes. Your mind scrambling for an explanation but failing to come up with anything.

This can’t be.

After a moment of tense silence, the tremors of your bottom lip make way for what your mind refuses to believe in.

“Dean?”

His name slips you in a mere breathless murmur. Afraid that whatever this is, will shatter the moment you dare to breath again.

Beau raises a brow. “Dean?”

He repeats the name with such nonchalance, such valuelessness, like it’s just some random clerk who he’s got no business with. As if that name didn’t mean the world to you once. Still would. Still does.

But the way his name dropped from his lips…

It clogs your airways. And the question mark at the end was him ramming a dagger into your heart and twisting it, without him even realising.

“Uh, no ain’t that.” He gently shakes his head and his lips melt into a cheeky smile as if that would make his next words any less painful.

“I’m Beau.”

Silence. Once again you feel like the air’s sucked out of your lungs. Like someone had pushed you off a cliff.

Someone who is an imposter of your deceased husband.

Beau. Your jaw clenches. And the name bounces off your mind. Your initial reaction being immediate rejection. No, you’re not... Beau.

Your eyes flicker across the man in front of you.

He might look quite… changed. He’s got a beard, neatly trimmed even. His hair is longer and… soft. Gone was the rugged and calloused man you loved. But it is still him. His eyes with their hidden secrets lingering behind those intense glinting, emerald green pools. His bow legs you’d recognize out of a hundred. His voice, his features, his – everything. Everything on him seems much softer but still… in your eyes, it’s Dean. No doubt.

“Why are ya lookin’ like you saw a ghost?” Beau questions with a tilt of his head, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

His voice snaps you out of your intense gaze. Your mouth opens, but no words make it past your quivering lips. All words drowned out in a flood of a million questions. Your focus drifts off, your eyes darting around the office like you’re expecting Gabriel to pop up any second and laugh at you.

But the room stays reduced to the two of you.

You feel like you’re on a tipping point.

Hands clenched, one subtly moves back to your hidden silver dagger – you do what you were trained to do in situations like these; Your mind grips for the lifeline and kicks into hunter mode. You rattle off the list of possible monsters; Shapeshifter? Ghoul? Am I dreaming? Is it some sick game of a trickster God? —

“Darlin’? You alright?” he asks, his voice now more concerned. You look terrified. As pale as a sheet, the blood drained from your face. Close to a panic attack, he guesses by your rapid breaths. Beau reaches out with his hand, gently patting your arm to get your attention. “Hey… Easy, just breathe.”

At his touch you jolt and finally snap out of your state of shock. The hand hovering over the concealed weapon falters. His worried eyes lock with yours.

The life-line snaps. Your mind tips over. Enough to make your stomach twist and turn, about to throw up. With only one shared look, everything’s back; The pain, the poignant grief, the cold skin under your fingertips, Dean’s lifeless expression, emerald eyes gone dull, the stench of decay, of old blood and dirt and his burning flesh and-- it all crashes down on you. All the emotions and memories you had buried in the depths of your mind, now laid open.

Fresh and hungry. Slowly swallowing you whole. Again.

“I- I don’t feel so… good – sorry,” you sputter, your hand clutching your chest in an effort to keep it together. The same second you spin around on your heels and storm out of the office without looking back once.

Beau. His mere presence was suffocating.

You remember the moment you and Sam cleaned up Dean’s lifeless body. How your fingers brushed against a folded paper, carefully tucked away in his jacket’s inside pocket.

Sam’s face had contorted the moment you pulled it out. Clearly, he had known what secret the paper held and before you got to question his knowing look, he suddenly got up. While walking out, he said he’d give you some time alone with his brother.

Once you unfolded the notepaper halfway, your breath stopped. Your eyes slowly shifted from one scribbled word to the next, each of them hitting harder than the next, each of them taking more of your breath. You swallowed past the lump in your throat when the realization of what you’d been holding in your hand slowly set in.

They were notes of Dean. Notes for your upcoming anniversary in two weeks.

You unfolded the rest of it and your eyes widened. The paper began to crumple in your shaking hands while wet stains swallowed some of his jotted down keywords. When your burning eyes reached the last four words, it had felt like whatever was left of your broken heart had just been ripped out entirely.

The raw emotions rolled down your cheeks, your tears mixing with his last unspoken words…

“Will you marry me?”

Beau was left back staring at the slammed door in bewilderment and a little stunned. After a moment, he sighs and pushes off the desk to follow after you.

“Winchester!” He calls down the corridor, watching you stumble out the front door into the outside. He jogs after you, slightly panting, while his eyes dart around the parking lot in search for you.

The rain crashes down on him the moment he steps outside. His head briefly tilts up to face the grey sky with an annoyed groan. The raindrops are pattering against his creased forehead, running down his cheeks to pool at the tip of his beard.

But then he hears a muffled sniffle next to him. Strands of his soaked hair fall into his face when he whirls his head around, spotting you leaned against the wall.

“No- no – it can’t be you – Damn it – it can’t…” you mutter under your rapid breaths, somehow trying to fight your scrunched up, stinging eyes with words of common sense. Your chest feels constricted. Your heart’s hammering in your ears and your breath’s clipped, feeling like you might faint any moment of lack of oxygen.

Leaning back against the wet wall for some support, your mind’s on the brink of a breakdown. There’s no explanation for this. This can’t be happening.

Beau suddenly appears in front of you and before you get to react, he places a hand on your shoulder. You flinch but don’t pull away. His hand feels heavy against your soaked jacket, grounding, gentle – but casual, like you would with a stranger. You are strangers.

“Hey, hey take it easy. You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack. You’ll be okay.” He says as he crouches down to your level. He glances over your trembling body and how your eyes try to avoid his, your expression like you’d just witnessed a murder in slow-motion.

“Look at me, deep breaths.” Beau speaks in a firmer, yet gentle tone, trying to break through your panicked state.

When you refuse to look up, he tilts his head down to meet your eyes behind some soaked stray hair that sticks to your skin. He pushes them out of your face, his intense gaze searching your contorted face for some form of hint for what’s got you so spooked.

He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. While his soothing words just keep coming, his voice now a lower whisper as he’s desperately trying to understand what is going on in that head of yours, “Hey, c’mon… talk to me, Winchester…”

Your eyes are burning from the tears that have been building up until now. Eyelashes heavy and clumped together by the droplets of the rain. And his intense eyes staring into yours, the very same eyes you fell in love with over 10 years ago, do nothing to ease your pain.

You try to tear your gaze away from his, but find yourself caught in them. It’s like you’re staring into a beautiful forest after years of living in a desert. They pull you in, and you feel like you are right back where you’d always longed to be. Home.

But a home that isn’t yours any more. The soul behind those eyes looks familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. You thought you’d never see those eyes again – but those very same eyes hold no memory of you.

The same question keeps repeating in your head, ripping at your heart and soul like a Hellhound.

Dean… is this you?

His voice cuts through your thoughts like a soft knife. “Take deep breaths darlin’, it’s oka-”

“Please- just-” you cut him short, a painful, shaky breath rippling through your voice, “Just stop talking.” Beau’s voice is like a dagger to your heart, twisting it whenever he speaks up. Mocking your memories with that uncanny tone of his.

I’m just tired. You hear Dean’s voice in your head and just like him, you wished you didn’t feel a damn thing.

Beau raises a brow and tilts his head forward, studying your face. For a moment he opens his mouth about to speak again, but when he sees you flinch, he forces himself to shut it closed.

His jaw’s clenched from fighting the urge to talk and feeling a bit overwhelmed with the entire situation. Not knowing where to go with himself or what to do without making things worse. He isn’t sure what it is, but something about you tugs at his heart in a way he can’t quite understand. But he quickly dismisses it, for now.

His eyes snap up to the sky when the rain starts to increase. Heavy drops splatter off the both of you, coaxing a single tear to let go of the corner of your eye. It was like the sky cried for you. Eyes that parched exactly 5 years ago.

Without a word he moves closer, gently wrapping his free arm around your waist. But you stop him before his palm touches your side. Your hand's shaking as it clings to his wrist like a lifeline.

Beau’s eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t comment on it. His expression grows pensive and his eyebrows slightly furrow, watching your trembling form. Your chest's heaving heavily, like you’re struggling for air. And your eyes are out of focus, like they're reliving some nightmare.

He suddenly feels a strong protectiveness - decides to hold himself back, though, afraid he might make things worse. But it pains him terribly to see you this way, even if he might not know you, yet.

You don’t say anything. Unable to form the right words as nothing could express the storm of contradicting emotions you are trapped in. The wavering grip on his arm is clenching and unclenching subtly as if unsure whether you want to push him away or pull him in.

“Sorry,” you finally croak between shuddering breaths, unsure what you were even apologizing for, “I’m sorry…”

Why were you apologizing? A strange feeling settles in his guts, one of this being a lot bigger than he could comprehend.

Next moment you know, you’re pulled into a tight hug. Both his arms wrapping around you to pull you close and hold you together.

At first you stiffen. Standing there like a fragile, shaking tree. Your arms pressed against your sides, unable to comprehend any more what is happening.

But he keeps you in his embrace, murmuring soothing words, muffled by your hair and the heavy rain. You lift your head slightly, just enough for your wavering eyes to meet his again.

That’s when the realization hits you. He looks so whole. So unbroken. His skin and his hair was smooth and tender beneath that thin layer of rain. He lacks any form of scar, any edges or any memory of the horrors you and he had faced and committed. Your heart twists; This isn’t what a scarred hunter looks like. And at the same time you feel your heart sink at the next conclusion… Beau would have been Dean’s idea of a perfect life, without ever having been born into the hunting business.

And it makes you wonder whether he was granted that alternate life.

Beau feels your trembling body against him and how your gaze is searching his face for something he doesn't know. Why are you looking at him like that? A lump forms in his throat. His hand gently caresses your back in a circle motion, while his other keeps stroking your hair.

“It’s alright, s’okay. You’re okay.” Beau says in a soothing, comforting tone and he tugs you a little closer, allowing you to rest against him.

Your wet hair falls into your face once more when your head drops to his chest. You both stay still, the only sound being the pitter-patter from the raindrops against the hood of his truck and the puddles around you. Your ragged breath’s nearly drowned out by the rain. The world seems to have shrunk to the beat of his heart softly thudding against your ear.

And that breaks the dam. Tears it down as the floods of emotions search their way out. Your shoulders rise and buckle against his chest. The tears finally break free, streaming down your face, mixing with the rain soaking your clothings. Your body wracked with sobs – raw, desperate, painful. Liberating.

You begin to shake uncontrollably, the sobs growing more and more powerful. They start to rack through every fibre of your body. Your legs grow unsteady beneath you, daring to crumble from the weight of every emotion you had buried in the past 5 years released and unloading all at once.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll stay right here as long as ya need me to. C’mere…” He reassures you, and pulls you even closer. His chin comes to rest on top of your head, his facial hair brushing against your scalp and his warm breath wafting down at you. “Just let it out… you’re gonna be okay… you’re not alone, ‘kay?”

You clutch at his jacket tightly, holding onto him like you’re drowning. Like you’re afraid he might be a dream after all. Might disappear from your grasp at any moment. Everything spills out of you, incoherent words bubbling from your wet lips. “Y-y-you’re alive- you’re alive- a-alive- I missed you so much, Dean- so so much-”

Beau can’t exactly make out the words that are tumbling from your mouth, but he can feel you shaking against him terribly. He quickly takes his big jacket off to drape it over you, to try and keep the rain and cold off you.

His heart tightens at the sight of your curled-up body, clinging to him while shivering badly and breaking apart in his arms. He slowly begins to speak again, a hint of an encouraging smile on his face, “Hey, ‘m gonna pick ya up. Ya ain’t gonna stand that cold and rain. Ya’ll get sick.” He then places his arms on your back and under your thighs, before lifting you up off the ground in one smooth motion.

He holds you close against his chest, wrapping his jacket over you for extra warmth. The rain patters against the concrete floor while his boots splash through the puddles, carrying you over to his truck.

You don’t protest as your body was giving in at this point. Like a run down shed in a storm.

Your fingers slowly going numb from the death grip, the wet and cold. You choke on your sobs while the tears keep rolling down your reddened cheeks.

But from joy.

You don’t know whether he is Dean or not. Whether this is real or you finally lost it.

But in this very moment you didn’t care.

You let yourself drift back to the happiest place in your mind. One you hadn’t dared to visit for many years. Locked up and keys buried along your husband. Deep down in your broken heart.

When you close your eyes and press the side of your face against his chest, you can hear his heart pounding. When he speaks, you hear Dean’s voice above you, soft and peaceful.

And you feel his body through the drenched pieces of clothings between you.

He feels warm. Warm.

A/N: it was meant to be a drabble IT WAS MEANT TO BE A DRABBLE

I'M NOT CRYIN'- OKAY FINE I'm still coping with his death - I haven't even watched it since I'm still catching up with the seasons. GAWD I HTE THIS - I JUST NEEDED CLOSURE DAMN IT

Anyway, I just had to get this story off my chest before next year. I don’t know yet whether it deserves more parts but do let me know if you think so!

Tags:

@aylacavebear

[lila-lou]

✨Family✨

Summary: This Christmas is your first with Emily, Beau’s teenage daughter. Between her shy smiles and sharp wit, she’s learning to trust you, and you’re creating a home together.

-Christmas Special-

Pairing: Beau x Reader

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 3377

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. ❤️

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, filling the air with a cozy warmth that made the chill of the Montana winter seem far away. Emily stood next to you, carefully arranging cookies on a tray. Her focus was intense, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrated on making each cookie look just right. It was the kind of detail about her that always made you smile—a reminder that, even at sixteen, she still had that playful spark beneath her teenage independence.

“You think Dad’s gonna notice if I sneak one of these?”, she asked, glancing at you with a sly grin.

You laughed, rolling out another batch of dough. “Oh, he’ll notice. Beau’s got a sixth sense when it comes to cookies. Besides, don’t you want to save some for tonight?”.

Emily groaned dramatically, clearly unimpressed with your reasoning. “Fine. But the gingerbread man with the crooked smile is mine. Calling it now”.

Through the frosted kitchen window, you could see Beau and Cole outside in the snow. Your three-year-old son was bundled up so tightly in his navy-blue coat and matching hat that he looked like a tiny snowball himself. He was giggling uncontrollably as Beau helped him roll a massive snowball for the base of their snowman. Beau’s laughter was just as loud, echoing across the yard, a warm contrast to the cold landscape. You could see the way his breath fogged in the air as he crouched down, ruffling Cole’s hair every time he clapped his mittens together in excitement.

Emily noticed you watching them and sighed, setting the spatula down. “They’re having way more fun than we are. Why do we get kitchen duty?”.

You smirked and nudged her playfully with your elbow. “Because you agreed cookies were more important than frostbite”.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “That was before I realized how boring baking is. I don’t know how you do this for fun”.

“It’s not boring if you put your heart into it”, you teased. “Besides, you can’t tell me those cookies don’t look amazing. You’re doing great”.

Emily looked at the tray, a hint of pride creeping into her expression. “Yeah, I guess they do. And I’ll admit… it’s kinda nice being here”. Her voice softened at the end, almost like she was testing the words out.

You paused, glancing at her carefully. It hadn’t been an easy adjustment for Emily. This was her first Christmas with you, Beau, and Cole—her first away from her mom. While she didn’t talk about it much, you could tell it weighed on her. The little things gave her away: the far-off look she got sometimes, the way she’d hesitate before fully relaxing around you.

“I’m glad you’re here”, you said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I know it’s different, but it wouldn’t feel right without you”.

Emily shrugged, but you caught the flicker of a smile. “Thanks. I mean, it’s not bad or anything… I just—”. She stopped herself and focused back on the cookies. “It’s nice to feel like part of something, you know?”.

Your heart ached for her in that moment. She’d been through so much this past year, but she’d held it together with a strength that amazed you. “You are part of something”, you said gently. “And we wouldn’t trade you for the world”.

Emily didn’t respond, but her shoulders relaxed just a little, and that was enough.

Outside, Beau lifted Cole onto his shoulders, spinning him around as the little boy shouted with glee. The snowman project had apparently been abandoned in favor of an impromptu snowball fight, with Beau pretending to dodge the tiny handfuls of snow Cole tossed at him. The sight made you laugh, and Emily turned to the window, her expression softening as she watched her dad and Cole.

“They’re such dorks”, she said, but there was no malice in her voice—just affection.

“That they are”, you agreed, sliding the tray of cookies into the oven. “But they’re our dorks”.

Emily smiled, a small, genuine one that made you feel like maybe things were starting to fall into place. This Christmas might not be what any of you had imagined, but for the first time, it felt like the start of something real, something good.

Eventually, you set the rolling pin down, brushing flour off your hands as a mischievous grin spread across your face. Emily looked up, raising a curious brow.

“What?”, she asked, watching as you wiped your hands on a towel.

You nodded toward the door, your grin growing. “Come on”, you said, a playful spark in your voice. “Let’s show them what a real snowball fight looks like”.

Emily’s face lit up, and for the first time all day, she looked completely carefree. “Oh, you’re on”, she said, already tugging her sleeves down to head for her coat.

The two of you quickly bundled up, Emily grabbing a pair of mismatched gloves and tugging them on as you zipped up your jacket. The moment you stepped outside, the icy air nipped at your cheeks, but the laughter from Beau and Cole made it easy to forget the cold. They were crouched behind a pile of snow, clearly in the middle of their “battle”. Cole had a snowball in each hand, and Beau was dramatically shielding himself, shouting, “Mercy! Mercy!”, as Cole pelted him with what looked like more powder than ice.

“They’re not even going to see it coming”, you whispered to Emily, who crouched beside you, already scooping up a handful of snow.

“Divide and conquer?”, she suggested, her grin matching yours.

“Always”, you replied.

Together, you moved swiftly, using the yard’s uneven snow piles as cover. You watched as Emily targeted Beau first, her snowball hitting him square in the shoulder. He whipped around, stunned.

“What the—”, he started, before you launched your own snowball, catching him in the chest.

“Reinforcements?!”, Beau shouted, laughing as he scrambled to grab snow. “Oh, you two are in trouble now!”.

Cole, catching on to the new dynamic, screamed with delight. “Get ‘em, Daddy!”.

But Emily was fast. She ducked behind a snowbank, expertly avoiding Beau’s counterattack. Meanwhile, you were busy distracting him, tossing snowball after snowball, laughing so hard you could barely aim.

“You think you can take me down?”, Beau called, his Southern drawl coming out in full force as he lobbed a snowball in your direction. “I’m the king of snowball fights!”.

“King? You’ve already been dethroned!”, you shouted back, dodging his throw and quickly crafting another snowball.

Emily, ever the opportunist, took advantage of Beau’s focus on you. She came out of nowhere, launching a snowball right at the back of his head. The soft thud of snow hitting his hat was met with a stunned silence before he turned slowly, his mouth open in mock betrayal.

“Et tu, Emily?”, he said dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

“Every man—or dad—for himself!”, Emily shouted, laughing so hard she could barely keep her balance.

Meanwhile, Cole was toddling over to you with his own version of a snowball, which was really just a clump of powdery fluff. He tossed it at your leg, giggling uncontrollably. “Gotcha, Mommy!”.

“Oh no, I’m hit!”, you cried, pretending to stumble backward into the snow. Cole squealed with joy, climbing onto your legs to “finish the job”.

Beau took the opportunity to scoop Emily into his arms, spinning her around as she shrieked, “No fair! No fair!”. The laughter echoed across the yard, a perfect mix of chaos and joy.

By the time you all called a truce, your cheeks were red, your gloves soaked, and your sides ached from laughing. Beau walked over, his arm slinging around your shoulders as Cole clung to his leg, still chattering about his “big win”. Emily joined you, shaking the snow out of her hair and grinning like she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Well”, Beau said, his voice warm and low, “I don’t know about you, but I think that might’ve been the best snowball fight this family’s ever seen”.

“It’s the only snowball fight this family’s ever seen”, Emily pointed out, but the teasing tone in her voice made it clear she’d loved every second.

You leaned into Beau, glancing at the three of them, your little makeshift family. “Well, I guess we’ve set the bar pretty high, haven’t we?”.

Beau smiled down at you, his eyes soft. “Good thing we’ve got plenty more years to top it”.

And as the four of you trudged back inside, shedding wet coats and boots, you couldn’t help but feel it: the warmth, the laughter, the love. This was Christmas. This was home.

Inside, the warmth of the house quickly thawed the chill from your cheeks. Snow clung stubbornly to Cole’s little hat and mittens, and his face was flushed bright red from the cold and laughter. Beau grinned as he scooped him up, effortlessly hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Cole squealed, kicking his legs playfully as Beau said, “Alright, buddy, time to get you warmed up and in some dry clothes before you turn into a popsicle”.

You followed them up the stairs with Emily trailing behind, her footsteps light and quiet as she watched the scene unfold. Beau pushed the bathroom door open with his elbow, still holding Cole, and plopped him down on the edge of the tub. The little boy wiggled as you knelt down next to him, gently brushing the snowflakes from his hair.

“Hold still, Cole”, you said, laughing as he squirmed. “We’re trying to help you, you know”.

“But I’m not cold!”, Cole protested, giggling as Beau wrestled with the tiny, wet socks that clung stubbornly to his feet.

“Not cold, huh?”, Beau teased, holding up one soggy sock like it was evidence in a trial. “Then what do you call this, Mr. Snowman? A fashion statement?”.

Cole’s laughter filled the small bathroom as he tried to kick his feet free, but Beau caught them easily, shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve been like this since you were born, you know. Always wiggling around, never staying still”.

“Cause I’m fast!”, Cole declared proudly, pumping his little fists in the air.

