#rancher!dean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nyursi · 4 months ago

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NASTY DOG. . .ᐟ

⫘⫘⫘ㅤmale reader, brat taming, size difference, age gap (around 20-40 ig), ass eating, yeahhhh,,, livestock guardian dog x recon cat reader!!!ㅤ♪ㅤ───ㅤwc: 3k

"Ow, ow, ow!" You yelped, the fingertips digging into your scalp causing whimpers. Face scrunched up— brows furrowed, lips pulled into a pout. Like a proper hurt brat.

Dean meanwhile, had ignored your struggles and continued to drag you through the field, eyes narrowed. The sharp blades of grass (freshly cut) dug into your skin, leaving red lines to mark up your thighs.

He had a firm grip on your hair, tugging harshly. Let it fall it out for all he cares. "Tsk. Stop complainin', it's hurting my ears." Dean huffed, pulling your head upwards for a sharp jolt. Relishing in the quick yelp that followed afterwards— echoing in the field.

With no warning, he dropped you down onto the ground, leaving you to keel, curling up like a worm. Dean crossed his arms, large and meaty, waiting for you to get up. "I already told ya, quit whining' and get up."

You huffed and rolled your eyes— getting up to stand. Dusting off any dirt and grime on your clothes, you crossed your own arms and gazed at him. Eyes narrowed. "What is your problem?" You hissed. "Why'd ya have to— to drag me back!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "This is exactly why. Your attitude won't cut it in this line of work, for cryin' out loud." He pinched his temple, right between his thick brows, the lines on his face more prominent than ever. You did a really good job at making him age by the second— and he was already old as is!

The old dog was the definition of loyal. Having been working for the ranchers since he was young. And now, with greying hair and decades of experience under his belt, Dean was the perfect mentor in their eyes. The hell were they thinking? The hell was he thinking?

"Yeah, sure,'' Dean said. Not paying any mind to the farmer's request. Something about some cat arriving next week. He's trained a couple of their guardians before, whats a recon cat to him? He's the top dog 'round this place, second in command if you may. Any new faces got to deal with him first.

Unfortunately, the pretty little cat they took in was far from easy.

A hellspawn he'd called you. Not outright of course. Dean still had some decency left in him, no matter how much you tested him. But he did imply it, a more passive aggressive approach. Let you know he was really disappointed with such a brat to deal with. Huffing and puffing like some wolf 'bout to blow the hay.

"Yeah well you didn't have to grab me by the hair!" He eyed the finger pointed at him, scoffing. Completely unthreatened. Dean was big, a tank that won't be moved so easily. That dainty little finger you waved around? Laughable. Course, he did stare at it a bit too long for his own comfort— unsure why thoughts of how easy it would be to just... handle and carry you around like a sack of feathers.

"Boy, you're givin' me a damn headache. Recon cats are supposed to be— what? Agile? Quick? Behaved? Is chasing butterflies your job or what?" Dean raised his voice. You winced at the jab. He frowned, eyes softening the tiniest bit.

"C'mon kid. The farm’s still away. We don't wanna get stuck out in the dark." Dean nodded his head to the distance, a faint silhouette of your new home. He trudged forward without waiting for you.

You sighed, posture slumping. Yet you followed along anyway, dragging your feet on the ground.

"Stupid fuckin' old dog," you murmured, plopping down on your bed. It was small and creaky, put together last minute. Much like your room. Pretty sure it was an old storage closet without the shelfs lining the walls to make room.

It was dusty, and cramped. Reeaaal welcoming. Guess they thought a room small as this would be fine, considering you weren't that hunkering anyway. At least Dean gets a proper room.

You sneer, feeling your blood boil at the thought of his name. "Who does he think he is? He's not the boss of me." Well... he kinda is. But whatever! It's not like you signed up for this anyway. Some boring countryside life looking out for barn animals and whatnot? Psh. Boooring!

"Some big old hunk bossin' me around... hmph." You lay on your back, the mattress was thin and barely did anything to soften the rough wood of your bed frame. Pretty sure your back’s gonna ache quicker than Deans.

A small snicker escapes you, lips curling into a smile. The image sends you a rush of amusement. Tiny giggles echo in your room— sounding like some maniac locked up in a padded cell with only his ideas to keep him company.

Dean stops outside your door. Hand raised midway the air, curled into a fist. He was about to call you out for dinner, escort you to the kitchen so you wouldn't get into any more trouble. But your laughter made him stop dead in his tracks.

He was dumbfounded, kinda. You sounded so innocent despite your... behaviour. Huh. It was almost cute. Endearing, even. Dean coughs, shaking his head. An annoyed frown tugged on his lips.

Ain't no way in hell. Never in my life would I...

Ah. But he has already fallen for you? Slowly and surely, even if he was unaware. The day you arrived on the farm, all prickly like a cactus. He almost found it cute (he did). But he wasn't sure if the intense feelings that were harbored deep in his chest was a really intense anger or something else entirely.

Something Dean had never thought to consider.

Affection.

