#bluemerakis🌀 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beausling · 3 days ago

Text

CLEAN UP ON AISLE MY PANTS !!!!!!

─────── ❝ sugar high ❞ ⋆˙ 𖦹 ˚.⋆

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ beau arlen x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, oral f receiving, fingering, overstimulation, pet names

synopsis ─ beau arlen is a take the scenic route munch. that’s all, folks. that’s plenty.

word count ~ 2k

based on this ask

──────────────────────

“You like that a lot, don’tcha?” Beau chuckles gently, and the sound drips from his glistening lips like a stray trail of honey—tantalisingly sweet and so, so sparse throughout his focused fondling of you. He surveys you over the arch of your stomach, your lower back long since lifted from the mattress in search of his wet warmth.

“Mhm,” you breathe out—both spent and disoriented by the haze of pleasure Beau’s tongue seems to effortlessly elicit. But you’re overcome with a sudden groan of protest, head lifting from your pillow’s support with utmost difficulty to peer at him accusingly. “Why’d you stop?” You ask indignantly, but the lack of energy behind those words makes it come off as more of a pathetic whine.

He’s been at it for at least half an hour, now, tongue entangling with your folds like a shameless exploration, stumbling upon your pot of fine gold time and time again—only to drop it into a scattered, disappointing mess of nothing. A relentless tease that has your every nerve ignited at the ends and hot with the plea to quell its prolonged misery.

The sheriff beams from his place between your thighs, the strong arms he’d exploited to trap your lower half against the bed shifting to pry your legs even further apart. His grip is a practiced type of firm—refined by all the years he’s spent immobilising fugitives—yet he’s always overly conscious of the way his fingers root themselves within your tender flesh.

“I ain’t stopped nothin’—been goin’ at it for quite some time, actually,” he pokes smugly, but he’s perfectly aware of his selfish mischief. “It’s called havin’ fun, darlin’. Y’know, savourin’ what’s good for the soul,” he adds with a glint to his eyes that’s so boyishly mischievous, you can’t help but flick your eyes in response.

“I don’t think I can do this much longer,” you complain, your lower half squirming with the urge to pinch your thighs together, but Beau’s got a passive, vice-like grip on them that doesn’t allow you to go anywhere without his leniency. And he’s not lenient—not now, at least.

“Naw, come on,” he drawls as his hands gently flatten your thighs back into a helpless sprawl, where he fortifies their position with an encouraging squeeze. “I think you’re pretty darn capable of pullin’ through this. It’s why you’re my best gal. My sweet gal,” he adds with a purposeful wink, tongue poking through to glide along his lips like he’s savouring the very taste of you that lingers.

Your head shakes lightly—you’re at your wits end with him. “You’re plain, old mean,” you huff out, but the pout instantly softens as you feel as Beau’s arm uncurl from your thigh to glide his fingers over the sensitive inner. The teasing contact jettisons your pique from the ledge of care down into the deep, deep depths of arousal, where your core is trapped in constant exploitation.

Beau’s got you right where he wants you—hot, bothered, numb. That is, numb until he makes you feel all sorts of things.

Shivers hare up your spine as you feel his fingers trail a path all the way down to your slicked entrance, where they curl inside with a driven destination. “Am I, now?” He tests softly—the words accentuated like he’s slipped them through the crack of a grin. “Mean, that is?” He clarifies with a sparse chuckle to further ruffle the edges of his nerve, and then he drives the point home with a gentle pump into the tunnel of your warmth.

A broken gasp purses your lips as the girth of his manhandling stretches out your walls—all worked up and tense with the empty promise of fulfilment. Your head burrows back into the pillow, where it practically swallows you whole in the midst of your fragile collapse.

“Fucking hell!” You gasp into the air, eyes screwing shut as you surf the sensation of your body letting loose—a desperate scramble to accommodate his intrusion. “Don’t stop, Beau—just like that,” you hiss thickly.

Beau’s throat echoes with a throaty hum, like he’s savouring the way you melt onto his hand—so betraying of the aggrieved words that’d jumped from the ledge of your lips only seconds ago. “Just like that?” He echoes sweetly, fingers curling in a motion similar to the last, but with a new desire to delve deeper.