“You’re definitely something”, Beau muttered, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he finally got the last sock off. “Now, let’s get you into some dry clothes before you speed your way into a cold”.

Emily leaned casually against the doorway, her arms crossed as she watched the two of you fuss over Cole. There was something soft in her expression, though she tried to mask it with her usual teenage coolness.

“You two are such parents”, she said, her tone laced with mock judgment.

You glanced back at her with a smirk. “Is that a bad thing?”.

Emily shrugged, but there was no edge to it. “No. Just… funny, I guess. You’re both so good at it”.

Her words made you pause for a moment, your heart swelling. It wasn’t often that Emily said things like that—openly kind and vulnerable. You met her gaze and gave her a warm smile. “Well, we’ve had a lot of practice with this one”, you said, nodding toward Cole, who was now giggling uncontrollably as Beau tickled his belly while trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Beau looked up at Emily, his grin wide. “And for the record, I’d say we’re pretty good at being your parents too. Even if you don’t let us put your socks on”.

Emily rolled her eyes, but you caught the way her lips twitched like she was fighting back a smile. “I think I can manage my socks, thanks”.

“Good to know”, Beau replied, finally managing to get Cole into a clean, dry shirt. He scooped the little boy back into his arms and stood, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Cole’s head. “There. Warm and toasty, just like a marshmallow”.

“I’m a marshmallow!”, Cole shouted, making you and Beau laugh.

Emily chuckled too, though she tried to hide it behind a shake of her head. “You’re all ridiculous”, she said, turning toward the hallway.

You stood, brushing your hands on your jeans, and caught up with her as Beau carried Cole back down. “Ridiculous, maybe”, you said softly, nudging her shoulder with yours. “But happy. And that’s what matters, right?”.

Emily glanced at you, her expression softening again, though she quickly masked it with a smirk. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sappy on me, okay?”.

“Too late”, you teased, following her down the hall. But deep down, you knew she felt it too—this warmth, this connection, this new sense of family.

As the evening settled in, the house glowed with the soft light of the Christmas tree, its twinkling bulbs casting warm colors across the room. The scent of cinnamon lingered from earlier in the day, mixing with the woodsy aroma of the tree. The four of you were sprawled on the couch, cozied under a thick, patchwork blanket.

Beau, of course, had taken up the role of ultimate family snuggler. He sat in the middle, his left arm wrapped firmly around Emily, who had only agreed to the arrangement after a dramatic eye-roll and a mumbled, “Fine, but just this once”. Despite her protests, she leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

You lay on his other side, his right arm draped around your shoulders as you nestled close, your legs tucked up under you. Cole, ever the little king of chaos, had stretched himself out across both your laps. His head rested on Emily’s knee, his little hands clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur, while his feet occasionally kicked up as he babbled about the cookies he’d eaten and the snowman that “almost stayed up”.

“Almost doesn’t count, little man”, Beau teased, ruffling Cole’s messy hair. “Next time, we’re getting it to stand no matter what. That’s a promise”.

Cole giggled, his voice sleepy but full of excitement. “You’re gonna help me, Daddy?”.

“Always”, Beau said, his voice soft and steady. “Always, buddy”.

You smiled at the exchange, feeling the warmth of Beau’s hand rubbing small circles on your shoulder. This was it—the quiet, perfect moment you’d been hoping for all day. Emily glanced at you briefly, catching your expression, and she smirked in that way only a teenager could.

“What?”, she asked, her tone playful but curious.

“Nothing”, you said softly, though the smile on your face betrayed you. “Just… this”.

Beau’s hand stilled for a moment, and he looked down at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that never failed to make your chest ache. “Yeah”, he said quietly, “this is pretty good, isn’t it?”.

Emily groaned in mock disgust. “Oh, come on. You two are so gross sometimes”.

“You love it”, Beau said, leaning down to plant a quick, noisy kiss on the top of her head. She wrinkled her nose but didn’t pull away, and you noticed the small smile tugging at her lips.

“Do not”, she muttered, clearly lying.

Cole let out a loud yawn, his little arms stretching wide as he snuggled deeper into the blanket. “I love it”, he announced proudly, his words slightly muffled by the stuffed dinosaur he was still clutching.

As the evening wore on, Cole’s babbling grew softer, his eyelids drooping as the warmth of the blanket and the steady rhythm of Beau’s voice lulled him closer to sleep. He shifted, nestling deeper into the crook of your lap, his stuffed dinosaur still clutched tightly to his chest. You brushed a hand gently over his hair, smoothing down the messy tufts that stuck up from his earlier adventures in the snow.

Then, to everyone’s surprise, Cole’s sleepy voice broke the quiet moment. “Emmy?”, he asked softly, his words slurring a little with tiredness.

Emily’s head popped up, her eyes widening slightly as she looked down at him. “Yeah, bud?”, she replied, her voice uncertain but kind.

“Will you read me a bedtime story tonight?”, Cole asked, his little voice so sweet and tentative it made your heart squeeze.

Emily blinked, caught off guard. “Me? Not Mommy or Daddy?”.

Cole shook his head against your knee, yawning widely. “I want you. Please, Emmy?”.

The room fell quiet for a moment, everyone waiting for Emily’s response. She glanced at you, then at Beau, like she wasn’t sure she was the right choice. Beau’s expression was warm and encouraging, and he gave her a little nudge with his elbow. “Looks like you’ve got a fan, kiddo”, he said softly, his tone teasing but gentle.

Emily hesitated for only a moment longer before giving a small shrug, though the faint blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “Yeah, okay. Sure, I’ll read to you”, she said, her voice carefully casual.

Cole’s sleepy face lit up in a soft smile. “Yay”, he murmured.

As Emily and Cole disappeared upstairs, their voices trailing off as Emily tried to convince Cole that she wasn’t going to do all the silly voices, you turned back toward Beau, who was already shifting under the blanket. Before you could say a word, he stood up, effortlessly scooping you into his arms with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Beau!”, you laughed, clutching at his shoulders. “What are you doing?”.

“Kid’s occupied, we’ve got at least twenty minutes”, he said, his voice low and teasing as he headed toward the basement stairs. “I’m taking advantage of a rare opportunity”.

“For what?!”, you giggled, your heart racing more from the way he was looking at you than the movement.

“To spend some uninterrupted time with my wife”, he replied, his drawl making the words feel softer and warmer than they already were. “That’s what Christmas miracles are all about, right?”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, resting your head against his shoulder as he descended the stairs. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”.

“Yeah”, he said, his grin widening. “But also horny".

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he nudged the guest room door open with his foot and stepped inside. The room was small but cozy, its faint glow coming from the single lamp on the nightstand. Beau set you down gently on the bed, his hands lingering on your waist as he leaned in, his face just inches from yours.

“Finally”, he murmured, his voice dropping even lower. “A little peace and quiet”.

You raised a brow, still smiling. “You think twenty minutes is enough for peace and quiet? With our kids upstairs?”.

Beau smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll take what I can get. Besides, I don’t need long to remind you how much I love you”.

The warmth in his voice melted any teasing retort you might have had. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “You’re pretty good at that, you know”.

“Good”, he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “Because I plan on doing it for the rest of my life”.

And for a moment, the world upstairs faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the quiet, perfect stillness of the moment. It wasn’t long, of course, before the faint sound of Cole’s giggles echoed down the stairs, followed by Emily’s exaggerated sigh as she tried to coax him to sleep. But for those few minutes, it was enough—just you and Beau, tucked away from the chaos, stealing a little piece of Christmas magic for yourselves.

———————————

A/N: Let´s welcome Beau to the family. Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373

[deansbeer]

★ soup, snuggles, and mr. wiggles // beau arlen.

synopsis. you're sick during a visit to montana, but your dad, comes to the rescue with chicken star soup, snacks, and your old childhood stuffed bear, reminding you that you're never too old to be cared for.

warning(s). fluffy fluff fluff | older daughter!reader | caregiving dad beau | mild illness (stomach bug) | nausea | fatigue | father-daughter bonding | nostalgia | childhood memories (beloved stuffed bear & favorite soup).

kari yaps. i love my pretty cowboy sheriff sososo much && literally don't have anything written for him + this idea was perfect for beau, because one im an older sister / daughter myself & two my brain was wired up @ 2am ???? n i took that opportunity to write. but i only got halfway & BARELY got to finishing it 2day.

you knew it was a bad idea the second you bit into the chicken sandwich. something about it tasted... off, but you hadn't eaten at all during your flight from houston to montana, and your stomach didn't give you much of a choice. by the time you arrived at the airbnb you rented, you were already feeling the first signs of regret—your stomach twisting uncomfortably, your body heavy with fatigue. you chalked it up to exhaustion from the drive, but when you woke up the next morning, nausea hit you like a freight train.

you'd planned today for weeks—just you and your dad, a father-daughter day he'd been talking about nonstop since you told him you were visiting. he'd even promised emily she'd get her turn after you left because, as he put it, "this one's special. just me and my girl." and now, lying on the couch of your airbnb, wrapped in a blanket, you felt guilt gnawing at you because there was no way you could keep those plans. your stomach rolled again, and you groaned, reaching for your phone to call him.

"hey, sweetheart," he answered on the first ring, his voice bright with excitement. "you ready for me to pick you up? i've got the whole day mapped out—breakfast, a little fishing, and maybe we can stop by that trail you liked last time."

you winced, both at the enthusiasm in his voice and the wave of nausea that hit you. "uh, about that…"

he instantly picked up on your tone. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you said quickly, even though your voice was weak. "i just… i don't think i can make it today. i'm not feeling great."

"not feeling great how?" his voice lost its lightness, replaced by concern.

"it's nothing, dad. probably just something i ate. i just need to rest, that's all."

there was a pause, and you could practically hear the wheels turning in his head. "where are you staying again? that little airbnb by the creek?"

"dad, no, you don't have to—"

"i'll be there in twenty," he said firmly, already moving. "and don't even think about arguing with me."

you sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to stop him. "fine. okay, dad."

"what kind of dad would i be if i didn’t take care of my girl when she's sick?" he said, his voice softening. "sit tight, sweetheart. i'll be there soon."

true to his word, twenty minutes later, you heard the familiar rumble of his car pulling into the driveway. you managed to shuffle to the door, opening it just as he walked up, two large grocery bags in his hands and a determined look on his face.

"you look terrible," he said bluntly, though the warmth in his eyes softened the blow. "not that you're not still the prettiest thing i've ever seen."

"thanks, dad," you muttered, stepping aside to let him in. "just what every girl wants to hear."

he set the bags on the counter and turned to you, his hands on his hips. "all right, let's see what we've got here. crackers, ginger ale, that soup you used to love when you were little—chicken and stars, remember that?—and some popsicles, because you'd always ask for those when you were sick. oh, and a heating pad, in case you've got chills."

you felt a lump rise in your throat as you watched him unpack everything, his movements quick and efficient. he was always like this when you were a kid—hands-on, attentive, making sure you had everything you needed even when life got chaotic. and now, standing in your little airbnb kitchen, he looked just the same, though his beard was a little grayer and the lines around his eyes a little deeper.

"dad, you didn't have to do all this," you said, your voice thick with emotion.

he glanced at you, his expression softening. "yeah, i did. you're my kid, darlin'. it doesn't matter if you're five or twenty-five, i'm always gonna take care of you."

you blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall. "i suppose you're right."

he gave you a small smile before turning back to the bags. "and because i know you're gonna get crabby—don't deny it, you've always been a little bear when you're under the weather—I brought backup.” he pulled out a small stuffed bear, its brown fur worn and familiar. "found this guy in one of the storage boxes last week and figured you might need him."

you let out a surprised laugh, reaching for the bear. "oh my god, is this… is this mr. wiggles?"

"the one and only," he said, grinning. "thought he'd been retired, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

you hugged the bear to your chest, shaking your head. "you're ridiculous."

"and you love me for it," he said, nudging your shoulder gently. "now, go lie down. i'll heat up the soup and put on a movie."

you didn't argue, too tired and too grateful to protest. you curled up on the couch again, the blanket pulled snug around you and mr. wiggles tucked under your arm. a few minutes later, your dad appeared with a tray—soup, crackers, and a glass of ginger ale—and set it on the coffee table in front of you.

"all right, what's it gonna be?" he asked, grabbing the remote. "something funny? or one of those sappy movies you always make me watch?"

you smiled faintly. "sappy. but you're not allowed to complain."

"wouldn't dream of it," he said, settling into the recliner next to you. "though if i start crying, you're not allowed to tell anyone."

"deal," you said, your smile widening.

as the movie played, you found yourself relaxing for the first time all day. your dad stayed by your side, occasionally cracking jokes or making comments about the characters, his presence a constant comfort. and even though you felt awful, you couldn't help but feel a little better knowing he was there.

"thanks for coming, dad," you said softly as the credits rolled.

he reached over, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "always, sweetheart. you're stuck with your old man, whether you like it or not."

and in that moment, with the warmth of the blanket, the faint taste of ginger ale on your tongue, and your dad sitting nearby, you realized there was no place you’d rather be.

SPECIAL TAGS. @floralscented @titsout4jackles @deansbite @deanswidow @jasvtsc @beausling @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @lacydollette @lustagel @ultravi0lence14 @beausling @ostaramoon @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @bluestrd @jackleslvr @fallbhind . . . ૮っ ̫ _ ྀིა

[daughterofcain-67]

𝑅𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝐻𝑒𝓇𝑒

(Beau Arlen x Female Reader)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after getting dumped by a guy you'd been talking to, you decided there wasn't much of a point in looking for love. You were better off just staying home and drinking while watching your comfort shows. well... perhaps the sheriff may be able to change your mind.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader gets dumped, alcohol, friends to lovers, smut MINORS DNI, Soft!Dom Beau, pet names (Sweetheart, Darlin(g) Princess, etc.) oral (fm receiving), cuffs, unprotected intimacy (reader's on birth control). Overstimulation. I think that's it???

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hey guys, bare with me as this is my second smut. If anyone has any tips on how to better my writing when it comes to this sort of content please feel free to comment. Any advice is appreciated.

What was the point of getting all dolled up for someone that wasn't even going to give you the time of day?

You'd been trying to go on some dates here and there since it had been a while since you'd given it a shot. Besides, everyone deserved to have a little love in their life right? Why would you be an exception? You had plenty of things to offer. You were smart, and you were at least decent looking. Granted, you were no model or anything like that, but you didn't look like a potato grew arms and legs or anything. You took care of yourself, you were educated and had a decent job that you actually enjoyed. You thought you had a pretty good sense of humor and you at least tried to get along with everyone you met.

So what was stopping you when it came to finding a long term relationship?

About two months ago you downloaded a little dating app that Jenny Hoyt was telling you about. She recommended it because she claimed it was helping her at least talk to more people before she got back onto the dating scene. Now she was in a relationship with someone who was also a Private Investigator.

If it worked for Jenny, why couldn't it work for you?

So you gave it a shot.

A few days after you had downloaded the app you had started talking to a guy. His name was Preston. You didn’t expect anything to happen so fast and you didn’t want to get attached. Quick attachment was both dangerous and a little unrealistic, but you still found yourself getting excited to message him and you smiled every time you got a notification from him. When you two called you started to grow fond of hearing his voice before you went to bed. He had an adorable southern drawl that sounded like he was from the southern part of North Carolina and it cute whenever he said your name over the phone.

The both of you had even video called on numerous occasions so you knew what he looked like and he knew what you looked like. He was handsome and you thought the two of you would make the cutest couple if he ever asked you to be his girlfriend. Honestly you thought you could even be willing to move out of state just to be closer to Preston if things ever got serious.

The past two months flew by so fast and you were growing more and more fond of Preston. When he said he was going on a road trip and Montana was one of his stops, he said he wanted to meet you in person and that there was something he wanted to tell you. That excited you even more and you couldn't wait to find out what he wanted to say!

Preston told you when he was finally in Montana that morning and he would see you in a couple of hours. You had told him which diner to meet you at and when the time came you were practically on the edge of your seat. But as the time went on, he was about ten minutes late - which was fine, you had assumed maybe he got lost.

Then ten minutes became twenty. Then thirty. Then three hours suddenly flew by and that was when you finally got a notification on your phone.

The message Preston left you was heart breaking.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to have to do this... I wanted to tell you in person but I'm not good at this kind of thing. I just don't think we can work out. I just don't think we can really be that compatible with each other. It was nice talking to you, but it's time to move on... I'm sorry"

Before you even had the chance to type out a response, Preston had blocked you on practically everything. You couldn't even ask if there was anything you could do to at least try changing his mind.

And all of this brings you to where you are now...

With slightly puffy eyes and a reddened nose, you had just entered the closest liquor store. At least now you could see since the tears had stopped for the time being. You were roaming around the aisles, trying to decide how fucked up you wanted to get that night since you didn't have anything to do tomorrow. Then you heard a familiar voice.

"Y/N?"

You glanced over and you saw one of the sweetest women known to mankind was in the liquor store with you. Denise had the biggest smile on her face as she walked over in your direction, but her smile faltered the closer she got and her brows knitted with concern. That was your sign she must've noticed you'd been crying in your car for the past thirty minutes.

"Awe, sweetie.. you look terrible! Did something happen? Is there anything I can do to help?" She asked and you shook your head a little.

"Thanks, but no ma'am. It's just some allergies." You lied, though you doubted it was a believable story.

Nevertheless, the assistant at Dewell and Hoyt Private Investigations pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before adjusting her cardigan a little but the look of concern never left her face. You had told her you were talking with someone on the phone, so she knew you had some little app like Jenny had and Denise had been so excited for you. It had been a while since she'd seen you happy over a boy.

"Allergies... Sweetie if it's allergies, I don't think those wine coolers will do the trick if it's an allergic reaction to a fractured heart." She frowned and you could feel your eyes water again and you looked down at the wine coolers you'd been looking at when she noticed you.

"Recommend anything a little stronger?" You asked, trying not to have your voice crack.

Denise frowned a little, but she took you by the hand and the two of you walked over to a different section.

"What are you doing here anyways, Denise? I didn't take you for a drinker." You said and the woman smiled a little.

"I was just picking up wine to cook with. Then maybe another bottle to have a glass with a good book." She admitted, causing you to grin a little.

When the two of you made it to the selection of vodkas, you started looking at the different brands before you picked up a bottle of Absolut Vanilla and you looked over at Denise.

"I hope your cooking goes well. You'll have to tell me what you made next time I come over to the PI's office and see you." You said and Denise nodded.

"Just make sure you message me when you get home. The waterworks is dangerous for driving too." She warned and you chuckled a little before you nodded. Even when your heart was broken, this woman could still somehow make you smile.

"I will." You promised.

"The ache will pass, sweetie. There's plenty of people out there waiting for the right one, even some locals." She said and she gave you a soft hug, which you returned. Then when she let go, she gave your arm a little reassuring squeeze before she walked off to the wine section.

As for you, you went to the register and bought the bottle you wanted before you walked out of the store, paper bag in hand. Finally, you could go home and drink in peace and try to forget all about this disaster, forget about love altogether even.

Beau was sitting down at is desk, gaze downcast at the paperwork he'd been filling out related to an investigation that's been closed that afternoon. It didn't help much that his back ached because he had to chase a perp on foot that afternoon since he was a suspect for a different case.

Just as he closed the file, Beau heard his phone beginning to ring. He groaned a little to himself before he took his phone and looked at the caller ID only to grin when he realized it was Denise. He answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Denise! I thought you'd be at home relaxing, what are you doing calling me so late?" Beau asked as he looked at the computer screen in front of him to look at the rest of the work he needed to do.

"Hey Beau, on your way home tonight can you do me a favor? It's about Y/N."

Once Beau heard your name slip through the speaker he stopped what he was doing so he could pay attention to Denise.

"What's going on with her? Is she alright?"

"Calm down, Cowboy. She's okay. I just need you to do a little wellness check on your way home tonight."

Beau looked at the time on the computer screen and he realized he was about to head home anyway after printing off some work he could take with him, "Looks like you caught me at a good time. I'm about to head out in a few minutes anyway. When did you last hear from Y/N?"

"Oh just a few minutes ago here at the liquor store. I was picking up some cooking wine when I saw her and Beau.. she really needs someone to talk to. She wasn't hysterical or anything, but she does seem to have an easier time talking with you about things." Beau rubbed the back of his neck at Denise's words.

"I'm not sure what gave you that idea." Beau chuckled a little but Denise scoffed.

"Oh don't give me that. You and I both know better than that." She said.

"If you say so. But I can stop by before heading home tonight." The sheriff promised with one last chuckle.

"Thanks Beau. I knew I could count on you. I'll talk to you soon, 'kay?" And with that, Denise hung up the phone.

Beau shifted his eyes at a picture on his desk. It was an image of you, him, Denise, Jenny and Cassie. The five of you had taken that after a state fair the previous year. He'd originally gone alone that year since he wanted to find something to do that night since it had been your day off. Then he ran into you since you were by yourself too. Then somewhere along the way you both had ran into Cassie, Jenny and Denise and the five of you spent that evening together.

You had always been sweet to him ever since he came into town. The both of you hit it off pretty well and he'd ended up inviting you to several movie nights whether it was with just him or if it was with Jenny, Cassie and Denise included. And all of this was while Beau was here as a temporary sheriff, but the more he was around you, the more Beau was finding a reason to stay here indefinitely.

Beau had to admit, he had a soft spot for you. Well, maybe it was more than just a little spot but he didn't think you'd be interested so it's just better if he put those feelings on a shelf. And if Denise called him to do a wellness check on you, something must've been wrong.

Beau got up from his desk after he'd started printing off whatever he needed to and he shut off the computer. Once he had everything together, he grabbed his jacket and paperwork that was now in a folder and he was out of the door before he made it to his car.