Affection? For him? Dean blanched. He stepped back from the door like it burned him.The fucking cat? With his naughty attitude and god-forsaken defiance? Dean couldn't count how many times you stuck your tongue out at him, getting him all riled up. But fuck, maybe he did find it cute. So what? He's just a lonely old man, what's he supposed to do when the heavens throw a feline right into his arms?

A feline that'd fit in them all nice and snug, with how small you were compared to him. That's the first thing that came to mind when he laid his eyes on your form.

"Are ya tryin' ta kill me? That little thing's our recon?" Dean scoffed that night, complaining his heart out. "I don't know what you were thinkin'— what's he gonna do against coyotes? Wriggle and squirm?"

And unfortunately, it had only plagued him more as time went on. When he was introducing himself to you— albeit begrudgingly. You were just standing there, leaning against the wall. Acting all smug as if Dean didn't dwarf you by a landslide. Like he couldn't just pick ya up if he wanted to, swing you over his shoulders.

The thought made him a bit too excited.

When he was tourin' you 'round the barn. Walking behind him like some shadow. Even his sharp ears couldn't hear your footsteps— feel your presence. Light as a feather, indeed. Maybe he doubted you too much.

Earlier when he was dragging you on the field. Truth be told, he didn't mean to be so rough. Never in his life has Dean laid his hands on his juniors. But with you? It was an entirely different story. There was something about you that ignited feelings he didn't even know he could feel! It was a whole new area for him.

But god. Temptation had been building up, and Dean was only a man who could hold on for so long. He'd lost control, when those sinful thoughts kept him up. Shame welling in his being for every lewd image his mind conjured up in the middle of the night, keeping him from sleeping and getting some shut eye like an old dog should, as you said.

Gods, and how many times had you jabbed at his age? He ain't even that old!

It only made him feel guiltier. You were a young thing— all pretty and shiny. Like a brand new chew toy for Dean to maul on. Sink his teeth into your pristine skin, leave red marks that'd prove his territory. (Territory. And this guy has the nerve to act like he doesn't have feelings for you!) What sounds would you make? If he bit deep and hard, licked up the marks afterwards. Dirty dog.

"Fuck," Dean snarled, dragging a calloused palm down his face. He stood in the hallway, trying to cancel out your laughter. What was he here for again? Right. Dinner.

Well shit, ain't Dean got dinner right here? Beyond that door, laying on the bed...

He turned his head away swiftly, ragged breaths leaving his chapped lips. Chest heaving up and down. "No, no... calm down. You ain't feel like that—" Dean chuckled. But it sounded more like a pathetic strain. "Not for him."

He didn't call you out for dinner, and he didn't eat either. But that hunger would get you both sooner or later.

"Just... a little... bit... more...!" You groaned, hand outstretched. Curse these tall cabinets. It's not like giants live here! And what the fuck was up with Dean? He was supposed to call you for dinner!

You actually fell asleep but that doesn't matter.

What matters now, is the hunger in your stomach driving you crazy. The rumbles could echo in the barn if they got any louder. It was embarrassing enough as it is.

Sneaking around, avoiding the creaky floorboards. Ears raised and alert for any and every sound made. What were you? A spy? You live here!

"Goddammit, coulda saved me some leftovers. Even a grain would've been nice." You grumbled, sighing and rolling your eyes. Pouting at the thought of the meal you missed. Damn barn animals and their never ending greed. Not even a single scrap was put away for little ol' you.

You were so caught up in your actions that you failed to notice a figure entering the kitchen, getting a nice front view of your behind. Huh. Why were you archin' your back like that anyway?

Dean froze, mind blue screening temporarily as his eyes registered your ass all puckered out in the dark.

He had given in to his hunger, forgetting about dinner after his... ahem, revelations. Curled up in bed, sulking in denial like he was about to be put down. Pathetic really. Since when did Dean get worked up over pretty kitties?

Since you, apparently.

He thought about it. Since you were their first recon cat, he didn't have much experience with felines. Only knew that they were playful, independent, and incredibly alluring. Dangerously so that when you've fallen for one, oh brother, there is no getting back up.

Might as well dig yourself a hole in the ground to live in.

Playful, when you gave jokes he wouldn't understand. Quick-witted, aren't you? With a smart little mouth that said all sorts of things. Curiosities and glimpses of your personality past the shallow image of a no-good cat. That twinkle in your eyes every time your soft lips curved into a smile, a triumphant "hmph!". You just loved being right, didn't you?

Independent, always going off on your own. No matter how many times Dean reprimanded you, kept you from wandering too far. Curiosity kills the cat, after all. That's what he said, and that was the first time you rolled your eyes at him too. Wonder what it'd look like if he made them roll back for a different reason. Dean could only sigh and expect a headache to form whenever you weren't round the barn. Away from the fence and enjoying the scenery like some tourist.

And finally: Alluring.

As much as he didn't want to admit it. You had this charm that... well, charmed him. He beat himself up over it. But everytime he promised himself to stop— the obsession only got more intense. Every time you weren't looking he'd catch a quick glimpse. Admire your features, rake his eyes down your figure in silent appreciation. Whenever he entered a room, Dean found himself looking for you. And when you entered one? He'd feel your presence immediately.