“Just like that,” you reaffirm in a slight whimper, lip drawn into a passionate bite as the sheriff eagerly obeys your pleas. With every thrust, he plunges deeper than he’d been before, like he’s got some silent record to beat. “And don’t stop this time—please.”

“Nah, I won’t, darlin’,” Beau hums comfortingly, and the pace he maintains drives a hard bargain. “And to think you had half the nerve to call me mean,” he teases lightly, the singular hand he’d left behind to safeguard your thigh rubbing sensual circles along the sensitive skin. “Me? Mean? When I’m takin’ such good care of my sweet girl? If it were true—and it ain’t—I’d have me locked up on the account o’ neglect.”

Your eyes don’t crack open once as he rambles on, too afraid to snuff out the focus you’ve worked to nurture into something akin to your high. “Just stop talking,” you scoff with the little air you’ve still got loitering within your spent lungs, a weak smile beaming through.

“Why, yes, ma’am,” he chuckles lightly. There’s no offence lingering in his tone—and you know it’s because he’s well aware of his hand in tonight’s foul play. The overstimulation is far too profuse from time to time, but you tend to hang in there on the knowledge that he’s not doing it to be mean. He merely enjoys indulging in the prolonged haven of your scent, sounds and slick. Enjoys you.

He’s obsessed with you.

“Still feelin’ dandy as a lion?” He pipes up after a string of thrusts, the fingers burrowed into your entrance continuing to plunge deeper and deeper at a pace so steady that it tugs at the last string of your sanity. And the knot that’s been building in your core threatens to unravel when his thumb daringly reaches up to flick over your sensitive clit. “Talk to me, sweet girl,” he coos when you don’t offer him the sought out input.

“Beau,” you protest helplessly, eyes burning teary behind the shield of your lids. Your fingers curl into the sheets as you grapple with his ministrations, your clit still trilling with the unexpected caress. “I think I’m gonna come—I can’t hold it back anymore.”

“Sure ya can, sweetheart,” he argues softly, temporarily halting his thrusts within you to lower his head to your mound. Your core flutters with the hope to feel his lips envelop your core with a welcoming heat that makes you forget your own, but you’re only graced with the chafe of his beard against your inner thigh, where he places a chaste kiss that lingers for a long second that feels taunting.

“I can’t.”

“Just hold on a little longer for me, alright? I know ya can do it. Just wanna taste you one last time before you let it rain down on me,” he drawls against you, the sound husky and distracted, like he’s entirely beguiled by the glistening view of you. And then his bearded jaw juts into your folds, where his lips engulf your swollen clit. Then, his tongue does a sweep of the area to take the sensitive organ under a wave so brutal, it has you gasping for air.

“Oh, god—yes!” You answer hopelessly. Unsolicited. Your thighs draw rigid with the combined stimulation of him—the resumed pump of his fingers, the tango of his tongue against your spent clit, and the hot chafe of his beard that feels determined to rub you raw. It’s all incredibly overwhelming in all the right ways. “I’m gonna come,” you mewl helplessly.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he coos proudly—the words slurred by the way his lips meld with yours. “Doin’ so good f’me. You’re a damn trooper—and you’re showin’ me up, that’s for sure. A girl like you? She’s got all it takes to see shit through. All the way down to the end o’ the line, baby’.” The deep rumble of his voice is a weapon of its own, adding to the unrelenting seize on your senses.

His pumps within you grow more vigorous and greedy with each passing second, reaching depths you didn’t think was possible—but your body welcomes it. And simultaneously braces against it, like it dreads the overwhelming finale it’s bound to present.

“Beau, that feels so good. You feel so good,” you slur weakly, your thighs tensing with the growing approach of your high. And this time, Beau grants you the grace of letting them bracket his head—like he’s made himself a willing, appreciative prisoner within your personal keep.

The only occasion where the sheriff welcomes his own detainment.

The arm he’s wrapped around your thighs ease up an inch as he imbues all focus into nurturing your finish. “Hm—ain’t ya just the sweetest?” He murmurs absentmindedly—appreciatively, and the words sound as winded as you feel. “I ain’t gonna stop this time, darlin’, so go ahead ‘nd let go f’me. Let me taste you—all o’ you,” he urges before he’s burrowed himself back into you with a rhythm of his jaw that’s entirely unforgiving.