Finally, after leaving the station Beau made it to your house. He parked the car and got out before he started looking around the premises just incase something was wrong. Nothing seemed to be out of place, and there didn't seem to be any red flags when it came to the exterior of the house but he wanted to be thorough. When he walked up the porch he noticed the door was closed so it's not like anyone broke in from what he noticed. So Beau lifted a hand and gently knocked on the door.

He heard the sound of a TV going as well as a thump and Beau heard you curse from the other side of the door. A couple of seconds later the door opened up and Beau saw you rubbing your shin a little before standing upright. You were wearing nothing but a hoodie and some biker shorts, your hair was in a messy bun and he could tell you were trying to recover from crying, though you'd taken your makeup off already so the mascara wouldn't run down your face.

"You okay, Darlin?" Beau asked and he caught a whiff of some alcohol on your person.

"Yeah, just hit my shin getting up from the couch. Something I can help you with Beau?" You asked as you leaned your head against the door.

Beau noticed your cheeks were a little red but you were still able to annunciate your words. So maybe you were a little buzzed since you didn't seem to be drunk at the moment. You still had your senses about you, at least he hoped so.

"Um.. Denise asked me to check up on you. She seemed worried about you. Is... it okay if I come in?" Beau asked and you nodded a little before letting go of the door and you started walking back over to the couch.

"She really shouldn't be worried. I'm alright." Beau heard you say as he shut the door. Then he walked over and sat down beside you on the couch.

"Sweetheart, a person that's 'okay' doesn't just show up teary eyed at a liquor store intent on drinking alone." He replied and he turned the bottle around to take a look at what you were drinking.

"And drinking vanilla vodka no less. I might've gone for whisky myself." From the corner of his eye, Beau watched you shrug a little. Then he sat up again and looked at you.

"So... you gonna tell me what's going on?"

You sighed a little as you took another sip of the vodka before setting your glass down. You stared blankly at the TV that was just playing an episode of Friends since you weren't sure what else to put on.

"It's stupid. You'll think it was a waste of time for Denise to even have told you to come and check on me." You said and Beau put his hand on one of yours, covering the top of it.

"It's not a waste of time. Whatever you're going through, it matters. No matter how big or small the issue is, your feelings matter. You don't need to invalidate yourself because you think it's a waste of someone's time."

You looked at him, not sure why he felt the need to tell you something like that. But whatever the reason, you could tell Beau was being genuine with you. Then again, you couldn't exactly recall a time when he ever lied to you about anything.

You sighed a little and you looked down at your phone that was laying on the coffee table next to the bottle of Absolut. The screen was black since you'd turned it off after letting Denise know you were home. Would Beau really care if you told him everything? Might as well tell him since he was here.

"It's just... I should have known dating apps were stupid and this guy was too good to be true." You said, then you proceeded to explain why you got the app in the first place and the ordeal with Preston that evening.

"Wait, if he wasn't going to tell you in person, why bother coming to Montana at all on his road trip?" Beau asked and you shook your head.

"I don't know...."

Beau softened at the defeated tone in your voice. He reached out and wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to him. You didn't resist and Beau felt you relax against his touch as he placed a soft kiss on your head.

"I'm just so tired of being alone.... This isn't where I wanted to be in life right now." You said.

"And where did you think you'd be?" Beau asked as his fingers started running through your hair softly as he massaged your scalp.

"I thought that if I wasn't married by now... I'd at least be in a serious relationship with the right guy. Like yeah I'm independent, I have a great job and it's not bad living by myself. It's not like I desperately need to have a man in my life but.. being alone gets tiring. It just sucks after a while." You began.

"It gets too quiet in the house sometimes and it's just nice to have someone to come home to. It's nice to actually feel wanted by someone. I thought I'd be in a relationship with a guy that if I'm home before he is after work, I could be in the kitchen doing whatever task and he'd be the guy to surprise me out of the blue with some flowers, maybe he'd turn off the water if I'm in the middle of dishes and he'd pull me into his arms and dance with me right there in the kitchen just because we could." You continued and you could feel your eyes starting to water up and burn with tears again.

"But that shit's not in the cards for me and I get it now. I must be defective or something." You scoffed and got up from leaning against Beau, rubbing one of your eyes with the palm of one of your hands. Then you reached over to grab your glass again but then a large hand grabbed your wrist, preventing you from drinking anymore.

You turned your head to look over at Beau, who's gaze seemed to soften and he pulled your wrist softly which caused you to stop reaching over for the vodka. Then you felt him let go of your wrist and he reached up before he started wiping whatever tears you'd missed from your cheeks.

"You aren't defective. Far from it." Beau spoke with such sincerity that you almost wanted to believe it.

"You're saying that because we're friends..." You rolled your eyes and looked away at the TV screen.

Beau's jaw tensed and he cupped your face in his hands before he made you look at him again.

"I'm not just saying that. You should know by now that I wouldn't lie to you." he insisted and you looked down at the space in between you.

"Then what's wrong with me?" You whispered and closed your eyes, doing your best to stop anymore tears from forming. You were so tired of crying, tired of feeling this way.

Beau watched you divert your gaze away again but this time he didn't force your gaze to look at him. Instead, he carefully pulled you into him again and let your head go back to his shoulder.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Y/N. I hate that some random asshole on a stupid app made you feel this way. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. It would be a privilege to be with someone like you. You have so much to offer, and if what's-his-face couldn't see that then all it means is he's to ignorant to realize what he walked out on, or he's clearly incapable of seeing a good thing even when it's right in front of him like other people." Beau said as his hand rested against the back of your head.

"I just feel like whatever person I'm supposed to be with is just stuck in a different timeline. I can't find him no matter how hard I try." You sighed, but this time your voice didn't sound quite as broken which was something you were grateful for.

"Maybe.. maybe you just need to look in a couple of different places. Or maybe..." Beau trailed off, nearly hesitant.

"Maybe..?"

"Maybe... the sort of person you're looking for might be closer to you than you think they are."

You slowly lifted your head from Beau's shoulder and you looked at the sheriff. Your eyes met with his and there was a lingering silence between you before you found yourself looking at his lips. Would it be wrong of you to wonder what his lips would feel like against yours?

You looked up into his eyes again and placed a soft hand on his chest, "Maybe... you could help me look in the right places for that person."

Beau nearly couldn't believe his ears, and the way you were looking at him almost made him wonder if he was dreaming this up in this head. Maybe he was at the station again slumped over sleeping at his desk or something.

The moment you started getting closer, Beau relaxed and put a hand on your cheek, "I'll show you more than that, Darlin... only if you let me."

After you nodded, Beau slowly leaned in before his lips barely grazed over yours, giving you a chance to pull away if you had second thoughts. You, on the other hand, put a hand on his cheek before deepening the kiss and let him know there wouldn't be second thoughts.

The kiss started sweet, slow and gentle. Beau was so careful with you, almost like he was scared he'd break you but he loved the way your lips felt against his own. You loved how sweet Beau was with you in this moment and you couldn't help but melt all because of a kiss. You didn't know how long you've been kissed, but this felt more right than anything you'd done before. But it wasn't long before the swirling feeling in your stomach made you want a little more.

With your lips still attached, you slowly moved to where one thigh went over Beau's lap and the next thing you knew, you were on top of him. He placed one of his large hands on your thigh while the other was behind your neck as if trying to pull you closer into the kiss. You could tell he was still trying to be careful and not push any boundaries, so you reached down and moved his hand from your thigh and pulled it up to where it was on your hip and you slid forward into him so where both your cores touched.

Beau let out a soft groan against your lips before he pulled away and he looked up at you again. You looked down at him, confusion on your face.

"Is something wrong?" You asked.

"Nothing's wrong, Sweetheart. It's just that.. you've been drinking and I don't want this to turn into something you regret later on. Are you sure this is something you want?" Beau asked.

"Beau, it takes a lot more than a glass and a half of vodka to make me delirious and incapable of making decisions with a sound mind. You caught me before I got to that point and I'm okay right now. Whatever happens tonight... I won't regret it. It'll be a sober choice so there's nothing for you to feel bad about. I promise." You reassured in a whisper, then you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

After that, Beau seemed to be a little less tense beneath your touch now that he knew you were sober enough to consent to whatever would happen next. The last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of you and make you uncomfortable. Beau leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your shoulder before he started kissing up your neck gently. He smiled against your skin at the way you'd giggle at the way his beard would tickle your neck.

"Ticklish, are we?" He asked and you blushed a little.

"Maybe just a little sensitive." You confessed and Beau hummed a little before he leaned in and kissed you again.

This time, with this kiss Beau seemed to have more certainty in his actions. He was still just as gentle as before but this time it was like he had a little more ambition. It was more than a chaste kiss to start. He tilted his head and you could feel the tip of his tongue lightly graze your bottom lip as if asking permission to slip inside. As soon as your lips parted, you felt his tongue slip past and he kissed you deeply like it was his personal mission to take your breath away.

As he kissed you, you could feel your heartbeat hasten. Goosebumps were starting to form on your arms with the adrenaline you were beginning to feel. You hadn't been kissed like this in so long that you'd practically forgotten what it felt like. Your cheeks were heating up and your hands went to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair at the base of his neck.

Beau loved the way your fingers felt in his hair. If he could melt in your arms he could right then and there and he didn't want this feeling to go away. You kissed him back with passion and he was glad things didn't seem to be one sided at least for tonight. You deserved to be loved, deserved to be shown just how beautiful you were.

He slowly let one of his hands slip beneath your hoodie and he realized you weren't wearing a shirt underneath. The second he felt your skin beneath his fingertips he felt like he could get lost in you. What caught him by surprise though, was when you wrapped your pretty lips around his tongue and sucked on it softly. It was like you were trying to make him lose all the self control he had.

Beau placed his hand on the small of your back and pulled you closer to him, letting your cores touch again that way you could feel exactly what you were doing to him. You moaned against his mouth and around his tongue before he pulled away from your lips.

"Rock..."

You were just as breathless as Beau was but all it took was that simple word and you knew exactly what he wanted you to do. You slowly began to move your hips and you could feel the hardness beneath his jeans against the thin material of your biker shorts. You were already beginning to feel his affect over you but this took things to a different level as you felt him against your clothed core. He already felt so hard and so big and rocking against him like this was enough to drive you crazy.

Your thighs were already beginning to shake when Beau put both his hands on your hips and pulled you down herder against him. You moaned softly as he moved your hips and you felt even more of him and once Beau hit a certain spot, you gripped down on his covered shoulders.

"B-Beau..."

"Steady now, Sweetheart. Keep going. You can do this." He said sweetly though his movements were getting faster and he started to move his hips up into you.

You were beginning to moan a little louder as you continued to let Beau rub your cunt against his bulge and your thighs were shaking a little more and you gripped down harder on his jacket. Your movements were becoming more erratic and you were so close to coming undone.

"Beau, I'm-"

"Go ahead, Princess. Don't hold back."

As soon as he said those words, you came undone in your biker shorts. You could feel the wetness soaking the clothes between your legs as your core throbbed around nothing. Your legs shook against him, but Beau let his hands gently rub over your thighs in a soothing fashion.

"I'm so sorry... that's so embarrassing." You said and hid your face in your hands, causing Beau to chuckle before he took your hands away from your face and kissed your palms.

"Don't hide from me, Y/N. And don't be sorry... that was perfect. You did amazing for me." You nodded a little but you still felt flustered.

"Where's your bedroom, Sweetheart?" He asked as he placed a soft kiss on your temple.

"U-Upstairs. First room." You stammered, though you were getting the feeling that he was far from done with you.

Beau lifted you up in his arms with little to no effort at all and he carried you up to your bedroom. He felt your soft lips against his neck and he smiled to himself. He had no clue you could be adorable in times like this, and he couldn't wait to make tonight all about you.

Once he stepped into your bedroom, he walked over to your mattress and carefully laid you down. When you let go and he got a better look at you, he swore his heart was about to leap from his chest. Your cheeks were dusted with pink and your lips were swollen from his kisses. You were so cute like this.

"Would it... be okay if I undressed you, Darlin?" Beau asked.

"Only if I get to see you too." You compromised and Beau smiled as you sat up.

You reached up and started with the sheriff's jacket. You slid it off his shoulders and Beau tossed it onto the floor somewhere. Then you started to unbutton his flannel shirt only to reveal his chest but before you could slide it off his shoulders and get a better look, Beau took your hands to stop you.

"Your turn, Sweetheart." He said and you nodded a little.

Beau reached down and carefully gripped the bottom of your hoodie before he slowly began to pull it up. Once the hoodie was over your head, you could feel your body grow cold but you quickly crossed your arms over your chest covering them up since you didn't have a bra under your hoodie. The next thing you knew, Beau held one of your hands but didn't pull them away from your chest - instead he gave you a soft gaze.

"Y/N... I told you already. Don't hide from me." He said as he let his thumb graze over your knuckles.

Your cheeks flushed again but you nodded a little before you slowly pulled your arms down from your chest so he could get a better look at you.

"God... you're so pretty, Sweetheart." Beau said when he saw you. He couldn't get enough of you when he saw you like this. You were so breathtaking and he wanted to make sure you knew that.

He leaned down and you laid down on the bed as he started to hover over you. But when Beau leaned down next to your ear, you bit your lip at the way his breath felt against your skin as he spoke.

"If you hide from me again, then I'll have to do something about those pretty little hands of yours." He said as he kissed your temple again.

That statement alone made you get butterflies in your stomach. A part of you couldn't help but be a little curious about what he would do but you wanted to comply. When he pulled away, you looked up at him and you swore you were seeing some kind of vision above you.

Beau hadn't turned the light on when he brought you into the bedroom, and the curtains of your window were opened so the moonlight was hitting him just right and he looked absolutely divine hovering over you like this.

"Fuck.." You breathed out as you took in the sight of him, just for Beau to chuckle.

Beau bit down on his bottom lip before he started to take off his flannel shirt since you'd unbuttoned it already. You're eyes widened when he slipped the material off his shoulders and tossed it somewhere with the jacket. You had no idea he would look this good. His top half was a sight to see and you couldn't believe this was real. You slowly reached up and let your fingertips touch his chest before it trailed down his abs.

"God I must be hallucinating this whole thing." You said and Beau chuckled a little before he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

"Believe me, you aren't." Beau promised before he pulled away from you and he slowly started to kiss down your neck again.

"You're so beautiful, Y/N... gorgeous in every way." Beau whispered between kisses.

You could feel his kisses grow hot and the feeling of his teeth against your skin made you feel almost ecstatic. His mouth continued to trail down your body and the next thing you knew, you felt his hot breath over one of your breasts, causing you to shiver before his lips wrapped around one of your nipples, making your breath get caught in your throat. Then, Beau's other hand glided up the skin of your stomach before it cupped your other breast in his palm. He gave your mound a little squeeze before he took your erect nipple between his fingers and pinched it softly, causing you to moan his name.

With every movement of his mouth and every pinch he gave, you could feel yourself losing your mind. You squeezed your thighs together as he switched and gave your opposite breast his attention. His tongue swirled around your nipple. Both nipples were growing hard beneath his touch because of his actions and soft little whimpers were making their way past your lips.

"Beau.. y-your mouth feels so good." You breathed out as one of your hands went to the back of his head in an attempt to bring him closer.

After a few moments, Beau moved away from your chest and his kisses trailed down your stomach before he stopped. His hands were at the waistband of your biker shorts and he looked up at you.

"You doing okay, Princess? Do you want to keep going?" He asked and you nodded instantly.

"God yes..."

Beau smirked up at you and the moment you saw it, it about killed you. Even his smirk could make you weak in the knees.

Beau found it adorable how easy it was to get you flustered. You were so adorable like this and he loved the affect he had over you. He bit down on his lip as you slowly lifted your hips and he tugged down your shorts, revealing your glistening core that was still wet from your previous high.

Before he could get a good look at it though and spread your legs, your hands flew down to cover them up again, making Beau glare up at you.

"What did I tell you about that?" He asked you and you bit your lip.

"S-Sorry, I couldn't help it." You admitted but Beau shook his head a little.

"I told you, I'd have to do something about those hands if you covered yourself like that again, Princess." He reminded as he reached behind his back.

"Give me your wrists." He said in a way that told you this wasn't up for debate and he pulled out his handcuffs that had been in the back pocket of his jeans.

Flustered and speechless, you nodded. When you offered your wrists to Beau, he took them and put the cuffs on one of your wrists, looped it around a part of your headboard before hooking the other cuff around your second wrist, leaving you helpless with both your arms above your head so you couldn't try hiding yourself from him again.

"How does that feel, Princess. Are they too tight?" He asked and you shook your head.

"N-No. They feel fine." You promised.

"Good." He nodded a little before he went back to your lower half.

Then, he parted your thighs so he could get a better look at you. Your folds seemed to drip with your arousal and release and Beau couldn't help but ache in his jeans at the sight of you like this.

"So damn stunning..." He breathed out as he slowly kissed from one of your knees down your thigh. Then, he started to nip at your skin the closer he got to your core.

Beau settled between your legs and draped your thighs over his shoulders before he let his tongue gently glide through your folds as slow as possible. He groaned at the tase of you and his length twitched in his pants because of it. He didn't think he'd ever tasted something so heavenly and your moans sounded so pretty in his ears as he continued to lick through your folds.

You were trying your damn best not to lose control of yourself, but Beau's mouth did absolute wonders on your body. His tongue went through your folds so effortlessly and it felt like pure ecstasy. Without even realizing it, you were beginning to raise your hips in an effort to get closer to his mouth. But the moment he found that special little bundle of nerves, it was over.

"Fuck, Beau." You moaned as he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it.

Then, you started feeling something poking at your entrance. With a slow thrust, while Beau's mouth was working its magic, he took his finger and slipped inside of your core with ease. He curled up his finger and found your spot almost instantly.

The way he moved his finger was so blissful mixed with the work of his tongue. You could feel his beard scraping between your thighs, making them burn in the best way possible. After a while, Beau slipped a second finger into you, making your core stretch around his fingers. You moaned softly and your hands turned into fists above your head. You wished you had listened so you could run your fingers through Beau's hair.

"Beau-fuck.. please, d-don't stop." You pleaded and when you tried to raise your hips again, Beau took his free hand and pinned you down to the mattress and started to devour you as if he'd never get another chance.

Beau couldn't get enough of the way you sounded, couldn't get enough of your taste. If he could, he would absolutely drown himself in you. He slipped a third finger inside you and you moaned even louder for him. He could feel your legs beginning to shake around his head as his fingers curled and hit that sweet spot of yours again.

He pulled his lips away from your clit and he looked up at you, seeing you struggling against your restraints. Your cheeks were so red and your face looked so adorable like this when you felt good from just his fingers alone. He loved watching the way your body was squirming against him, watching the way you were moving your hips into his hand but then he started to feel your walls clench around his three fingers.

"B-Beau, I'm c-close.."

"Go ahead Princess. Relax and let it happen. Let go of yourself on my fingers." He encouraged as he kept his pace steady.

Then, Beau watched in awe at the way you came undone all over his fingers. He slowed the pace of his hand and used the other to rub your thighs soothingly before he finally pulled his fingers out of your sensitive core.

"You did so well for me, Beautiful." Beau whispered before he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

You hummed into his mouth, not caring that you could taste yourself on his lips. His kisses were so addicting and if you could, you wondered if you could kiss him forever.

Unfortunately you couldn't find that out because Beau had pulled away from your lips and when you opened your eyes, you realized he was grabbing a key from his pocket. He reached up and unlocked the cuffs, releasing your wrists and without hesitation you grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss him again.

He gasped in surprise but he relaxed against your touch and closed his eyes again. He let his clean hand cup your cheek before he pulled away and he looked down at you.

You already looked so worn out in the prettiest way possible and he almost didn't want to ask if you wanted to keep going because he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable. But when Beau felt your fingers hook themselves around his belt loops to pull him closer, he knew he needed to say something.

"Y/N... if you let me do this I can't turn back." Beau warned you, but you reached your hand up and caressed his cheek.

"Who says I want you to turn back? I want you to keep going, Beau. I trust you." You whispered and moved a stray hair away from his face.

Beau smiled softly before he leaned down and let your noses nuzzle together in a little eskimo kiss before he pecked your lips before he pulled away. Then he reached down to start unbuckling his belt, but that was when he felt your smaller hands over his own.

"Let me do it." You told him as you sat up.

Beau bit down on his lip as he took his hands away and let you start to unbuckle his belt. Your hands were so delicate and he smiled to himself as he watched you start to unbutton his jeans and unzip them. Your reaction when you slid his jeans down was priceless. He didn't think you could possibly get any redder until you saw what was under his jeans.

"You're cute when you're flustered, you know that Sweetheart?" He asked and you bit your lip and looked up at him again.

"Are you sure it'll fit?" You asked.

After all, you had never seen a shape that large even if it was covered up by his boxers. You had to admit it was a little intimidating, but then you felt Beau move a strand of hair from your face.

"It it ever gets to be too much, you can always tell me to slow down or stop." Beau promised and you nodded a little.

"Lay back down for me, Princess." He said and you did so obediently before he started hovering over you.

"Do you have any protection, Sweetheart?" He asked and you shook your head a little.

"I'm on the pill. You'll be okay." You insisted and he nodded a little.

You gazed at him as he started to slide his boxers down and finally revealed himself. You gulped harshly, unsure if you'd ever seen anything quite like him. Scratch that, you were positive you hadn't seen a man quite that size.

Beau hovered over you again and you spread your legs out for him. As he lowered his hips into yours, your breath got caught in your throat again. His shaft slid between your folds and it felt so good against your clit. Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on the feeling of him rubbing against you and your hands roamed up from his forearms up to his shoulders before you wrapped them around his back.