And he doesn’t stop until you’ve painted him with the sloppy medium he’s been seeking out all evening.

You let out a broken gasp as your lower half shudders with the built up release, and Beau only adds to the grand finale as his throat rumbles against you with a low noise of euphoria—which strikes the heart of your sensitive clit. He laps at your glistening folds one last time—like it’s the last, guilty lick of the plate after dessert, before the warmth of his tongue finally forsakes you.

“Atta girl,” Beau praises breathlessly, the hand buried within your fluttering walls slowly pulling free of its suction. His other hand finally releases your thigh, the fabric of his clothes rustling as he shifts from the position he’d become solidified within. His palms return to your body in a gentle cupping of your thighs before he trails them up the length of your stomach. “Now, I dunno ‘bout you, but I could do this every night,” he chuckles softly once he’s brought himself up to hover over you, elbows propping him up at either of your shoulders.

You lift your head from your pillow with a frailty that threatens to topple you back into the plumy comfort, but your eyes catch on Beau’s face, and the sight of him is enough to keep you tethered in the air. The entirety of his jaw is slathered with your arousal, the fine hairs of his beard glistening like a proud display—almost as bright as the toothy grin nestled between his parted lips. His hair has scattered across his forehead in unruly strands, giving him a rugged look that only adds to his Texan charm.

He stares back at you with a knowing look in his eyes, like he’s fully aware of the state of himself. And he’s proud of it.

Proud of you for deconstructing him this way.

After a gentle string of pants, you finally heave a breath that allows you to speak. “I couldn’t do this every night,” you laugh hoarsely, your thighs pressing together like the mere thought of it chides you. “I might just pass away.”

Beau’s lips press into a playful pout, his brows furrowing with a look of disagreement. “On the contrary,” he says matter-of-a-factly, one hand coming up to wipe the sweat from your forehead before he settles for a gentle hold on your jaw. “If anythin’, you’ll be the death of me. You’re my sweet girl. And I’ll be damned if I was a diabetic ‘cause I’d just ‘bout drop dead gettin’ all sugar-highed on the taste o’ you.”

You giggle at that, your head shaking in light appreciation of his absurdity. “You’re something else entirely, Beau Arlen,” you murmur through a loving grin.

“And don’t I know it,” he laughs, hand gently pinching your jaw before he lowers himself to your lips, where he hovers just shy of your touch. “Just wait ‘til ya get a taste o’ you—then you’ll understand where I’m comin’ from,” he husks with a lazy grin before finally pressing his lips to yours.

And he’s right—you do taste sweet.

──────────────────────

a/n ─ beau does not stfu during sex sorry 🤷‍♀️ bro is a yapper at heart but it’s ok bc he doesn’t slack ❗️❗️❗️initially this piece was gonna be a combination of drabbles with munch dean, beau & sb but bc dean & sb’s part isn’t done yet and i wanted to get something out, have this!! i told myself i was gonna finish the other two boys’ tonight and release them all together but… i’ve been working on something else instead 👀

thank you for reading! likes & comments are appreciated—but reblogs go a much longer way, so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @dulcescorderitas @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @daylighted @figthoughts @deansbbyx @honeyryewhiskey @beausling @florchids @jasvtsc @rositaslabyrinth @nperoconelcositoarriba @angelicjackles @youdontknowe @misatxox @alidiggory92 @idk-123-0 @mahi-wayy @tuxedoe @cas-only-angel @cassiecourtemanche @abox-of-rocks @viluren @lanasgirlfr @idontwannabehere7 @lunaleah @beelzebzb @ilovedeanwinchester4

want to become part of the taglist for any future beau arlen works?

other works ─ masterlist

#mera’s drabbles ˚.⋆ 𖦹｡˚#octosaurus recs📰#bluemerakis🌀#beau arlen #munch .ᐟ beau arlen #munch o’clock .ᐟ #beau arlen drabble #beau arlen smut #beau arlen x fem!reader #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x y/n #big sky #jensen ackles

358 notes · View notes