"Beau.. don't be a tease. Please.." You whispered your plea as you kissed his collar bone.

Beau smiled to himself when he heard your soft spoken words before he nodded a little. After that, he took his length and carefully pushed the tip against your entrance. Then he finally pushed it in and your walls wrapped around him in the best way possible. Beau let out a groan at the way you felt around him, so warm and tight despite having stretched you out.

"Fuck, Y/N... you're so damn perfect." He breathed out.

You moaned in pleasure at the stretch. He already felt so good inside you and you loved the way he sounded because of you. You didn't think you were capable of making someone feel this good, but it felt so reassuring. Rejuvenating even.

After a couple of seconds, Beau slid more of himself inside you and you bit your lip to prevent yourself from screaming at the pleasure of it all. You could already fill him so deep inside of you and you knew this was past the point of return for the both of you. You reached beside your head and gripped onto the sheets of your mattress as you tried to adjust to his size again.

The moment Beau finally pushed the rest of himself into you though, you white-knuckled the sheets and cried out his name. This feeling was so much more than you could fathom and you felt breathless with the pleasure of having Beau filling you up to the brim like this. You didn’t think you’d ever felt this stuffed in your life.

“H-Holy shit…” Beau grunted, loving the way you sounded as he filled you completely to the brim. When he looked down at you, he gulped harshly at the sight of a bulge showing in your stomach.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so beautiful.” He said and he lifted a hand before he pressed it down against your stomach. The both of you moaned in response to the way that pressure felt and Beau sure that if he wasn’t careful, he’d lose it right there.

Beau leaned down before he started to kiss your cheek, causing you to relax your grip on the sheets and he felt your gentle hands on his arms. Then he felt you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. He placed one hand on your thigh and his other arm slid behind your back and pulled you closer into himself. Your chest was pressed against his and he could feel the way you hid your face into his neck as he stayed still inside you, letting you adjust to everything.

“Are you feeling okay, Princess?” He asked you softly, you nodded into his neck in response.

“Is it alright if I move?” Another nod came from you and he slowly began to move his hips.

Beau heard the sweetest sounds escape your lips as you whimpered softly with his slow movements. The friction between the two of you felt so good and he didn’t remember the last time he had felt so good with a woman. He continued to move slowly against you and he felt the way you started to grip at his shoulders. He hissed a little at the way your nails began to dig into his skin and he started to gradually move faster.

“Beau.. I-I need you to go faster.” You begged and Beau grunted deeply.

He paused for a moment before he parted your thighs from around his waist and pressed your knees against your chest. You screamed at the deeper angle and he started to move his hips faster. The sounds in the room were wet and lewd. When Beau looked down he could see you practically creaming around his cock. His length was covered with your slick and it was beginning to leak onto the sheets.

Your heart was racing and you felt like you were losing your mind. You walls were clenching around Beau’s length and you swore you were about to come undone again. The pit in your stomach was starting to tighten again and you felt like you were about to cum for a third time and you felt so sensitive as it is.

Beau felt beads of sweat start to roll down his temple as he continued to move. He bit down on his lip at the way your walls clenched around him so tightly. He could feel your body trembling beneath him before he started to slam himself into you again. He started thrusting even faster, deeper and Beau couldn’t restrain himself anymore.

“God, Y/N… you’re too fucking good.” Beau cursed and he took one of your hands before placing it beside your head, holding your wrist to the mattress.

“Beau, I can’t h-hold it. C-Close.” You warned and Beau nodded.

“Can’t hold it either. Give it to me, Sweetheart. Need you to come undone on me like.” Beau said though his voice was strained.

You listened to his words and you focused on the way Beau pounded into you. You focused on how deep he felt inside you, how he hit even the deepest parts of you that made you see stars. The next thing you knew, Beau had his fingers on your clit again rubbing harsh circles against those nerves. It didn’t take long after that for you to arch your back and you came harder than you had before. You screamed out his name and you swore you could even see white for a moment.

Beau watched as you came to your release. It had to be the sexiest thing he had ever seen. When your back arched he looped his arm behind you again and held you close to his chest as he rode out your high while you shook in his arms. He felt something warm spray onto his abdomen and he let out a curse. When he looked down he realized there was a clear liquid between you two and that was when Beau realized you’d squirted onto him.

“Holy shit…” He breathed out. He didn’t know he’d made you feel that good but he loved the way he could make you feel if this was the reaction he’d get.

You opened your eyes and slowly looked up at Beau through your lashes. Then you lifted a hand and caressed his cheek.

“Beau.. N-Need you to cum inside me. Please.” You begged and Beau was already so close as it is.

Beau was so hard that it physically ached and he didn’t know how much more he could take. But when he heard those words escape your lips, it was over for him. He took your hand away from his cheek and pinned it down to the bed again before he intertwined your fingers with his.

“Fuck, Y/N. You’re so perfect. Shit..” Beau cursed as he squeezed your hand tightly.

After a few more thrusts, Beau finally released into you. You shuddered against him as he filled you up with his release and you could even feel his release coming out and running down your ass onto the sheets.

Both of you stayed still while Beau was still buried deep inside of you, You carefully leaned up and started to place soft kisses on his shoulders before making your way up his neck. Your free hand was lightly scratching his back with your fingernails in a soothing manner to try and calm him down from his own high while he still held your other one beside your head.

Beau trembled beneath your touch, feeling more sensitive than he’d expected to be. Then again, it had been a while since he’d slept with someone too so maybe you both needed a night like this more than you thought you did.

“Thank you…” Your voice broke Beau from his thoughts.

He hummed a little as his brows narrowed before he looked down at you.

“What are you thanking me for?” He asked softly.

“For checking on me tonight. For making me feel like I can be worth something to someone.” You whispered and Beau softened before he took the hand that was beside your head and pulled it between you two. He flipped your hand and kissed the back of it, never breaking eye contact with you.

“I told you.. all you had to do was look in the right places.” He said and smiled down at you. Then he leaned down and kissed your lips softly. Then he started to pull away and when he was about to pull out of you, you wrapped your legs around him again.

“Don’t go just yet.” You whispered.

“Y/N, I won’t be going anywhere. But I do need to clean you up and get you into some clean sheets before you get some rest.” Beau said and you hummed softly.

“That can wait a few minutes… couldn’t it?” You asked and Beau smiled softly.

“I suppose it could.” He replied and he leaned down, placing soft kisses on your own shoulder.

“For the record… dating apps are over rated. You could do so much better than total strangers.” Beau said softly between kisses.

“I think I may have found better.” You whispered and Beau lifted his head and he smiled down at you.

He leaned down to kiss you once more and you knew that you could trust Beau with everything. You wondered if maybe he could be everything you wanted, and needed. Maybe this was the opened door to something you had always dreamed of and Beau was right. You just needed help finding where to look.

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @nancymcl @jackles010378 @hobby27 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @blackcherrywhiskey @prettyinplaid94 @suckitands33 @muhahaha303 @winchesterwild78 @ladysparkles78 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @n-o-p-e-never @deansbbyx @k-slla

[jackles010378]

Eyes on me

Jensen Ackles x Y/n

Y/n is extremely bored while Jensen's on a zoom call, so she decides to try and catch his attention............

Warnings : slight smut (it's purely fluffy smut) Y/n being a tease 🤭

Y/n watched as Jensen's attention remained fixed on his Zoom call, his eyes glued to the screen as he engaged in his professional discussion. She had been trying to get his attention for the past hour, but he seemed completely absorbed in his work. He had only been home a few hours. He'd been away filming his latest project and was only home for a few days, but with a quick hug and peck to her lips Jensen left Y/n standing in the kitchen to go and attend a zoom meeting.

Frustration bubbled up inside her as she thought of how to grab his attention. She stomped upstairs to their shared bedroom slamming the door behind her. With a huff she sat on the edge of the bed. Then an idea popped into her mind. With a grin on her face she walked out the bedroom and walked straight into his office.

She tried making silly faces, mouthing "I love you," and even attempted to distract him with cute notes scribbled on paper. Nothing seemed to work. She left his office with a new determination, knowing what would catch Jensen's attention.

With a mischievous glint in her eye, Y/n decided on one last attempt. She slipped into her most alluring outfit, a form-fitting lingerie set that accentuated all her curves and left little to the imagination. She walked back into Jensen's office wearing a silk robe. As she stood in front of Jensen, she prayed that this would finally catch his eye.

Jensen, engrossed in his call, glanced up briefly, noticing Y/n's presence, he looked confused as to why she had changed into a robe, he quickly returned his focus back to the screen. Y/n's heart sank for a moment, but she refused to give up. As she sauntered closer to him, she untied the robe letting it fall to the floor, ensuring he had a clear view of her ensemble.

This time, Jensen's eyes widened in surprise as he registered Y/n's attire. His jaw dropped slightly, and a faint blush and nervous smile crept up his cheeks. Y/n finally had his attention. As she walked closer to him, he held the screen with one hand trying to hide her from view as she got dangerously closer.

After a few moments of silence, and a slight adjustment in his trousers, Jensen excused himself from the call, his colleagues none the wiser about the distraction that had caused his sudden departure.

He pulled Y/n onto his lap, she straddled him as he started whispering how stunning she looked and how he couldn't believe he had been so oblivious to her attempts at getting his attention. He apologised for ignoring her and left feather light kisses on her collarbone. Y/n hummed in delight at the feeling of his lips on her body.

Just as Y/n started to gently rock into Jensens hips, Jensen stood up abruptly making Y/n yelp with surprise, his strong arms wrapped around her and her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as they kissed their way to the bedroom. He lay her gently on the bed as he crawled above her. He slowly pulled her underwear down her legs, savouring the sight of her glistening core on show just for him. Stripping out of his shirt and thumbling with the button on his jeans, Y/n giggled at his clumsiness, she sat up and helped him rid him of his clothes.

Jensen crawled his way up her body, kissing every part of exposed skin his lips could reach until he found her lips. Y/n's hands ran over his scalp, lightly scratching as deep groan came from Jensen. He knew that there was no time for foreplay tonight, he needed to be connected to her, he needed to feel her straight away.

He gazed deeply into her eyes as he entered the warmth of her entrance. As soon as he was fully inside of her, he knew he was home. Y/n's eyes rolled backwards as he settled inside her. She had missed him, she had missed his touch, his smile, his laugh. He set a slow pace, he wanted to take his time with his girl. He hadn't seen her for a while so he wanted it to last for as long as he could.

Seeing and hearing Y/n's pleasure made Jensen feel elated. He'd missed her, missed making love to her. Missed the feeling of her underneath him, writhing with pleasure as he drew out moan after moan. He had missed waking up with her in his arms and he had missed that gorgeous smile that she only had for him.

They had missed the way their bodies molded together as if they had been made for each other. Two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly and in sync with each other. If he could, he would stay in this moment with her forever. As he drew the last orgasm from her, it tipped him over the edge as he spilled into her.

Jensen stayed hovering above her for a moment taking in her flushed expression, her hair fanned out on the pillow, the look of pure bliss on her face. He caught her lips in a slow passionate kiss as he pulled out of her. He lay beside her, his arms reaching out for her, pulling her closer to him. Jensen and Y/n lay there, a tangle of body parts and bedsheets both feeling fully satisfied. Jensen was happy to be home, happy to be with his girl, hoping one day he would pluck up the courage to ask that one special question.

As for Y/n, as they lay in bed, embraced in each other's arms, she realised that sometimes a bold move was necessary to shake things up and remind the ones we love of the importance of being present in the moment. And in that moment, with Jensen's undivided attention on her, she knew their bond had only grown stronger, and hopefully one day she would be his forever.

Took me ages to finish this and I'm quite proud of it, may not make much sense, but I saw that gif and knew I needed to write something like this, I hope you guys enjoyed it 🥰

TAGLIST : @nescavaneckdaily @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @angelbabyyy99 @cheynovak @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33

[lightdancingwords]

Second Chances - Part Eight of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 3,040 Tags/Warnings: Not really. Other than mention of injury, recovery in a hospital, and of course, toddler, parent/family. A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I couldn't resist--I gotta have me some Beau while writing Dean! This is a brand new story of Beau and female reader! Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Eight: Aftermath

Beau swung his legs off the hospital bed slowly, a sharp tug of pain pulling at his side. His hand instinctively moved to his stomach, his fingers brushing against the edge of the bandage beneath his shirt. He winced but forced a small smile in Y/N’s direction as she stood by, watching him with a mixture of concern and readiness to help.

“Easy there, cowboy,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You don’t have to rush.”

Beau grunted, sitting upright fully and gripping the bed rail for support. “If I move any slower, darlin’, I’ll fossilize right here.”

Y/N’s lips twitched, but her amusement was fleeting. She placed a hand on his arm, her touch steadying. “You’re not in this alone, Beau. Lean on me, okay?”

Her words carried more than just their immediate meaning, and Beau looked up at her, his green eyes softening. “I know,” he said quietly. “Thanks, darlin’.”

A nurse appeared at the doorway, carrying a clipboard and Beau’s discharge papers. “Sheriff Arlen,” she began with a friendly but professional tone, “we’re all set. Just make sure to follow these instructions to the letter, alright? No heavy lifting, lots of rest, and keep an eye on that wound for any signs of infection. And if you have even the slightest concern, call us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Beau replied with a faint grin, though the weight of the restrictions gnawed at him. “No rodeo stunts. Got it.”

Y/N chuckled, taking the clipboard from the nurse. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he behaves.”

The nurse smiled knowingly. “Good. He’s lucky to have you.” She handed Beau a plastic bag containing a few essentials from his stay—a water bottle, the socks they gave him, and his wallet. “Take care, Sheriff.”

Beau gave a small nod, though he leaned heavily on Y/N as he stood, his strength not what it usually was. She wrapped an arm around his waist, careful not to press against his injury. “Alright, big guy,” she said softly. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Beau sighed heavily as the nurse wheeled him down the hospital hallway, the faint squeak of the wheelchair’s wheels echoing in the otherwise quiet space. Hospital policy, they said. Nobody walks out of recovery under their own power. He supposed it made sense, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating.

“Darlin’, you sure this is necessary?” he grumbled, glancing up at Y/N, who walked alongside him.

She shot him a look, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. “It’s policy, Beau. Besides, I think you look rather distinguished.”

“Distinguished, huh?” He snorted, shaking his head. “More like decrepit.”

The nurse chuckled behind him. “It’s better than falling in the parking lot. Let’s save your dignity, Sheriff.”

Beau muttered something under his breath but didn’t argue further. He adjusted the strap of the duffle bag Y/N had slung over the wheelchair’s handles. She’d gone to his place earlier that day, gathering essentials for his stay at her home—a task he hadn’t been thrilled about but couldn’t bring himself to argue against.

“You got everything I need in there?” he asked, glancing back at her.

“Shirt, jeans, socks, your favorite flannel, deodorant, your bath stuff, and a toothbrush,” Y/N listed off. “Oh, and I grabbed your boots, too. Hope you don’t mind, but I might’ve done a little cleaning while I was there. I couldn’t help myself.”

Beau raised a brow. “Cleanin’? What’d you do?”

“Just tidied up. Tossed some expired food in the fridge. Nothing major,” she said, shrugging. “I thought you might appreciate coming home to less of a mess when you’re feeling better.”

He smiled faintly, the warmth of her thoughtfulness easing the sting of his current predicament. “Thanks, darlin’. I appreciate it.”

The nurse stopped at the automatic doors leading to the hospital parking lot. Y/N moved ahead, pulling open the passenger door of her car and adjusting the seat to make it easier for Beau to climb in. She returned to the wheelchair just as the nurse set the brakes.

“Alright, Sheriff,” the nurse said, her tone friendly but firm. “Slow and steady. Don’t push it.”

“I hear ya,” Beau replied, gripping the armrests as he began to stand. Pain lanced through his abdomen, sharp and immediate, but he bit back the grunt that rose in his throat. Y/N was instantly at his side, one hand on his arm, the other lightly resting on his back.

“Easy,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady. “We’re not in a hurry.”

He leaned into her support, taking the short steps to the car with care. Once he was seated, she buckled him in, her movements efficient but gentle. “Comfy?” she asked, tilting her head to meet his eyes.

“As comfy as I’m gonna get,” he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips.

Y/N kissed his forehead briefly before closing the door and moving to speak with the nurse. Beau watched her through the window, her focus sharp and determined as she listened to the nurse’s parting instructions. She really was something else—fierce and kind, with a quiet strength that had him falling for her harder every day.

When she slid into the driver’s seat, she glanced at him. “Ready to go home?”

“Darlin’,” he said, his voice soft, “I think I’ve already found home.”

She smiled, her cheeks flushing as she started the car. The ride back to her house was quiet, the hum of the engine soothing as the late afternoon sun bathed the Montana landscape in golden light. Y/N had turned the radio to a low volume, the gentle strumming of a country ballad filling the space between them.

When they pulled into her driveway, Y/N wasted no time coming around to help him out of the car. Despite the pain and the limitations of his condition, Beau couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude as she supported him. She was taking him in, making him a part of her world—and he’d never felt more cared for.

As they approached the front door, Y/N glanced at him with a teasing smile. “Ready to meet Nurse Eliza?”

Beau chuckled, his hand brushing against hers. “Darlin’, I think I’m gonna be the luckiest patient she’s ever had.”

Beau’s boots scuffed lightly against the hardwood as Y/N helped him into the house, the faint scent of lavender and something freshly baked welcoming him. He straightened slightly, his hand still resting lightly on her arm, and let his gaze sweep the cozy space. It was warm, inviting, and unmistakably hers—soft blankets draped over the couch, a basket of Eliza’s toys tucked neatly in the corner, and a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen counter.

Y/N’s mother, Margaret, looked up from where she was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hand. Eliza was seated in her high chair nearby, happily munching on bits of cut-up fruit. The little girl’s face lit up when she saw Beau.

“Bo-Bo!” Eliza squealed, her tiny fists waving in excitement.

Beau grinned, his heart swelling despite the ache in his stomach. “Hey there, wolf-child,” he greeted softly. He glanced at Margaret, tipping his hat—or what would’ve been his hat if he weren’t recovering. “Ma’am.”

Margaret rose, her sharp eyes sweeping over him with an appraising look. “Sheriff Arlen,” she said warmly. “Glad to see you on your feet. Though I hear you’re supposed to stay off them as much as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Beau replied, his voice tinged with humor. “You and Y/N have got me outnumbered on that front.”

Margaret smiled knowingly, gesturing to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down before you overdo it?”

Beau nodded, letting Y/N guide him to the couch. As soon as he was settled, Eliza started wiggling in her high chair, clearly eager to get to him.

“Hold your horses, darlin’,” Beau said gently. “Doctor says no heavy lifting, remember?”

Eliza frowned, her little brows knitting together in frustration, but she settled when Y/N scooped her up and brought her over. Sitting on her mother’s lap, Eliza reached out to pat Beau’s arm.

“Bo-Bo better?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Beau’s grin softened. “Workin’ on it, kiddo. You just keep being my nurse, and I’ll be good as new.”

Margaret chuckled from the kitchen. “She’s been talking about you all day,” she said, pouring another cup of tea. “You’ve made quite the impression.”

Beau leaned back against the cushions, his smile widening. “Well, she’s got a way of makin’ herself unforgettable.”

Y/N sat down beside him, Eliza still in her lap, and gave him a knowing look. “She gets it from her mom.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing lightly against hers where it rested on the armrest. The brief touch was enough to send a warm pulse through him—a reminder of all they’d shared over the past few days.

They’d agreed earlier the morning after his surgery, during a quiet moment in his hospital room, to put the question of marriage on hold. There was already so much to process—his recovery, her pregnancy, and the whirlwind of emotions that had come with their declarations of love. He didn’t want to pressure her, and she didn’t want to make a decision with so much still unsettled.

“You’re sure you’re okay with waiting?” she’d asked him, her voice hesitant but hopeful.

“Darlin’,” he’d said, taking her hand in his. “The last thing I want is to make you feel rushed or overwhelmed. We’ve got all the time in the world. As long as we’re together, that’s what matters.”

Now, sitting in her home, surrounded by the life she’d built, Beau felt that truth settle even deeper. He had no doubts about wanting to spend his life with her, but he also knew that patience was its own kind of love—a willingness to give her the space she needed.

Margaret approached, setting a plate of cookies on the coffee table. “You’ll stay here while you recover,” she said matter-of-factly, though her tone was warm. “Y/N’s already got everything set up, and I’ll help with Eliza as long as you need.”

Beau tipped his head. “Thank you, ma’am. Means a lot.”

Margaret smiled, her sharp gaze softening. “You’re family now, Beau. That’s what we do.”

The words settled over him, bringing with them a sense of belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He glanced at Y/N, whose lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding.

“Looks like you’re stuck with us,” she teased lightly, though her voice carried a note of something deeper.

“Darlin’,” Beau replied, his voice low and full of warmth, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Eliza babbled something incomprehensible, her tiny hand reaching out to pat his arm again. Beau chuckled, his free hand covering hers as he leaned back into the couch, content for the first time in a long while.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew they’d face them together. And for now, that was more than enough.

While Beau was resting in bed, the combination of pain killers and recovery wearing him out, Y/N was preparing dinner while her mother tended to Eliza. As she was chopping up vegetables for beef stew, Margaret kept glancing over at Y/N.

“Out with it, little girl,” Margaret said at last. She knew her daughter well, well enough to know something was bothering her.

Y/N sighed, her hand stilling for a moment. “I’m pregnant,” she said at last.

Margaret straightened, and Eliza began bonking toys together, enjoying the chaos of smashing pretend buildings. “Oh.”

Y/N cringed. She knew that tone. “We… we were careful, mom. Doubly careful. But it still happened anyway.”

“I didn’t say anything, Y/N,” her mother said gently.

She let out a breath. “I’m sorry, mom.” She turned to face her mother, tears shimmering in her eyes. “It’s just…” She cleared her throat. “I’m scared. So much has happened. Beau knows and he’s over the moon, but I’m scared.”

“Didn’t you tell me he proposed?” Margaret asked, trying to get to the root of her daughter’s fears.

“Yes. A-and…” Y/N pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart ache. “I love him. He loves me. So I don’t… I don’t know why I’m so scared.”

“Y/N,” Margaret said softly, motherly, pulling Y/N into a comforting hug. “You just had a lot dumped on you at once. You just discovered you were pregnant and Beau was shot the same day. Not 24 hours later, you two told each other your I love yous and then he proposed. You barely had a chance to process everything.”

Y/N let out a stifled sob and clung to her mother. Y/N might have been an adult, a mother herself, but in that moment, she was so glad she had her mother to lean on. “I thought I was going to lose him,” she whispered, her voice tinged with tears. “When I got that phone call… oh God, mom…”

“You have your second chance, my darling girl. He’s alive. He loves you. He wants to be your husband, father to your children. He adores Eliza.”

“I wasn’t prepared to start dating again,” Y/N whispered, her tears beginning to stop. She wiped them away and reluctantly pulled out of her mother’s embrace. “And then he just… God, mom. When I met him, he just walked right in and stole my heart when I wasn’t looking.”

“You told me he asked you for permission to approach Eliza,” Margaret said, phrasing as a question.

“Yeah, he did.”

“And you said he asked you permission to kiss you. Several times.”

“Yeah…” Y/N breathed, her heart swelling with love as she remembered those moments. “He did.”

“And when you told him you were pregnant… how did he react?”

Y/N thought back to that moment, the slow joy that spread over his face. “He was happy.”

Margaret regarded her daughter for a long moment, hands on her shoulders. “Y/N, my dear, my darling daughter… do you love that man?”

There was a rush of emotion, a swelling of her heart. “God yes, I do.”

“Then, Y/N,” Margaret said, gently touching her daughter’s cheek. “Go tell him.”

“But— Dinner—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Margaret scooped up Eliza and put her back in the high chair before handing the toddler some toys to keep her busy. “I’ll take over. Go.” Margaret nudged Y/N with her hip. “Take as long as you need.”

Y/N glanced at her mother, gave Margaret a fierce hug, and then went to the bedroom, to talk to the man she loved.

Beau had been napping. Despite the ache of his stomach wound, he managed to doze for a little while. When he heard the door creak open, it stirred him out of his rest. He made a low sound, squinted against the light.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she said quietly, closing the door behind her. She headed over to him and sat at the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“I’ll be okay,” he murmured, reaching to take her hand. “You’re here.”

He dimly saw her smile. “Charmer.”

“I mean it, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and soft. “This? It don’t get any better than this.”

“It can, though,” she said, her voice shaky.

He furrowed his brow. “Darlin’?”

“Beau… ask me again,” she urged.

It took him a moment to realize what she was saying. “Let me…” Beau tried to sit up, grimaced, and laid back down. “Shit, darlin’, I can’t ask you lyin’ down.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Darlin’.” His firm tone stopped her. “Let me ask ya the way I want to… please.”

She nodded, reached to help him sit up. His stomach was killing him when he was finally sitting up, pain vibrating throughout his core. He felt sweat bead on his forehead and he was breathing heavily. Y/N regarded him with concern in her gaze.

“I’m all right, darlin’,” he said at last, touching her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. His heart skipped a beat. God, he loved her so much. “Ya know… it was how you handled your daughter that day in the grocery store.”

“What about it?” she asked, puzzled.

“That got me to fall in love with you,” he said, his voice low and steady.

“Beau.” Her breath caught in the whisper of his name.

“It was. The remark about her havin’ her own wolf pack, being a wolf-child,” he continued. “God, it just killed me. I remembered thinkin’… here’s a momma that cared about her kid. Loved her kid. And I respected that so much.”

“You were in love with me even then?”

“It was the beginnin’,” he confirmed. “And every time I saw you… I just knew. God, darlin’, I just knew.”

He saw tears form in her eyes, shimmering. “Darlin’, don’t cry…”

“N-no. I’m not… I’m not upset.” She let out a half-laugh, emotional. “God, Beau Arlen, you just make it impossible not to fall in love with you all over again.”

Beau reached to brush away a tear with his thumb. “I love you so much, darlin’. You and Eliza… I wanna make ya mine.” He searched her eyes, his green ones full of love. “Y/N… will ya make me the luckiest man alive and be my wife? Be the mother of my children? Be the love of my life?”

Y/N let out a teary sound and nodded, her smile wide and overjoyed. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

He pulled her into a fierce embrace, holding her close as he felt his emotions overwhelm. “God, darlin’, I love you so damned much.” He kissed her, sweet and tender, and whispered to her lips, “And once the doctor clears me for it, darlin’… I’m gonna show you. I’m goin’ make love to you all day, I swear.”

She let out a laugh, tinged with happy tears. “Beau… that’s not necessary. I know you love me. I know you love us.”

“I do, darlin’,” he said, placing a hand over her stomach, imagining the little life growing inside her. “The family you’re givin’ me. The family we’re gonna make together. I love you.”

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

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[deansbite]

 ୨𓏲 𓈒  big sky  ꒱ ꞌꞋ

 𐔌 character masterlist „

𐄈 ⠀ ⠀ O1⠀ 𓈒

beau⠀⠀⠀ arlen ⠀⠀⠀ ;

[bluemerakis]

Recently finished Swayze’s ‘ghost’ and now I can’t stop thinking about post-Hell Dean, where the reader has his iconic brown leather jacket hanging in her room thinking she’s never gonna see him again but he shows up in her room (in a non creepy way as much as possible lol) and they fuuuuck like old times and she thinks she’s dreaming until she realises it’s actually him (or not lol) but the romanticism is screaming out to me, idk if it’s something you’d be interested in writing but omfg you’d write this so painfully well

ANON!! i LOVE LOVE LOVE this SO much! i’m so honoured that you’ve entrusted me with this idea—i had the time of my life writing this & went a lil wild with it LOL. thank you for your support and kind words, it means the world to me! i hope i did your request justice 🩵

─ ۶ৎ ─

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ sunshine ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ s4!spoilers, established relationship, dramatic descriptions of grief, cussing, angst, sam being an adorable little angel, nip sucking, unprotected sex p in v, tooth-rotting fluff. lmk if I forgot any! if there are typos, no there isn’t

synopsis ─ after dean had sealed the deal that warranted him a one-way ticket to hell, you had no hopes of ever seeing him again. you were overcome with a grief that felt inescapable, but with sam’s help, you’d managed to pull through the storm and enter clearer skies. just when you thought you’d have to navigate a new life without dean, against all odds, he makes an unexpected appearance.

word count ~ roughly 15k

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Four months.

The duration of your ongoing turmoil. The grim tally of his absence.

For four months, you’d been trapped in the stagnant bog of your grief. It had formed the very first night you’d lost him, seizing your mind like a rabid plague. It didn’t matter which way you attempted to swim, or how hard you paddled to try and stay afloat, there was no sure escape from its bottomless depth. It immobilised your existence, broke down your hope—scattered it like falling leaves to be lapped up by the famished surface and swallowed to the point of no return. It was lonely and suffocating, but you’d since given up on waiting for a lifeline to be cast from some land beyond your gloomy horizon, so sure that you’d isolated yourself from any soul kind enough to try.

Except for Sam.

Sam had tried to rescue you many times, but the lines he casted were always too battered—chewed up by the demons of his own grief. And you knew that if you grabbed onto it—where he stood barely clinging to the other end—it would snap and pull him right in. You couldn’t do that to him, so you’d surrendered to the bog entirely, allowing your grief to engulf you into its endless, bone-chilling nothingness. And each day, you sank further and further, like the dead weight of a stone, drifting down into the pits of your despair. Your living, breathing death.

A slow, agonising journey of digestion—your body, mind and soul disseminating into nothing.

Reaching rock bottom hadn’t taken long, not when you’d been left feeling so shallow by the robbery of your life’s meaning. And you’d laid there ever since, slowly deteriorating, slowly drowning. Over and over and over again. You could have said that you were losing every part of yourself, but you hadn’t been whole to begin with, not for a long time—not since losing him.

If he were here, he could have saved you from yourself. But he wasn’t. And you hated him for it.

You hated him. For striking a deal with the devil. For placing his life on the line without a second breath. For lying to you about it. For even thinking that nobody would notice the dead space left behind. There were certain days that tended to plunge that hateful knife—already engrossed in your heart—a little deeper. A day like this morning.

The day that marked the anniversary of Dean Winchester’s death.

On the first day without him, you’d spent your time trying to fight it—forced smiles, laughs of denial, stares that didn’t linger on any of his belongings for too long. But it was hard not to come face to face with his memory when the ghost of his existence seemed to prowl after you at every turn and every corner of the apartment. His favourite coffee mug with an infamous chip on the rim. The frozen, pasty pies he’d crammed the freezer full of. Six packs of canned beers stocked along the pantry’s top shelf. His discarded shoes. His sparse watch collection. The shampoo bottle he’d diluted to last a month longer.

And that damn leather jacket, which currently draped from the frame of your desk chair.

It hung there like a museum exhibit—the memory of Dean Winchester, frozen in time. The jacket he’d left behind on the day he’d slipped your life for good. You hadn’t once touched it. You couldn’t bring yourself to lay your fingers across the leather when there’d be no warmth radiating through its fabric to soothe you—couldn’t face the fact that it’d reflect the cold, empty truth of it all. So there it laid, collecting dust and slowly drowning beneath the suffocating, grey sea without a merciful hand to liberate it. It was a cruel parallel of your own withering state.

Every morning, your eyes would peel through a hollow sleep, and the first thing they’d settle on was that damn jacket. Every. Single. Time. As if you needed the constant recap on top of everything else. You could have mustered up the courage to move it some place else that’d finally warrant the motto out of sight, out of mind. But the naive fool that had created that saying failed miserably at accounting for the woes of the brain. Once scorched into memory, nothing would ever truly be forgotten. You’d remember regardless of where that jacket lay—a curse bound to your life, never to be broken.

Unless you broke first.

You shifted at the heart of your king-sized bed, your head sinking back into your plumy pillow as you gazed up at the ceiling. At anything but that jacket. Your limbs sprawled out between the cotton sheets, taking maximum advantage to voyage the sea of space left at your disposal. While a mattress this large and luxurious should’ve offered you a sense of comfortable freedom, you couldn’t help but mourn all the space—space that at one point, had been occupied by him.

The gentle, golden glare of dawn had begun its steady journey into the room, letting itself in almost shyly through the slits of your curtains. The meek sunbeams sliced through the dim atmosphere you’d found solice within, and you watched as dust particles began to waltz around one another through the bronzed air—as if they’d been cast into the centre of the ballroom. Around and around they swirled in perfect, mirrored harmony. You thought it looked a lot like a courting display—more mental imagery to emphasise your loneliness.

For a second, some faded image—a memory—flashed across your mind. Yourself and Dean, taking to the neglected dance floor of a bar nearing its closing time. A half-emptied beer bottle clutched in his one hand as his other linked with yours, serving as the leash that dragged your protesting form to its debut on the dance floor.

You’d never been too confident in your dancing skills, a fact you’d tried many times to disclose, but Dean had been insistent. Somewhere behind you, Sam had whooped from the comfort of the booth you’d both discarded, and when you’d glanced back at the younger Winchester, he had his beer-adorned hand raised into the air as a cheer. You’d scoffed with a heavy thanks for nothing.

When you’d turned back to Dean, he’d drawn up in his tracks without any prior warning, causing you to crash not-so-elegantly into his torso. Instinctively, your free palm had lurched forward to cradle his chest in a steadying motion, your chin tilting up to grace him with a stunned giggle.

The drink he’d throttled in his other hand sloshed with the jolt, foam tumbling over the nozzle’s edge like a provoked volcano’s tantrum. It slathered his fingers and trickled to the floor, adding fresh patterns to the aged, sticky blotches already scattered amidst the young night.

“Woah, easy there, tiger,” he’d laughed, but the hand that’d dragged you here released your fingers only to form a seductive curve at the small of your back. There, he’d pulled you in even closer, his lips closing in on you with the promise of a love-sick kiss. But instead, his jaw had dipped past your temple, lips grazing your cheekbone before hovering at your ear. “There’s nuff o’ me to go ‘round without you jumpin’ ship for the first spot,” he husked. You’d practically felt the grin spreading his lips.

You’d ducked your head away from his with a hearty huff. “Down, boy,” you’d scoffed, hands trailing up his chest to crown either shoulder with a natural ease. The touch had been smooth, magnetic. And maybe you two were like magnets, utterly obsessed with being intangible, and eager to keep on exploring every inch of one another with a shifting touch rather than be torn apart.

Dean’s eyes had lowered to the naughty line you’d drawn to his shoulders, the grin he’d taken up deepening enough to suction his cheeks into the dimples you’d come to adore. When he’d acquainted your eyes again, it was through a heavy-lidded stare that promised all sorts of activities to reciprocate your tantalising touch. “Oh, I’ll get down, alright,” he’d chuckled hoarsely, leaving the line open to interpretation as he brought his beer to his lips. He’d downed a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes not once straying from yours as he watched you mentally decipher his words.

“You know what? Enough of your games,” you’d laughed, hands slipping from his chest to forsake the dance floor before you’d have a chance to make it regret hosting you. You’d attempted to turn tail and flee, but Dean’s hand had found your wrist in a firm, yet gentle tug, and then you were held prisoner under those hypnotising eyes once more. Your lips had split to offer some final protest, but his own lips puckered into a shushing pout that had you clamping down on your tongue.

“Don’t say anythin’, just dance with me,” he’d instructed, and then the hand tethering you to him lifted, your arm following the motion like a chain effect. Against your will, you were spun around in an awkward, off-timed circle that deviated abominably from the background music. When you came to face him once more, his chest had rattled with a laugh a little too passionate for your liking. “That was adorable—like a toddler learnin’ she’s got the gears but don’t quite know which she’s shiftin’.”

Your cheeks had seared hot at that comment, free hand diving forward to shove his chest lightly. “Stop—I warned you!” You’d simpered.

“Hey!” He’d laughed, beer-occupied hand lifting in a gesture of innocence. “I’m only playin’! You’ll get the hang o’ it—I’ll teach ya. Watch.” Your hand lifted under his guidance as he executed his own spin—even more sprawled and ridiculous than yours had been. Your free hand had flown to cradle your mouth as a disbelieved chortle blared through, and as Dean came to face you once more, his brows were lifted in question. “Eh? I’m a natural, yeah?”

You’d giggled into your palm again before dropping your hand back to your side, lips pursing with amusement. “Let’s just say that I don’t think either of us should be teaching the other,” you’d huffed through a pained smile.

Dean lowered your joined hands to the space between you. “Well,” he’d begun, pulling you into his frame once more, like he just couldn’t get enough of your presence—like he wanted it to hog him. “Guess we just gotta. . . y’know, feel this one out together,” he’d murmured suggestively, eyes narrowing with cheek while he released your hand to settle into its natural hold at the small of your back.

You’d leaned your smirk-heavy lips closer to his with a content hum, your hands coming to wrap around his neck. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll follow if you lead.” He’d grinned approvingly at that, tugging you along to a slow and steady sway of the bodies, which you’d succumbed to and harmonised with in no time—much to your surprise.

“Sammy!” Dean had called to his younger brother, his eyes not once straying from yours as he presented his beer in the direction of the booth. “All yours for the takin’.” He’d paused to steal a glance at your beaming lips. “I got my own special o’ the night.”

You’d laughed at that, and Dean’s charm had grown all the more potent as he stretched out the dance between the two of you for what felt like a good couple of hours. In the background, the music in bad taste had blared on, ever so eager to cheapen the moment between the two of you, but you’d become so enthralled with one another that all else around you was drowned out, anyway.

Both his hands had selfishly hoarded your lower back, pressing you so far into him that you’d stumbled around his feet more times than you’d have liked to admit. But you’d remained steadied by the hands furled around his neck, and comforted by the gentle, reciprocated press of your foreheads, gazing into the sanctuary of one another’s eyes.

If you’d known then, in that moment, that Dean Winchester was going to die, you’d have held onto him a little longer—and probably never have let go. Even if it killed you, too.

With a heavy, rattled rise of your chest, you came back to your grim present, drawing in a long and shaky breath. You shifted between the sheets to roll onto your side, arm coming up beneath the underside of your pillow to cradle it like an emotional support teddy. You tuned your attention to your curtain-clad windows, and like a corpse, you continued to rot away within your coffin of a mattress, watching idly as the sun continued to announce its ascent.

It wasn’t long before warm golds drained into a paler shades that fully lit your room now—the official statement of a new day. But still, you didn’t stir. The curtains remained cast, the windows crammed closed as tightly as they’d been left about a week ago, and your soul feeling anything but renewed to tackle this heavy day head on.

Somewhere beyond your wall, footsteps thrummed lightly down the hallway. Now and again, you’d let yourself believe that they belonged to Dean, on his way to brew you both a morning cuppa—just to offer some pathetic, fleeting slither of comfort. But nothing—nobody could ever fill those shoes left behind. It hadn’t stopped Sam from trying, though.

Before Dean’s. . . disappearance, the brothers had stayed together in the larger room of your two-bedroom apartment—nothing like reliving the good old times, right? It didn’t much bother either one of them, given that Dean had slept in your bed on most nights, leaving the space feeling basically like Sam’s own. The dynamic between you all worked well, and it was practical for a hunter’s lifestyle. Costs were cut, perimeters familiarised and mapped out, and the shared company between you all was reliable. Trustworthy.

You’d become a blended family of some sort. You didn’t think there was any external force that could’ve torn you all apart. But you hadn’t accounted for an inside job. Hadn’t accounted for the weak link that was you.

After Dean’s death, you’d gone into a self-destructive spiral, eager to push anybody and everybody away while you feigned bravery. But Sam had clocked you like an open book, and it made him the hottest target of your impulsive ire.

You couldn’t stand looking at the younger Winchester, how he served as a constant reflection of your own grief—the grief you’d tried so hard to drown out. You knew you should have bonded with him over your shared loss, and the younger Winchester had tried everything to utilise that angle to be there for you, but it’d only made you push back harder. You half expected him to walk out after the first week, but you’d forgotten how deep-rooted stubborness ran within the Winchester bloodline.

Sam had continued to stick around. Why was beyond you. You could have argued that it was because he’d come to love you like a sister, but you couldn’t help the feeling that Dean had made him promise to look out for you, should he ever bite the dust. And it made you hate him more. Because if it were the latter, it meant that Dean had always intended to stay en route on the sacrificial pathway you’d tried countless times to swerve him from. And it meant that loving you hadn’t been reason enough for him to become sidetracked.

If only he’d held out a little longer and put off making that damned deal, you could have continued searching for a solution that didn’t end with either of the Winchesters’ deaths. But deep down, you knew that fate hadn’t written that ending down in any of her books. That continuing to skim page after page would have done nothing but waste minutes paid in blood. Deep down, you knew that Dean had no other choice, but it didn’t make you hate him any less for choosing it.

The faint clanking of utensils transcended the walls, indicating that Sam had worked himself into the kitchen. It was like a routine now. Every morning, the same time. You thought he might’ve craved some taste of control over his life by instilling this morning pattern he now followed so religiously.

You envied how well he seemed to hold himself together, despite it being his blood that had passed on. It made you feel invalidated in all your mourning. After all, if he could move on from the loss of his brother, whom he’d known all his life, why couldn’t you move on from a man you’d known for a pitiful number that paled in comparison?

As they so often did, your thoughts rampaged for a while longer, so eager to hold you captive between the sheets. But eventually, you felt the pit of neglect burrowed into your stomach gape wider, something that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

Your head turned to glimpse the plates you’d stacked atop the bedside table over the last few days. Almost all of them held meals that you’d scarcely picked at, meals Sam had cooked you, and they were starting to smell. It wasn’t doing much to help encourage the full return of your appetite. But still, you had to eat—something fresher, of course.

Eventually, you mustered up the courage to stir and shed the sheets, your week-old pyjamas falling limp around your frame as you shovelled your weight onto wilted legs. You stood for a moment, taking in this new pull of gravity, before angling yourself toward the door.

At the corner of your eye, it beckoned to you. You shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have given it the attention it so desperately craved, but how could you stand steadfast when you were crippled with the need to reminisce him during every waking moment? So you buckled, like you always did, and turned to glance over the waiting leather jacket.

It beamed a little brighter this time around, illuminated by the sun’s pale touch. It looked almost angelic, and you could have sworn that new life had been bestowed upon it—like a reincarnation. But no matter how long you stared, no body seemed to materialise between its hold to glorify that hope. Still no Dean Winchester to show for it.

So much for having faith.

With a barely audible scoff, you finally tore your gaze away and trudged toward your bedroom door. You reached for the handle, fingers hovering over the cool metal as you took a moment to think about what’d you say to Sam. Starting with an apology would probably be ideal, followed up by a looping string of thank yous for everything he’s done. You swallowed thickly before tightening your hold, the mechanism clicking open with a brash sound that cut through your senses. And then, like a ghost, you neglected your grave and slunk into the hallway.

When you traipsed into the open-plan apartment on light, reluctant feet, your eyes wandered over to the kitchen at the corner, where Sam had already made himself comfortable at the hot lip of the stove. His back was turned on you, but you caught the whisk of his arms as he executed an impressive flip of something within the skillet. It landed with a muffled thump, a result that had Sam hissing out a noise of satisfaction.

A shy, smoky ghost levitated above the Winchester, and it wasn’t long before the cracked kitchen window wafted a clue in your direction—the sweet tang of pancakes tickling your nose. Usually, it was a smell that had you inhaling a little deeper, like you couldn’t miss savouring even a scrap of its existence. Now, the smell roused nothing other than a faint reminder of just how much you didn’t crave breakfast. Or anything, for that matter. But still, duty called. More like your stomach would begin eating itself if you insisted on starving it for a day longer.

With a practiced breath of bravery, you picked your way past the living room sofas, your sock-clad feet scuffling across the floor with a severe lack of motivation. As you approached the kitchen island, you spotted a can of sweetened whipped cream—your favourite—and a bowl of berries straddling the plated, ever-growing stack of pancakes. It was the complete picture your stomach needed to enlist the first of its rumbling, but you hadn’t had much of a mental appetite for quite some time. The simple joy you’d once held for eating had been boiled down to the dull necessity of sustenance—you ate only because your body needed fuel. Anything more than that just wasn’t worth feeling.

And, truthfully, it was a baffling, new reality because there was a time you'd have nagged the boys to drive you halfway across the country to try some new cuisine you'd seen advertised across billboards. You’d scribble down the names of the niche diners and renowned restaurants in your trusty notebook to be reviewed on the trips back to the motels, heated debates unfolding as the brothers either vouched for or condemned your idea of a good meal. Now, the memories were so distant that you'd started to wonder whether they'd even existed. Whether that version of you still existed.

You brought up the rear of one of the kitchen chairs, moving a hand to cradle your protesting stomach while the other outstretched to retract the chair at the rim. The sudden, intrusive screech of wood against wood was enough to startle Sam into a growing awareness of his surroundings. He pivoted on his heels to face you, the pan making a reflexive dive in your direction in what was meant to be some pitiful means of a defence. The white of his eyes blared through, his tall frame ducking slightly as he assumed a defensive position.

Your composure didn’t falter as you slunk into the seat; his reaction wasn’t any surprise, not when you lead the adrenaline-laced life of a hunter forced to guard their six on a daily. And you doubted he’d expected any company after you’d basically stopped existing outside of your room these last couple of days—and at this early hour, no less.

What did surprise you, though, was that the pancake had managed to cling to the metal of the skillet in the midst of his jolt.

As Sam drank in your familiar form, his broad shoulders sagged visibly under his growing relaxation, the vice grip he’d unintentionally taken up around the pan’s handle now relenting an inch.

“Oh,” he stuttered out, a flustered half-chuckle diffusing his misplaced adrenaline. He slunk toward the island with his head slightly bowed, his gaze flickering between you and the pan. “Hey,” he murmured, his lips pursing shortly after the meek sound, as though he were afraid to let the wrong words slip. His caution wasn’t misplaced; you hadn’t exactly been kind to him these last few days.

It usually went that way around this time of the month. The days stepping up to the anniversary of Dean’s death tended to trip you right into the worst vision of yourself. You were more sullen than usual, losing patience over minuscule things, and sinking jaws of hostility into anybody who’d even attempted to offer hollow words of comfort.

Bobby had been the first to withdraw with some muttered crap of I’m too old for this shit. But Sam had always been too forgiving. He’d stuck around regardless of your temper, taking all the verbal beatings while he tended to your unspoken needs in ways that you couldn’t. You owed him so much more than you were capable of giving at this time.

You leaned onto the cool marble of the island, your hands coming forward in a timid fold as your lips flattened into a pathetic spectacle of a smile. “Hey, Sam,” you murmured, and for a second, the sound startled you. It was so dull, so lifeless—you’d even go so far as to say that it was so unlike you.

It was a stark contrast to the version of yourself the brothers had learnt to tolerate, maybe even appreciate—constant chatter and running commentary streaming live from the backseat of the impala. Dean had gone so far as to nickname you sunshine and rainbows, trailing after the twin storm clouds—the Winchesters—that seemed to thunder down on the unassuming world. But now, you felt like nothing more than the rolling, gloomy skies that paved way for everything wet, woeful and destructive. A weather so devastating that a show of a rainbow would be a mockery rather than a promise.

Sam returned your smile almost sheepishly, his head dipping to drink in the view of the counter. “You, uh. . . you sleep alright?” He asked, the pan coming forward to leer you over as he tipped the metal downwards and crowned the seasoned stack of pancakes with the fresh newcomer.

Your eyes lowered to the newest addition of the pancake pile, following the faint trails of heat that seemed to rise with a freedom and lightness you craved to feel. “Yeah,” you lied, your lower lip instantly pulled into a tense bite. “Yeah, I slept. . . fine.”

You knew that Sam wasn’t convinced, the moment of silence following after evidence of some tactic he might’ve been mentally reviewing to try and coax the truth from you. You began tracing a line along the patterns of the marble counter with your index finger, anticipating the awkward conversation to come.

“Come on, really?” He laughed softly, but the sound was gentle and sympathetic, not slathered with amusement or scorn. “‘Cause I didn’t,” he confessed.

You glanced up at him in surprise, your finger halting in its place. “Really?” You breathed out softly, instant relief crashing over you. Maybe Sam hadn’t recovered as much as you thought he had, and as unfortunate as that was, you couldn’t help but feel slightly comforted—less alone.

He tipped his head to the side in consensus, a wry scoff piercing his lips. “Honestly? Can’t remember the last time I did,” he said, eyes flickering up to glance you over briefly before he turned his back on you to discard the pan at the sink. He slid over to the stove, flicking buttons and shifting dishes before he was back at the island. “I mean, I sleep—but just. . . not very well.” He took up a spatula and began shovelling at the pancake stack. “One?” He asked intuitively.

“One’s perfect,” you said. You watched as he dragged the rim of the spatula down the building of pancakes, stopping somewhere around the middle floor before he slid the utensil inward. He shimmied out a hot and fluffy pick, placing it onto your plate rather gingerly before he nudged it in your direction. “Thanks, Sam,” you murmured, receiving it with a forced show of eagerness—you didn’t want your lack of an appetite to make things more personal than they already felt.

“Yeah, anytime,” he answered, sparing you a soft smile before he took to plating his own stack of three.

You held off on digging into your singular pancake, hands idling around the knife and fork bracketing your plate as you waited for the younger Winchester to cover up the remainder of the breakfast.

With a satisfied dusting of his palms, he finally pushed his own plate across the marble to slide in a distance beside yours before he made his way around the island. He pulled out the seat beside you and settled himself down with a heavy plop and an appreciative grunt—almost like an old man of some sorts.

He took up his cutlery and glanced over at you with a comforting smile. “Time to, uh. . . dig in, I guess,” he laughed lightly. “There’s whipped cream and berries if you’d like.” His chin jutted to the listed toppings, and then his knifed hand jolted into the air suddenly. “Oh, and there’s syrup, too. I’ll fetch it from the pantry.”

Without waiting for your response, he set down the cutlery and shifted back in his chair, but you turned your body a slither to face him before he could slip away as quickly as your nerve.

“Sam, wait,” you said, your hands straying from the table to bundle in your lap in an anxious toying of fingers.

He halted in place almost instantly, turning to face you with his brows quirked an inch—like your sudden unrest was news to him. But you knew he was only trying to be polite in playing his attentive part; he likely knew exactly what this was about. “Yeah?”

You drank in his softened eyes, and they held so much purity and innocence that it caused your heart to sag with a fresh, guilt-ridden heaviness. It tugged your head down to the view of your lap, your chest heaving with a shuddering inhale. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, your voice rattled by so much regret that it began to quiver.

At the edge of your vision, you saw Sam settle back into his seat, arms drawing onto the counter. “Hey,” he cooed gently. “It’s oka—”

“No, it’s not okay,” you cut in hastily. “I need to say this. I’m sorry for everything—for the way I acted. . . for the things I said—you didn’t deserve any of it, Sam.” You began picking at the skin of your nails. “I just, I have all this. . . anger inside of me. I’m angry at myself, and I’m angry at Dean—I’m angry at everything cause everything’s just so fucking unfair. And I know that it’s not an excuse, but I just. . . I figured. . . I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know,” you scoffed, but you braved face and lifted your head to face him once more. “But I do know that I am truly, deeply sorry.”

Sam’s head lowered to take in the view of his plate, his eyes darting about the porcelain. “Listen,” he eventually murmured, his mouth stuttering around air as he searched for the right words. Eventually, he settled on grace. “I get it, okay?” His chin lifted to gift you with a break you didn’t think you deserved. “All that anger inside of you. . . I’ve felt it before—more than I’d like to admit, actually,” he laughed dryly before his expression warped into something more solemn. “It eats you up inside. . . makes you say and do things you wouldn’t usually say or do. There are so many times I’ve gone down that road, but Dean—he’s always been there to pull me back, even if it was by the tip of my ear.” He laughed again, this time more genuine, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile of your own.

Sam’s head lowered again, his smile simmering away. “Anyway, I guess what I’m tryna say is that, I get it. I get why you said the things you did, and I’m not mad about it. For once, I don’t feel that anger anymore.”

Slowly, your fingers began to still their fidgeting as you listened to him talk, your chest cooperating by letting up on its rapid pace.

The younger winchester upturned his eyes to yours with a new ferocity. “I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you—and not just because I owe Dean that much, but because you’ve been there for me, too. So many times. Even at my. . .” He trailed off as he averted his gaze to the side, some unspoken shame breaching his conscious. You saw his Adam’s Apple bop under a heavy swallow before he turned back to you. “Even at my worst,” he continued. “So. . . don’t worry about it, really. I get it.”

For the first time in a long time, you found your eyes watering an emotion other than grief and heartbreak—something far lighter and rejuvenating. Love. Appreciation. Relief. You envied Sam’s ability to barrel through this cruel life so determined to pin him down, and you admired how each time, he seemed to emerge with a heart even larger than before. Even after all the rounds you’d emptied into his chest, he stood tall, still offering that hand you so desperately needed to pull you from your self-dug trenches.

Maybe, it was about time you finally took it.

The first tear slipped the keep of your eye, jettisoned from the ledge of your cheekbone to where it splattered across the marble top. Your hand flew to wipe the moisture away, an ugly sniff racking your chest. There was a clank of shifting metal before Sam’s hand came forward to brush your shoulder.

“Hey,” he cooed softly, and then you were carefully tugged into the side of his towering frame. “Come here,” he urged, and he was so gentle that it had you fully succumbing to his hold without a single reflexive need to resist. His arm snaked around your shoulder blades to hook around your arm as he drew you into a tight hug, your hands bundling further into your lap. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this. Together,” he added pointedly, a clear warning that he didn’t intend to let you get your lonely way again. You were okay with that.

Your lower lip began quivering with fresh emotion—guilt bouncing on the rim the heaviest. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” you reiterated.

Your felt his chin settle into the crown of your head, the vibration bouncing off your hair. “For what? Being human?” He laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, we tend to be dicks from time to time, and I’d say hunters have more right than most to be a bigger one now and again.”

You laughed—actually laughed at that, the sound snotty and slightly gross, but real. Sam harmonised with his own throaty chuckle, the hand furled around your arm in a tight, reassuring grip relenting to rub comforting lines up and down the expanse.

“Now, enough of the pity party. Let’s finish these pancakes before they get cold, and then what do you say we pull out a couple of board games?” He gave you one last comforting squeeze before slowly releasing you from the hug.

You leaned away from him, centring your weight back over your own chair as you turned your head down to your plate with a thoughtful pout. “Okay,” you agreed, your chin ducking in tiny, accepting nods. You sniffed away the lingering tears, hand coming up to pat your eyes one last time for good measure. Then, your head swivelled to face him as you put on a weak smile. “Hey—think you’re smart enough to challenge me to a game of scrabble?”

Sam laughed as though your challenge was satire, but you frowned with slight offence, which sobered his smile into a look of confusion. “Wha—you’re serious?” He huffed, jaw gaped around disbelief.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” You exclaimed, your voice cracking around a light giggle—the first you’d uttered in a while. “I’m as smart as you are—we read the same books!”

His averted his gaze, head cocking to the side with a scoff before he glanced back at you in amusement. “Yeah, and after you gave your reports, I had to go back and reread every single one of those books to fill in information you left out,” he said pointedly.

You shook your head with light disbelief, a thin chuckle following after. “You know what? Let’s have that round, and if you win, you can bullshit my literacy skills all you like. Deal?” You outstretched your hand across the counter.

Sam’s gaze ducked to the gesture, his brows cocking on a look that you thought was a little too smug, before his hand reached to link with yours in an informal pact. “Deal,” he said through a scheming smirk.

You squeezed his hand lightly as a warning. “Wipe that douche-display off your lips, nothing’s set in stone.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” he replied nonchalantly, but when your hands unlinked, you saw the corner of his mouth hitch with some mental remark.

“All right, that’s it.” You took up your utensils while Sam glanced you over with slight surprise. You began digging into your pancake with a renewed sense, plopping the first piece into your mouth and taking on a ferocious chew. There was a brief wave of nausea at the food’s sudden intrusion before it quickly dissipated at the sweet taste, beckoning you back for another bite.

“You might wanna slow down there,” he laughed, hands tending to his own plate before they finally presented his first bite to his lips with far more poise.

“Uh uh,” you hummed through a mouthful, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I got a lot riding on this. You made it personal when you brought my ego into this. Sooner we’re done here, sooner I can beat you.”

Sam let out a disbelieved laugh, but didn’t argue any further as he began dissembling his own pancakes at a faster rate. Once you’d both lapped down the dough and licked the plates clean, you’d taken to washing up the dishes and wiping down the counters while Sam procured the board games that had long since collected dust. You’d taken the liberty of microwaving you both a bowl of popcorn and pouring glasses of soda while he set out the game within the living room. Then, you both settled down for the first round, snacks at the ready.

Sam had won, as he’d so smugly anticipated. But you weren’t so eager to be humiliated without a challenge, so for the rest of the day, you’d played out the game to a tally of the most wins. Hours seemed to pass like the impression of a second, the apartment growing dimmer and dimmer with each trailing retreat of the sun.

Eventually, you were both cast in a saturated bronze that poured in through the living room windows, illuminating the score page you’d scribbled up and further glorifying Sam’s final win. He took the game by far, and you were forced to acknowledge that maybe he was the smarter one of you both. Or at least the more apt thinker.

After that, you’d both powered through a movie of his choice, chowing down on some Chinese takeout he’d had delivered. And you emptied the carton down to the last noodle, appeasing the appetite you’d developed somewhere throughout the day. Already, you felt so much lighter—physically and mentally—and you knew that you owed it all to Sam and his perseverence. You couldn’t help but beam with some newfound appreciation for the younger Winchester.

Through the darkness, the tv screen emitted just enough light to illuminate Sam’s side profile. His eyes were glued to the screen, jaw circulating hasty chews as he practically inhaled his second bowl of popcorn. The sight made you shake your head with light amusement, and you watched him a little longer just for the sake of it.

“Hey, Sam?” You eventually called, which made him face you with a look of sudden concern.

His hand halted within his bowl. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For today—for everything.” You offered him a warm, appreciative smile. He’d given you something you desperately needed today—a distraction. From everything and most definitely from yourself. Debts like those didn’t feel possible to repay, but you’d try, regardless. As long as it took.

Sam took a moment to drink in your words, his features motionless before his brows furrowed like he’d made nothing of your gesture. “Yeah, no problem,” he answered, a smile to match yours following shortly after. You both turned your attention back to the screen, and for the rest of the movie, you sat in comfortable, popcorn-tinged silence.

Once the movie came to an end, you’d both chatted about anything and everything until the first person let a yawn slip—that person being you. After that, you’d both tidied up the space, folded the blankets and packed the games back into their keep. Then, you’d dipped into your room to gather your old dishes, discarding the food and washing up the plates. Sam had helped pack it all away.

Once the day’s chores were wrapped up, you’d both exchanged your nightly greetings before going your separate ways. Sam retreated back to his room, though not without snagging a thick book from the shared reading shelf. You’d briefly slipped into your own room to pull out a fresh set of pyjamas and a towel before dipping your toes into a much needed shower.

Once you felt you’d scrubbed off enough of your week-long rot, you’d slunk from the shower and back to your room to call it a day. When you clicked the door closed behind you, you hovered on the spot with a hearty sigh into the dim atmosphere. You took a moment to reflect on the day, and for once, it provoked a smile—not sadness, not anger, not grief—but a genuine smile. The relief after the storm.

You flicked on the light and dressed yourself into your fresh set of clothes, teeth brushed and hair secured back before you flicked the lights off and sank into your bed with a new type of exhaustion. A fulfilling one. It wasn’t long before sleep arrived to hurl you into vivid dreams, and not unlike other times, you dreamt of Dean.

Within your bed, he had you bare and sprawled out beneath his own nude figure, his lips wandering gentle, curious trails along the side of your jaw before dipping down the ledge to trawl the arch of your neck. His elbows propped him up on either side of your head as he took his time to lovingly brand you with his wet caress, your own hands combing blissful strokes through his hair.

You sank back into your pillow, lips parting with breathy mewls as he shifted his attention down to your breasts. He moved to cup one tenderly, tongue swirling a loop around the hardened bud, his strained moan sprawling into the mix of stimulation as you tightened your hold within his hair.

“Dean,” you exhaled weakly, for no reason other than to verbalise the unorthodox way he made you feel. Your teeth found your lower lip in a restrained nibble as he acknowledged your absent-minded praise with a gentle kneading of your breast—as if he sought to gorge on it to the point of total devouring.

You felt the blood flow vigorously to your chest, spurred onward by the suctioning of his lips, and it pooled at your nipple, causing it to throb within his hold. You let slip a soft noise of discomfort, your hand collapsing from his hair to gently push him back at the collarbone.

Dean’s head lifted to yours, a slight pant wafting from his glistening lips. “All good there, sunshine?” He murmured, hand slipping from your breast to run a light, reassuring finger across your cheek. He smudged away the moisture beading along your skin before settling his thumb in the divot of your chin.

“Too much,” you breathed through a dazed grin, hand coming up to gently wrap around his wrist. “You’re like a leech,” you added with a soft giggle.

His lips thinned in a proud smirk, encouraged by your tease rather than offended. “Damn right I am—have you tasted you? Freakin’ delicious,” he praised, smacking his lips in a dramatic show and tell. It made you giggle and release his wrist to pin his lips between your thumb and index finger, and you held them captive while he mumbled noises of protest. He looked so ridiculous, it warmed your heart.

“Stop that!” You laughed, your cheeks flushing hot at the silly sight of him.

Dean wiggled his lips between your grasp until he was able to wrap his lips around a finger, nibbling your skin tenderly so that you released a light squeal and pulled away from his famished lips. “Stop what?” He mocked lightheartedly, head lowering down to you as he followed after your retreating hand with a determined grin playing his lips.

Your hands flew to your chest in a pretence of helplessness, your giggles elevating to a heartier laugh as he pretended to chase after them. His teeth acquainted the air all around them with animated chomps, but made no good on the promise. Eventually, he gave up the hunt and pressed his lips to the side of your jaw, gradually tracing his way up to the soft curve of your cheek before he drew back an inch to gaze into your eyes.

“My sunshine,” he said softly, adoringly, leaning down to nuzzle the button of your nose with his own before he placed a soft kiss there.

Your heart trilled love-struck melodies around Dean’s proud declaration, the magnitude of your smile hoisting up the apples of your cheeks until your eyes were compressed into half-moons. “Say it again,” you murmured, palms drifting up to frame his face and thumbs twiddling to soothe the humps of his cheeks.

Your touch set Dean’s composure alight, his sultry stare softening into something more pure and needy. His eyes narrowed as he gazed down at you, as though you had captured his complete and undivided attention. You found yourself getting so wrapped up in their green depths that for a second, it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re my sunshine,” he repeated in a voice so low and soft that it bordered a husky whisper, but the love imbued into those words carried through as clear as a shout. “I don’t care if that sounds like the title of a Jane Austen novel. You’ve got this. . . fire to you, the kind that nobody—nothin’ can gank. And you draw people into your orbit like they’d never stood a damn chance. Trust me, I sure as hell didn’t,” he laughed, both his hands coming up as a unit to brush back the hair framing your face. “And you’re warm. . .” He trailed off to place a kiss on your cheek, “—and radiant—” and then the other. “And my whole goddamn universe.”

You gazed at him as he pulled away from your proximity, his eyes brimming with love as he waited for your response. What you wanted to say was, “I knew you read Jane Austin in your free time!”, a harmless poke that would keep this tender moment elevated at meaningful heights. Then you’d both share a laugh, and melt into the night cocooned within each other’s warmth.

But deep down, something more solemn tugged at the strings of your heart—an unanswered question that slowly began to resurface despite your attempt to bury it time and time again. So instead, you said, “then how could you leave me?”

Dean’s face warped into a light frown, your question catching him off guard. For a few seconds, he did nothing but stare, his lips parting to search for an answer that you’d waited months to hear. But when he looked as though he might finally answer, no sound carried through to lay your suspense to rest. His mouth gaped and his lips moved, but they formed nonsensical words, and no matter how hard you tried to focus and decipher your most craved confession, it never came to you.

Then, the scene around you began to distort, the lights cutting out and the shapes of the room’s decor warping erratically. And when you blinked, Dean had disappeared entirely—his atoms scattered into the cosmos of your mind. You tried to call out to him, to summon him back to his rightful place beside you, but it seemed as though he were destined to be robbed from the palm of your hands—both in the waking world, and in the confines of your own mind.

And then you, in your entirety, were dissolved into a black abyss, the surroundings melting away like you’d imagined it all in a vivid episode of mania. For a moment, you floated around in a void, your mind slowly dissociating from the fantasies of its own creation. You heard nothing, saw nothing, but somehow, you felt a touch lingering upon your arm. It was warm, familiar, and even though no face materialised to claim it, you knew that it was Dean.

You prepared yourself to mourn the loss of it once you emerged into the waking world, but as your eyes fluttered open, your lids blinking frantically to clear your vision, the touch didn’t fade. If anything, it became more palpable, solid—real. And when you’d adjusted enough to the dawn haze shrouding your room, it wasn’t the image of the leather jacket that arrived first to taunt you.

It was Dean.

You blinked harder, more desperately, your heart rate skyrocketing as you attempted to rationalise whatever fucked up delusion your exhausted mind was currently displaying you. But his body didn’t vaporise into nothingness, and blinking didn’t seem to possess the same parlour trick of making the rabbit disappear, like it did in your dreams.

It was real.

There he sat, as stoic as a statue, at the edge of your mattress, and the hand you’d felt cupping your arm stroked up the curve of your shoulder to gently frame your neck. The contact sent a shiver up your spine, your lips falling open to expel a shaky breath.

It can’t be, you thought, your brows contracting in a puzzled frown. He’s dead—he’s in hell, he can’t be here.

Through the dawn gloom, you could make out the faintest stretch of his lips—an almost simper. “Good mornin’, Sunshine.” But you didn’t recognise the voice. It was low, gruff and abraded, like his vocal cords had been extracted and sent through the grinder before being forcibly shoved back into its compartment. And he sounded dull, the type of dull you’d come to embody in his absence. It was. . . anything but Dean Winchester.

Your lower lip began to quiver, your shoulder drawing into yourself as you shied away from his touch. “This isn’t real,” you choked out, hastily collecting yourself onto your elbows as you sought to put some distance between you two. “You’re not real!” You exclaimed in rising volume, which had the impersonator stretching out both his hands in a steadying motion.

“You’ll wake Sammy,” he whispered urgently—a harsh sound that came across as more of a scold.

You frowned as you inched yourself a fraction across the mattress, eager to reach the end opposite to where he sat. “Who are you?” You demanded in a tone more regulated, your hand subtly reaching behind you to grab ahold of the salt container you kept on the bedside table like a framed picture.

Dean’s eyes seemed to follow your not-so-subtle play with dry amusement. “It’s me,” he insisted gruffly, his hands coming to settle on his knees—and one of them bounced with unspoken thoughts. It was a habit you’d come to recognise since knowing him, and it did a fraction of a favour in vouching for his authenticity. “It’s Dean,” he continued, eyes straying from your hands to settle onto your face.

“No,” you refused, and behind you, your fingers grabbed ahold of the salt. “Dean Winchester died—four months ago,” you explained in a low, but no less stern voice. “So I’m going to ask you again—who are you?”

His nostrils seemed to flare with dwindling patience, his eyes flickering off to the side. “Man, paranoia’s one son o’a bitch,” he scoffed under his breath before turning to face you again. “Listen, I know you’re not gonna believe me. And I also know that you’re about to baptise me with a shit ton o’ salt to barbecue the livin’ crap outta whatever demon you think’s got his hand stuck up my ass.” He began reaching into his shirt pocket. “Now, as much as I’d love to swallow a mouthful of killer blood pressu—” his words were cut short as you tossed a handful of salt in his direction, the mound not shying away from taking a bold dip in his mouth.

The assault dealt no physical damage to his body, but it did earn a passionate look of annoyance from Dean, whose jaw slowly circumducted as his tongue began shovelling the salty hell from his mouth. You scrutinised him for a few seconds longer, not so eager to let down your guard because of one passed test.

“You’re not a demon?” You asked more than stated.

His jaw fell limp at your question, a slow blink accentuating his displeasure. “Clearly not,” he said lowly, the words slurred by his unwillingness to taste the salt with proper pronunciation.

He leaned forward, hand reaching for the box of tissues sitting atop the beside table, and yanked a few free. He brought it up to his lips, where he spat furiously to cleanse his mouth. After a rough clearing of his throat, he bundled up the tissues, tossed it onto the table and glanced over at you once more. “Listen, I’ve already been through all the tests back at Bobby’s. I was goin’ to pull out the phone and get him on the line to clear me before you decided I needed some seasonin’,” he said flatly.

You watched him suspiciously, your brow quirking in disbelief. “Fine,” you said tensely, but offered nothing further.

Dean frowned lightly, his eyes doing a brief and clueless sweep of the room as though he expected you to offer more clarity. He settled his attention back onto you, his chin lifting slightly as he uttered a cautious, “okay.” He began reaching into his pocket once more, the movement deliberately slowed. “Just gonna reach for the phone, alright? So hands off the fuckin’ salt,” he said, eyes flickering between you and the container. “Please,” he added gruffly, and then his had retracted with the phone.

You prowled after his every move like a predator, but despite your weariness, you still lowered the salt an inch. You watched as he flicked open the phone, thumb gliding across the keypad as he pulled up Bobby’s number. Then, he lifted the phone to his ear, eyes trained on you with equal caution as he waited for the line to connect him to the opposite end.

You heard the static click, and a voice blared through shortly after—Bobby’s voice. The sound soothed your heart by a slither.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted, passing his tongue along his lower lip. “Listen, I, uh. . . I need ya to do that thing I told you I’d need—you know, vouchin’ for me and all.” On the other end of the line, Bobby uttered a few, incomprehensible words. “Yeah,” Dean laughed weakly. “Yeah. . . she threw me with the salt. Just like you said.” His eyes flickered to you with subtle amusement before Bobby said something else. Then, he was handing you the phone.

You narrowed your eyes in skepticism before your free hand reached for the phone, so careful not to graze his skin as you retrieved it from his fingers. Dean seemed to notice the rejection, and his mouth gaped slightly with the hurt it evoked. You pushed aside the image, but didn’t stray from his face as you brought the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You called into the line.

“Hey, kid, it’s me,” Bobby’s static voice answered. “Listen, I know you’re goin’ through one helluva mind-fuck right ‘bout now. . . but it’s ‘im, kid. It’s Dean.” He trailed into silence after those words, providing an interval he expected you’d fill with some sort of taken aback reaction. But all you could do was choke on your stunned silence, your heart beginning to ram at your chest harder than it’d ever managed before. “Kid? Y’still there?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed all-knowingly as he watched you in patient silence. His hand shifted from his lap an inch, like he yearned to reach out to you and offer some reassurance, but you both knew it’d do little to soothe you in this current predicament—the mental debate of whether or not the man you loved was really back.

Eventually, your body hosted a response, but it wasn’t one you’d preferred to have at this instant. A tear clotted along your one eye, bundling up until it was heavy enough to slip over the edge. Dean’s expression visibly softened, his jaw clenching with the knowledge that he couldn’t exactly pull you into a tight embrace—not just yet, anyway.

Your lips loosened, a rattled breath breaking through. “I saw his body, Bobby,” you pushed out in a quiver. Another tear lined the opposite cheek. “I watched you and Sam dig that fucking hole. . . and I watched you roll his lifeless, rotting corpse over the edge before cementing him under six fucking feet of dirt.”

The phone line hissed and crackled with the silent air on Bobby’s side. You almost thought he’d given up the ruse that you were so determined to believe you’d gotten caught up in, but then his voice blared through—the most tender and sympathetic you’ve ever heard it.

“I know you’re confused,” he began. “Hell, this shit had me believin’ that my family’s history of Alzheimer’s had finally kicked the bucket out from under me. But I did all the tests, and I interrogated him over and over again. I gave him hell, kid, but in the end, it’s really him. Y’know I wouldn’t have even thought ‘bout lettin’ him get close to ya if I weren’t certain o’ it. So if ya can’t trust ‘im just yet, then trust me. I give ya my word.”

Your fingers gripped the phone a little tighter, if only to still the trembling of your hand, and you gave a large sniff as you processed his words. Your eyes still bore into Dean, as though it would keep him pinned to the spot should he think about making a run for it.

You shifted the phone against your ear an inch, taking your lower lip into a tense bite before you spoke again. “Okay,” you breathed softly. “I trust you, Bobby.”

From Bobby’s end, shuffling noises chafed your ear like sand-paper. “Alright, kid, I’ll leave the two o’ ya to it. Good luck,” he said, and then the line terminated with a beep. The call’s ending tune reached Dean’s ear, where he shifted on the mattress almost anxiously while he waited for your decision.

“So, uh,” he began, his lips stuttering on the right words as his head buckled to face the hands he’d crossed in his lap. His palms rubbed tense lines—like the scheming motion of a fly—before he glanced back up at you. “We good?” He settled on. You saw the subtle desperation in the clench of his jaw. He craved the pardon only you could give him.

Slowly, you lowered the phone from your ear, flipping it closed as your chest rattled with another, shaky breath. Your eyes began to water once more, and this time, it didn’t hold back. In a second, you were hurling yourself across the mattress, arms flailing through the air to wrap around his neck with a desperation that could have body-slammed him to the floor.

“Woah,” he steadied in a laugh that sounded all too relieved.

Your chest crashed into Dean’s, and his hands were hasty to return your hug as he wrapped himself around your waist. There, he completed the embrace, pulling you against him so tightly that it started to pinch the meat of your skin through your shirt. But you didn’t care if his grip left behind a bruise—you’d consider it a physical reminder of just how real this all was.

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, all the pent up emotions you’d come to harbour over these last few months finally liberated from your clutch. The tears began to roll without practiced regulation, and you found yourself yielding all control. Because being around Dean always had you feeling safe enough to do so, and your body had utilised its muscle-memory to re-establish that foundation. To rebuild the home that his death had wrecked.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whispered against the stubbled skin of his neck, the sound heavy and cracked.

His palm stroked slow, comforting circles across your lower back, his own face buried against the slope of your shoulder. You felt his warm breath waft over your skin as he spoke. “Me too,” he pushed out tensely. Shakily. There were very few moments that you’d ever heard that tone on him. “I didn’t think I was ever comin’ back,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you, or Sammy—hell, even Bobby, again. But I’m not complainin’,” he added hastily. “Shit, I’ll never complain ‘bout anythin’ e’er again. I got everythin’ I need right here.”

He shifted against you, torso pulling back as though he couldn’t wait a second longer to peer into your eyes. You leaned yourself back in rhythm, your cheeks blown red with your overwhelmed state and your eyes still glistening with fresh tears. You kept your hands looped around his neck, fingers still clutching his phone, and your heart was seized by a new fist of pain as you saw Dean’s bloodshot eyes pave way for his own, sparse—but undeniably real—tears.

His hands settled at your hips, fingers subconsciously squeezing at the meat as he did a mental walkthrough of his own emotions. “I missed you so goddamn much,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling now. “God, all I could think ‘bout down there, every second of every miserable day, was you—how much I needed you. How much I missed you.” His chest jolted with a forced, but much needed exhale to steady his next words. “And how much I love you.”

You choked on your breath at that final confession, words that—up until now—had never directly admitted. You couldn’t help but huff a slight breath of disbelief, a weak grin beaming through as your eyes softened with a warmth that made you feel whole again. Dean, himself, looked slightly stunned at his declaration, his eyes widening mildly as he drank in your reaction. But as you gazed at him, there was no undertone of regret or shame mingling with his features. There was only what looked like relief, if the slight quirking of his lips and the soft sigh that followed after was any indication.

Maybe, it was relief attributed to the fact that he’d finally started to unpack—and put words to—some of his more complex emotions. It made you feel so much closer to him.

Without sparing it another thought, you blurted your own reciprocation. “I love you too, Dean.”

He smiled tenderly at that, and neither one of you moved as you shared an intense stare that circulated all sorts of emotion—love, adoration, and desire. Then, as though some unspoken agreement had been exchanged, you dove down to meet his lips in a fierce kiss, the phone you’d been clutching dropping to some surface beyond your current care.

Dean’s hands trailed up the expanse of your back as he returned your kiss hungrily, his lips feuding with yours for an advantage of the play. He wasted no time sliding his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm palms massaging a determined, upward trajectory until he gained enough leverage to tug it over your head.

The kiss broke off momentarily as your arms flew up in an eager gesture to shed your layers, your chest heaving with the exertion. He managed to successfully tug the shirt over your head, the neckline the last to go and leaving behind an impression as it briefly snagged onto your hair. When he gave it one last freeing tug, your hair tie came loose amidst the commotion, your hair cascading across your bare torso in fresh, yet slightly damp strands.

Dean came forward to press two distinct kisses against your lips—hasty, but a bold statement in itself—before he leaned back to roll his shoulders and discard his own clothing. Your hands flew to his chest in aid, fingers sliding beneath the isles of his unbuttoned shirt to push it over the slopes of his shoulders. His hands twisted behind himself to pluck each sleeve from his arms with practiced speed, discarding it some place behind him before he was tugging his snugly-fitting tee over his head.

Instantly, your attention lowered down his toned torso, the glorified sight of him causing your core to pulse with desire. You didn’t get to exploit his image for long before he hogged your view with another, fierce tumble of the lips, his hands grabbing at your waist like he’d needed to remember what you felt like. Your tongues found one another with an ease that felt like its fates were tied, swirling about in a seductive dance to the death. Your hands settled at his neck, gently rubbing and kneading the skin as you allowed yourself to melt into his devouring.

When your palms wandered further down the contoured muscle of his broad shoulders, you felt the skin of his left bicep raise in a questionable pattern. The contact over that area made Dean wince into your mouth, and then he withdrew from the kiss with a feral pant, eyes shifting from an insatiable hunger to a more vulnerable uncertainty. It was enough of a reaction to tear your gaze away from him and steal a glance at the mood-killing discovery. But you almost wished you hadn’t stumbled upon it because the sight of a raised, red handprint seared into the flesh of his forearm made your eyes widen in horror.

“Dean—” you breathed, overcome with the instinctive need to trace your hand over the anomaly, but his shoulder withdrew from your curious touch, which called your attention back to him. “What happened?” You asked softly.

He shook his head lightly, taking a moment to acknowledge the marking with a newfound solemness. His chin dipped down for a second, a broken, incomplete noise dangling from his lips. You knew then, that whatever grim reminder had been imbued into this branding was something too fresh to confront at this time, so you made the silent decision not to probe him about it any further.

You moved to cradle his face, tilting it up to you. His expression looked defeated, his eyes sagging with a heavy fatigue. You didn’t doubt that hell had had its tolls—if anything, you were surprised that he’d come out of it in one piece. Physically, at least. Whatever mental deconstruction he’d undergone during his time there was knowledge beyond your grasp, and a conversation for another time. Hell had already taken enough from the both of you; you wouldn’t let it have this moment, too.

“If you want to stop, just say the word,” you told him gently, offering a hearty smile. “We can just lay here and cud—“

“No,” he answered, the hands at your waist tightening with new resolve. “We’re gonna cuddle, alright, but after we’ve had our overdue fun,” he said, a newfound smirk creeping through his evident exhaustion. “I’ve waited too damn long for this day—hell if I pass it up in a blink.”

You loved it when he took charge this way. Your teeth peered through your lips in an exhilarated grin, and then, you let out a yelp of excitement as he pushed you back onto the mattress, his frame following closely in a controlled hover as he positioned himself on top of you. His lips came crashing down onto yours, the heated dynamic between the two of you returning full-forced, as though it’d never been interrupted in the first place.

Your hands wandered messy lines up and down his neck, occasionally dipping down to glide over the curve of his pecks. The heat in your core began to build with every second you spent tumbled within the skilled warmth of his lips, his hands adding fuel to the fire with the way they staggered along your exposed torso to grace any and every inch of your skin.

He pulled away to drag his moist lower lip up your cheek, pressing a kiss to your temple before he whispered into your ear. “I need to feel you. I need to have all o’ you,” he breathed, and then he pulled away as quickly as he’d arrived, leaning back onto his knees as his fingers found firm grip at your shorts.

He tugged the material down mercilessly, pulling your underwear along with it, and you lifted your legs with a giddy laugh to allow him all the access he needed to yank it free. He tossed it to the other end of the room, his hands flying to undo his belt and jeans while his fixated you with focused eyes—like he was silently entertaining all the things he’d like to do to you.

He shed his boots at the foot of the bed to terminate his undressing, and your eyes immediately lowered to the bowing length of his manhood. It felt cheap—ogling him this way, but something about the sight felt so validating that you couldn’t help but stare. Maybe it was knowing that the mere sight of you was enough to spur him on in this manner, and god, you needed him just as much as he evidently needed you.

Your core throbbed more impatiently now, your built-up arousal taking the first of its leave through the slit of your folds. You were tempted to call out to him, to utter the first, desperate words of beckoning, but Dean seemed to clock your needs almost instantly. He leaned back down to you with a charming smirk, one hand propping himself up at the side of your waist while his other took ahold of his manhood.

“Ready, sunshine?” He murmured—low and rough and slightly dazed with his own suffocating arousal.

Your core seemed to answer before you did, the area beaming hot at the mere sound of his voice. You pushed out a needy hum, and Dean wasted no time in sliding his tip between your folds. He breached through your slicked entrance with ease, his head tilting back an inch and his eyes fluttering closed as he pushed out a gruff moan. He sank himself further into you, his length conforming to your walls in perfect unity. Instinctively, your legs propped to give him better access, and the action drew him in even further.

“Fuck,” he murmured lowly, his head then tilting forward as he gathered himself and fully leaned himself down to you. He placed a kiss onto your lips for good measure, both arms scooping beneath yours in a sure grip. His fists balled at either side of your head, and you wrapped your own arms around his neck.

“I need you, Dean,” you cooed into his ear, and he left slip a breathy sound of acknowledgment before he drilled the first thrust into you.

You both harmonised with noises of pleasure, your nails digging into the nape of his neck as his hips began swaying at a faster pace. He leaned his forehead down against yours, lips parted as he fought to steady the feral breaths of pleasure heaving his chest.

Your eyes stuttered closed as his thrusts deepened and deepened, curving against your walls and gliding to meet your sweet spot at just the right angle. Your head burrowed back into your pillow, your lips gaping with a loud moan. It made Dean lower himself onto your lips, taking them between his in a soft, chiding nibble. You breathed into him erratically, releasing noises that gradually became more and more slurred until you became a hot, panting mess.

His own control seemed to slip from his grasp as he began to grunt and whimper against your cheek, his head eventually falling past yours to graze your ear with just the right verbal performance to add to the contractions of that growing ache within.

His thrusts became firmer—but not brutal. They were passionate and needy all at once, but still laced with a sort of caution that only deep admiration could warrant. He gave a few more firm thirsts, both of you heaving against one another with the approach of your climax. Then, with a final jerk of his hips, the knot that had tethered you to one another came undone in a cascading warmth.

You felt it seep from your entrance, and for a second, Dean didn’t stir from atop you. He remained hovered over you, the point of his nose brushing your cheek methodically as he attempted to replenish his lungs and recover from his own bliss.

“Jesus,” he remarked, an impressed chuckle tickling your ear. “All this time apart, and still it doesn’t feel like I ever slipped your spell.”

You released your own breathless chuckle. “I’m usually opposed to captivity of any sort, but in this case, thank god for that.”

Finally, Dean withdrew from inside of you, collapsing to side of the mattress nearest to the door—his space. Rightfully occupied at last. He reached over to pluck some tissues from the nightstand before turning back to you, fumbling the tissue between his fingers before he began dabbing at the moisture along your forehead.

He gazed at you through loving eyes, so soft and vast that it made your heart throb—like you were falling in love all over again. Dean seemed to notice the lovesick look on your face because he smiled with an expression to match. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, and you puckered your own to receive it eagerly. And then he shifted momentarily to clean you down below.

When he came back up to you, he flicked the used tissues off to the side, and then instantly, you were pulled against his chest in a tight embrace. The skin-on-skin contact soothed you, your body relaxing almost instantly within his firm hold—a type of pressure therapy that only worked because it was him. It felt so safe and natural, so you melted further into him, and the hand he’d cupped around the back of your hair began to massage a soothing pattern into your scalp.

Everything about this moment was enough to lull you into a much needed state of relaxation, your body finally unwinding after months of being held together at the threads. Your eyes drifted close, your breathing deepening with the newfound peace.

“You know,” Dean said suddenly, beckoning to your senses. Your eyes remained closed, but you hummed softly to acknowledge him. “Down there, time works differently.” That piqued your interest enough to part you eyes in narrow slits. “You said I’ve been gone for four months? Well, for me, it’s been forty years.”

Your eyes widened fully now, your lips split with some bewildered gasp. “Dean,” you sympathised softly, hand moving from its place at his chest to stroke along his cheek. “I’m so sorry—that sounds awful.”

He shifted to place a kiss on the first part of your palm he could reach. “It ain’t your fault,” he assured you thinly, his eyes bowing under his own exhaustion—as if the mere recollection drained him. “If anythin’, you got me through it. I don’t have to tell you just how shitty things are down in Satan’s basement,” he laughed, but you knew there was no real humour behind it, only pain. “But you. . . just thinkin’ o’ you. . . rememberin’ what I’ve gotta fight for, it kept me sane. Strong.”

You smiled weakly, his words evoking a mixture of warmth and guilt all at once. You appreciated that you’d been able offer him some sort of comfort in your mere memory, but at the same time, you wished he hadn’t needed it to begin with.

Hell was no place for a good man like him.

“Well, you’re back now,” you offered softly, your hands shifting to wrap around his torso in a hug. His own arms wrapped around your upper back, pulling you so tightly against him that you thought your beings might finally form a physical union to mirror the spiritual tying of your souls.

“And I’m here to stay,” he finished in a faint murmur, the words—the promise—hot against the crown of your head.

Those words lingered in your mind as you eventually drifted into a sleep, the steady sound of his breathing the last thing you needed to loosen your grip on reality. Darkness came to claim you, and this time, you welcomed it eagerly.

When you roused into the waking world, your room was fully lit with the tell of noon. The finding was indication enough that you’d stolen the sleep of a lifetime, and there was no lingering heaviness perched on your lids this time around. It filled you with a sense of satisfaction, and you blinked a few times to ground your bleary senses.

When you stirred against the sheets, you heaved a deep breath, your lungs expanding around a newfound sense of inner peace. Instinctively, your arm reached across the mattress to claim the touch of man you loved, but where you expected to feel the warmth of his skin, you felt nothing but the cool, empty space of the comforters.

With a jolt, you sat yourself up, head swivelling about the room with a sense of panic. Dean was nowhere to be found. Your mind instantly began reeling with endless possibilities, your breathing elevating with a growing sense of panic—had you imagined it all? Had he ever been here to begin with? Had you finally snapped and gone insane?

But when you took a moment to lower your head and drink in your frame, you found yourself to be as bare as when you’d fallen asleep. You shifted to the edge of the mattress, feeling some slither of relief that your clothes were where you’d left them—discarded about the room in ruthless bundles. And then, out of instinct, your eyes wandered over to your desk chair, where you expected to greet the leather jacket that had become a pivotal part of your morning routine.

Only, your heart lurched when the chair glared back at you with a bare rim—the jacket nowhere in sight.

Beyond the walls, mingled laughter brightened the atmosphere. The sound made you slip from the mattress almost instantly, where you darted about the room to gather your scattered pyjamas in a hurry before slipping it over your frame. You dashed toward the bedroom door, twisting the handle with anticipation before you practically hurled yourself into the hallway.

When you entered into the open-plan living room, you found that Dean and Sam were weaving rather chaotic ant trails around the kitchen’s floor, each brother tending to steaming dishes that you were too far away to appreciate in detail. But you weren’t paying much attention to it, anyway. You were far too focused on watching Dean, as though you’d had to solidify the mental image of his presence—to believe that he was really here, and here to stay. And the best part of it all is that he was wearing the leather jacket you’d thought would never come to crown another set of shoulders again. It was the last image you needed to place the final puzzle piece in your heart—no, you felt truly fulfilled.

Some part of you had thought—just for a second—that your reunion had been a figment of your imagination. But now, you could breathe a little easier knowing that Dean had truly returned, rooted in flesh as he drifted about the kitchen with an extra skip in his step.

Just then, he spun on his heels to nick something off the counter, his head lifting in your direction as he finally noticed your loitering figure. “Second g’mornin’ to you, sunshine,” he called to you, birthing a cheeky smirk. He flashed a quick glance at Sam before turning back to you. “In case you were wonderin’, Sammy here’s all caught up,” he said. “So let’s skip the big, mushy family reunion and get movin’ on those damn tacos. I’m starvin’”.

“Tacos?” You echoed with a light laugh.

Sam appeared at his big brother’s side, beaming so brightly, it was almost blinding. “We’re having tacos for lunch. Everything’s basically finished,” he piped in, casting a pleading glance in your direction. “Would you mind helping me plate it?”

Your heart settled as you drank the both of them in. This was the life you’d come to miss so dearly, and you couldn’t help but smile appreciatively. You jerked your chin in Dean’s direction. “Why don’t you make him do it?” You teased, padding your way over to the kitchen island.

“Call it a family discount,” Dean chuckled smugly, rounding the counter to draw up at your side. “Or, y’know, the breakin’ free from hell card.”

You shook your head lightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Isn’t it a little too soon?” You scoffed.

“You let me worry ‘bout my own shit,” he replied, gracing you with a charming wink.

You didn’t offer anything further as you turned your attention down to the prepped toppings spread out across the counter—mince, lettuce, guacamole, chilli sauce, salsa, cheese and the taco shells themselves. You reached for the empty plates and began topping each one with the hollow taco shells, moving to fill the first one with the toppings.

Dean snuck up behind you, his hands finding grip at your waist while his chin came to rest atop your shoulder. His lips grazed your ear. “Thank you for lookin’ after my jacket,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I’d be seein’ this old thing again.”

You smile at his words, hands shifting to stuff the taco with the next pick of toppings. “My reason for keeping it was more selfish than that,” you admitted. “I just couldn’t bear to move it. It would’ve felt too final.”

He hummed a noise of understanding, a soft kiss gracing the side of your neck. “The only thing that’s final is that I’m back,” he said. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that anymore, alright?”

“I know,” you murmured, and Dean squeezed you in a light hug, but continued to keep you tucked within his hold as you finished stuffing the taco. You lifted it over your shoulder, carefully guiding it toward his lips.

He released an approving noise before leaning forward to accept your offering in a gluttonous chomp, his lips practically smothering your fingers as though it were deemed part of the meal. You giggled at the feeling, taco fragments scattering across your shoulder as he chewed the food intently.

“How does it taste?” You asked him, turning your head to get a better view of his expression.

His eyes did a roll of appreciation, his cheeks swelled with the large bite. He hummed a string of approval, coupled with a content, repeating nod. Once he gave a hearty swallow, he cleared his throat in satisfaction.

“Tastes like sunshine.”

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a/n ─ can you tell i had the time of my life writing this?? can you tell?? anon i love your mind so so much please never stop your special creativity. i will be tending to my other requests soon, and i encourage you all to keep on sending them through. i appreciate you ALL and your lovely ideas, as well as the support and trust you have in me to flesh out your fantasies 🫶 now, it’s literally almost 4 am as i publish this so nighty night beautiful people!

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

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @figthoughts @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @floralscented

want to be apart of the taglist for any future jensen ackles works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[zepskies]

Headcanon: When You're Having His Child...

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: This one is requested by @cevansbaby-dove, and is kind of a continuation of this imagine: When you have morning sickness.

Tags/Warnings: Potential fluff overload.

HC: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would act while you're in labor.

Dean Winchester

Oh, sweet man...

Dean does the thing where he pretends he has his shit together.

He's really trying, for your sake, for his own, and to save face around Sam and Eileen and Jody and everyone else in the hospital waiting room.

They can see it, and he knows it: he's freaking the hell out.

When he's in the room with you, he's either helping you, holding your hand, waiting for you to be dilated enough to start the whole "having a baby" process, or pacing around on those bowlegs, occasionally dragging a hand over his mouth in that telltale nervous gesture.

"Babe, come 'ere," you say with strain. That last contraction really took it out of you. "You're making me even more nervous than I already am."

Dean goes to you and smooths a hand over your hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. How're you holding up?"

Tears well up in your eyes, but you try to breathe through it. You're overwhelmed, you're in pain, and you've been in labor for several hours already.

"We're ready for this, right?" you ask, squeezing his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed and makes sure you look him in the eyes.

"We're about to find out," he says, with a bit of teasing. But his gaze is steady when he brings your hand up to his lips. "You don't gotta worry about anything. I'm gonna be with you, come whatever, okay?"

You smile, because you don't just believe him. You know.

Because after years of fighting together, surviving together, living together, you know that this is just one more adventure you get to go on with him by your side.

Now, Dean would rather not see all the gritty details of the birth, but he stays in the delivery room, letting you squeeze the shit out of his hand. He's not going to leave your side. He's wiping sweat from your brow and encouraging you, being whatever kind of support you need.

After the baby's born and the nurses bring her back all cleaned up, Dean holds his daughter for the first time.

He has tears in his eyes. For a long moment, he doesn't even blink. He stares down at that small, perfect face. Already he sees some of your features in her.

He can't put into words how he feels. It's overwhelming in his chest. But one thing is certain...

Dean's never been more grateful to be alive than in this moment.

He blinks, and the first of his tears fall. He brings her to you, sitting down carefully on the edge of your bed again so you can hold her. You're beyond exhaustion, sweaty, and weeping, but one thing is certain...

You've never been more grateful for Dean than in this moment.

You turn to him, giving him a small smile. He returns it, and he leans in to give you a gentle kiss.

"Do you have a name picked out yet?" one of the nurses asks.

You and Dean share a look: his imploring, yours knowing.

"We're not naming her Baby," you warn him.

"Aw, come on."

Beau Arlen

Round 2! 🫡

Beau runs the gambit from excited, to anxious, to freaking the hell out, and back to excited.

This is "Round 2" for him. His second child. But he's had reservations about being an "older" father to a new baby. (He's pushing 50 at this point. No matter how much he keeps in shape, he still feels his age in his bowlegged knees.)

You've assured him that plenty of men have children at his age.

Regardless of his insecurities though, you know he's still over the moon. Beau has always wanted more kids, deep down, and now thanks to you, he's getting his wish.

He's the man who's "prepared for anything."

When your water broke, he already had your to-go bag ready with everything you might need.

But he continues to ask you questions from the moment he's got you out the door to the drive over to the hospital, and even in the lobby.

"You thirsty? You comfortable like that? How's the pain? Just breathe, baby. I gotcha. Watch your step now. You hungry? We've got protein bars in the bag, unless you're cravin' something else. First things first, let's check in. Oh, I hope we can getcha in a private room. Let's see--oh damn, they sure are packed today, huh? Okay, how're you holdin' up? How's the pain, level of 1 to 10? Yep, got it, hold my hand. Just breathe through it. I gotcha."

Bless him. The man means well, but he's driving you freakin' crazy.

"Beau, I know. If you don't take a breath, I'm gonna pop you in the damn nose."

He tries not to smile at your grumpiness. "...Okay, I hear ya. Let's just get you into your room."

He rarely leaves your side during the entire labor, just to get you anything you might actually need. The radio at his belt occasionally goes off for work, but he apologizes, having forgotten to turn it off. He put Jenny in charge while he's gone.

"Let's just hope the precinct's still standing when I get back," he jokes. He finally turns off the radio and takes it off his belt, to your relief. And he returns his undivided attention to you.

Beau witnessed the birth of his daughter Emily, so he's no stranger to being in the delivery room. He even ventures past the curtain when your son is born, breathing air into his little lungs and letting out a powerful cry.

Beau laughs with tears in his eyes. "That's my boy."

When the nurses place him into your arms first, Beau supports your hold and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. "Good job, honey. Good job."

"I know," you tease weakly.

Beau chuckles. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and looks down at the small bundle in your arms and his.

"We have a son," Beau says. His eyes are red and shining. "I have a son."

"You have a son," you nod. You look over at him and lean in for a kiss. He obliges you, and rests his forehead against yours afterwards.

Life is meant for moments like this, he thinks.

He's damn grateful it's with you.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Readers of Strong as Blood in the BMD-verse will recognize some of this HC...

This day has been a long time coming, for both of you.

He smells like cigar smoke when he comes back into your recovery room. For which you have no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Butcher and M.M. outside the hospital. 

Ben was with you for most of the lead up to the birth, but you actually agreed that having him in the delivery room wasn't a good idea. He never did well with you in pain, and with his temper, he might just scare the shit out of the doctor and nurses.

He strides toward you though, when he enters the room. He lays a hand on your head and another on the baby's tuft of brown, downy hair.

"We have a daughter," you tell him, with a watery smile.

Part of him still twinges with disappointment. He didn't react well when he found out you weren't carrying a boy, his future son.

(You'd given him enough hell that he never brought up the subject again.)

But that all fades away when he looks down at his daughter's face.

He carefully sits on the edge of your bed, but he's suspended in time. His chest tightens in a way he's never experienced before.

It's almost like pain, but not. Not at all.

He brushes a thumb along the baby's soft cheek. He's almost hesitant to touch her, knowing how fragile she is.

"Beautiful, like her mother," he says at last. And he means it.

He earns your smile.

"Flatterer," you accuse. You know you look as wrecked as you feel. Somehow, none of that matter's whenever you look at your child's face.

You look over at Ben with a shining smile. His lips twitch. He leans in and meets your lips with a kiss, slow and deep and intimate in this quiet little room.

“You okay?” he asks you, after he pulls away. “Got everything you need?”

He’s become even more protective, of course, but also more attentive to you. Especially in the last few months of your pregnancy, seeing how uncomfortable you've become.

It warms you every time, when you consider how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he can be.

It seems that fatherhood is beginning to soften him, even before he begins. You quirk a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you say cheekily.

He snorts a bit loudly at that, and you shush him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expects nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answer his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considers you, a slightly gentler smile curving his lips, and he nods.

“All right,” he says. In this moment, he realizes that his entire world is in this room.

He’d never admit it, but it's a terrifying thought, for a man who once had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stop the path of his thoughts when you ask him, "Want to hold her for a while?"

Ben perks up at attention. He's a bit uncertain on how exactly to hold the baby, but he can't lose face and tell you that. So he just accepts the bundle when you place her in his arms.

As he looks down at a small face that already has some of his features, he inhales a faltering breath.

It's the first time you ever see true tears in his eyes, despite how much he resists. One manages to draw a path down his cheek. 

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, sweetheart,” he says. It elicits a knowing scoff out of you. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looks up and finds the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes. His smirk softens around the edges.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he says.

AN: All right, I'll stop. 😭 I hope you enjoy this one, fluff overload and all! Who was your favorite this time: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 💜

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

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[carpenterswife]

ALL MY GHOSTS; series masterlist

PAIRING: Beau Arlen x Fem Reader

SERIES SUMMARY: You’re a deputy working for the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department in Helena; a good one at that. Since Beau’s arrival, you befriended the Texan, who eventually became the town’s new permanent sheriff. With a growing friendship, blooming feelings, a ton of inside jokes, and way too much fun on the job, it seems like everything is going right for you. But, you’re running from your past, and it seems to be catching up fast.

SERIES WARNINGS: 18+ only, murder, abduction, domestic abuse, stalking, obsessive behaviour, violence, trauma, dark content, angst, age gap relationship, abortion, alcoholism, smut.

WORD COUNT [SO FAR]: 22,696

CHAPTERS . . .

PART I.

PART II.

PART III.

PART IV.

PART V.

PART VI.

PART VII.

PART VIII.

PART IX.

banners in use by @cafekitsune

[waynes-multiverse]

Kinky request? 🤔 I don't know if you got this one already but how about Beau loving the risk of getting caught fucking in his office? Maybe turning it into a Blowjob under his desk befor they actually get caught by Popcorn or Jenny?🤭

A/N: Yup, I haven't forgotten about Dirty Drabbles. My inbox is still full of these, so here's another one. Enjoy some naughty alone time with our favorite Sheriff! 🤍🤠

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSFW, shameless flirting, semi-public smut, office blowjob, some fluff as well

Word Count: 1.4k

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist

Jurisdiction

A few hasty knocks on his office door drew the Sheriff’s attention away from his files and to the intruder. He told Jenny and Poppernak he needed some peace and quiet this afternoon to catch up on the piling paperwork on his desk.

God, he hated paperwork. It was his least favorite part of the job.

“Popcorn, I told you I don’t wanna be disturbed,” Beau barked a little rougher than usual, the tension headache making him slightly cranky.

“Yes, sir, I know.” Poppernak swallowed and blinked at him insecurely, forcing a deep sigh from the Sheriff’s lips. “But, uhm, you have a visitor.”

Beau’s features lightened at that. Maybe Emily decided to surprise him with lunch. “Who?”

“FBI, sir.”

Once more, Beau sighed heavily, the crease in his brow reappearing. “Alright, what do they want?”

“She wants to see an old friend,” said a female voice, Beau’s head tilting at the familiarity before a smile spread on his freckled face.

“Sorry, couldn’t keep her out any longer,” Jenny apologized as she rushed in behind the agent.

“It’s alright,” Beau told his deputy, his grin only growing. Soon his sunny smile reached from ear to ear. “Special Agent Y/N Y/L/N, I’ll be damned… What brings you into my little corner of the world, huh?”

Y/N chuckled, her smile competing with his. “Heard you had a serial killer on your hands. Thought I check it out, offer my help…”

“Ah.” Beau nodded and got up from his creaking swivel chair, sauntering closer to her. He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms in front of his chest, the shirt tightly stretching over his muscles. “Of course, the FBI’s snooping around. I believe that ain’t your jurisdiction, sweetheart.”

“C’mon, we’ve had fun last time we’ve worked together,” Y/N said and winked.

Beau laughed, his cheeks flushing red, the change of color luckily hidden by his beard. “That we did. And here I thought you just came here to see me.”

“Who says I didn’t?” Y/N smirked.

“You guys know each other?” Jenny asked curiously, catching some of the flirtatious air in the room. Beau guessed that if the blonde didn’t make the connection, she wouldn’t be such a good detective but still hoped she wouldn’t tease him about it once their shift was over.

“Worked a case together down in Texas. Cartel business,” Y/N explained without taking her eyes off the Sheriff. It was as if the others in the small office didn’t even exist.

“Yup, Special Agent Y/L/N is one of the best in the narcotics game,” Beau added.

“Major Crimes now, actually,” Y/N corrected him.

“Look at you!” Beau nodded, impressed, sending her a smile before he turned to his two subordinates. “Guys, how about you let me catch up with Agent Y/L/N, see if we need the FBI’s help with this one, alright?”

“Sure, boss,” Jenny said and shot him a knowing smirk. The blonde then grabbed a confused Poppernak and dragged him out of the office, closing the door behind them.

“Good to see you, Y/N,” Beau said with a warm smile as soon as the two of them were alone.

“You, too, Arlen. That Sheriff title suits you,” she replied flirtatiously. “So, you’re back with the ex?”

“Why are you asking?” he fired back immediately.

Y/N shrugged innocently. “Just assumed since you moved up here.”

“Nah, just did that for the kid,” he explained and could’ve sworn she looked relieved. “What about you? Still seeing that spunky DA?”

“Ted?” Y/N scoffed, shaking her head. “God, no. Dumped that guy months ago.”

“Good, I never liked that guy,” Beau admitted with a small smile that probably gave away too much. But if Y/N caught it, she surely didn’t care.

“Yeah, I never liked your bitch of an ex-wife either,” Y/N said bluntly and grinned at him unapologetically.

“Still got a mouth on you, huh?” Beau’s gaze wandered down her body, feeling his dick harden and strain his pants. Her hips, ass, and thighs were clad in tight denim, her breasts close to spilling out of her white blouse and bra as he bit back a lustful smirk.

“You betcha. You always loved that about me,” Y/N retorted, wiggling her eyebrows. Stalking closer to him, she stopped directly in front of him, so close their breaths mingled as her fingers played with the collar of his shirt. Chewing seductively on her lower lip, she asked, “Still into living and loving dangerously?”

Beau didn’t respond to that question. Instead, he grabbed her and pulled her closer in one swift motion, crashing his lips against hers and sliding his tongue inside her mouth.

“Lock the door,” he ordered her in a deep growl, the need for her painfully pushing against his zipper.

With the door locked, Y/N was back in his arms only seconds later. He devoured her mouth, tasted every drop of her as she moaned and palmed his rock-hard cock through the fabric.

“God, I forget every time how fucking big you are,” Y/N breathed devilishly into his ear and unbuckeled his belt.

“Shit,” Beau panted as her hand crawled inside his boxers.

Not a minute later, she was on her knees in front of him, his pants and underwear pooling around his cowboy boots and his hands caught in her hair, guiding her where he wanted her the most. As her amble lips finally enveloped his thick length, he almost blew his load right then and there. She giggled at his restraint and taunted him even further by brushing her tongue along his throbbing cock, her hand cupping and rolling his balls just the way he liked it.

Goddamn, he had forgotten how good she was at this and how much he truly had missed it.

He decided right there he wouldn’t let another opportunity pass him by. There had been too many over the years, and he knew, soon enough, there would be none left. Y/N was a catch, and he needed to be the guy who caught her before someone else – someone like fucking Ted – got to it.

“Fuck, darlin', don’t stop,” he groaned and closed his eyes as her lips sucked his dick empty.

But Y/N would’ve never dared to stop, loving the way the Sheriff jittered above her and fought tooth and nail to hold out for as long as possible. She loved how much control she had over him, how he bit his lower lip almost bloody, and how his knuckles turned white around the edge of the desk.

“If I let you come down my throat, are you gonna let me in on the case?” Y/N asked and looked up at him, her tongue mischievously teasing his swollen and leaking tip as their gazes met.

“Fuck, yeah…” Beau grunted, having a hard time getting the words out as his nerve endings were electrified. “Already made that decision when you strolled in here, sweetheart.”

“Really?” Surprised, Y/N raised a brow at him, her lips molding around his cockhead before she teasingly retreated again, repeating the torturous action a few more times.

“Shit, yeah… I want you to stay this time,” Beau pressed out through his teeth and harshly squinted his eyes closed.

“Alright,” Y/N replied nonchalantly and smirked up at him. “Thought you’d never ask, Sheriff.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Beau exclaimed louder than he wanted to when her head bobbed up and down his aching length with vigor.

A few more strokes of her sinful tongue, and he spilled hot white ropes of cum down her throat and pantingly watched her swallow every last drop.

Still catching his breath, he helped her back onto her feet like the gentleman he was before the supposedly locked door suddenly burst wide open and a shocked Poppernak blinked at him with even wider eyes, not knowing where to look.

“Uh, sorry, sir! I thought you called!”

Sheriff Arlen then turned the deepest shade of red of his life, this time even visible through his thick beard, hearing Y/N’s amused laugh reverberate in his ringing ears. He was literally caught with his pants down.

And now, Beau was certain he’d never hear the end of it from his deputy.

Hope you enjoyed this one, ladies ✌️

This one-shot serves as a prequel to a series. Read more of this couple here: Polaris 🌌

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @akshi8278 @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373