It was ridiculous, how downright bad he was.

Maybe it was fate. Here, with you oblivious to his presence, arching your back and presenting yourself (unknowingly) to Dean.

He stepped closer, silently. A shadow casted over his face.

You could only widen your eyes and gasp in shock when two hands placed themselves onto your hips, keeping you in place. "Gah! Dean!?" You yelped, blinking at him curiously. Sweat built up on your temple, heart caught in your throat.

"I wasn't doing anything! Just... looking for food, I swear!" You reasoned, still planted on your palms for balance.

Dean only hummed, massaging invisible circles into your skin with his thumbs. "That so?" He said. You shivered. What the hell? What was that? Why did he sound so... intense?

"What're you doin' up late at night?" He asked, brow raised. Eyes boring into yours. Had the nerve to sound suspicious, too. "You were supposed to call me for dinner, don't act surprised." You huffed, turning away.

Dean only tugged you closer— hips meeting yours. Stupid kitty. Even now you have the nerve to act so high and mighty. Maybe Dean should teach you humbleness, take you from your throne for a little while.

"Don't test me," Dean growled, satisfaction creeping in his blood as he watched you tremble. "Mh," he hummed. Yeah. You were tiny.

"Test you? What the hell are you—" Riiip! In an instant, the cold air had latched itself onto your skin. Dean tore apart the seam in your shorts— right in the cleft of your ass. His tail has begun to wag, eyeing the cute rim staring at him.

You were too shocked to make a sound, and even then, before you could react, Dean had dove right in, licking and nibbling at your pucker. "Huh- ah!" Your claws dug onto the wooden counter, leaving scratch marks. Dean slobbered up your hole like a man starved, saliva dripping down your chin.

He licked and licked, made you dizzy til' your hole was nice and soft. His tongue was rough and textured, making your cock tingle and come to life. "W-wait, it's dirty down there!"

Dean wrapped his hand around the base of your tail, tugging it upwards to bury his face deeper into your behind. Slowly, he breached your insides, licking up at your gummy walls. Your soft whimpers was like music to his ears. Oh, he felt fulfilled.

But not quite.

"O-oh..." you gasped softly, blush blooming on your cheeks. Dean was massaging your insides with his tongue, desperate and needy. His movements were quick yet deep and stimulating— as if he was looking for something.

"Hnn!~" Your tongue lolled out, thighs tensing up. Unkowingly, you began to thrust your hips baclwards, meeting Deans licks. His tongue rolled onto a soft bud inside— a sensitive cluster of nerves that made you weak in the knees. "F-fuck..."

Dean continued his assault on your prostate, never once breaking his pace. His eyes were closed shut, as if he was trying to savor the taste and feeling— keep this memory in his mind forever. His own cock jumped in his jeans, straining to be released.

You were so warm... so tight. He couldn't wait to bury his cock to the hilt, make your belly bulge and fill you to the brim. Hump you like a dog in rut— fuck. "Uh... guh!"

Dean parted himself from your ass, panting and heaving. Your rim was shiny with spit, legs trembling and cock leaking pre pathetically.

It was silent for a moment. Until you heard a belt buckle, followed by a zipper and the sound of fabric falling to the floor.

And then you felt it.

Deans cock. Hard and hot— rubbing against your behind. Fuck. How big was that? It felt huge! You whined softly, fear striking you. But there was excitement as well, you had never done this before, and for someone like Dean to make you experience it...

Naughty.

You had been nothing but a brat your time here, but you couldn't deny that Dean was a good looking man when you first met. Tall and buff, yet soft. Hair on his arms and chest, a little grey in his hair. Lines around his eyes and lips... you shivered. God. What did his cock look like?

What would it feel like, to take him nice and deep?

You bit your lip. Dean continued to rub his length between your cheeks for a goodwhile, like he was easing you into the harsh fucking to come. "Fuck, can't wait anymore." Dean groaned, and pushed his tip against your tight vice.

He held your hips firmly, keeping you in place as you wriggled. He was big! Your pathetic rim struggled to envelop his tip.

Dean's mind raced as his hips rocked up, driving his thick cock deep into your tight hole. The boy was so small, so delicate compared to his large frame. Your slender body bounced with each thrust.

"Fuck, boy..." Dean groaned, fingers digging into the cat's hips hard enough to leave marks. "You feel s' good around my cock. So hot 'n tight..."

He knew this was wrong. You were his junior, and Dean was supposed to be disciplining you, teachin' you the ways 'round the barn. Not... fucking you senseless. But god, the way your velvety walls clenched around him, the sweet little noises spilling from those plush lips— it was too much to resist.

Dean's balls slapped against your ass as he pistoned his hips faster, chasing his rapidly approaching climax. "Fuck, fuck," he snarled. "Take it."

The lewd squelch of saliva and the slap of skin on skin filled the kitchen. He could feel you shaking apart on his cock, the boy's neglected dick bobbing between their bellies, flushed an angry red and leaking steadily.

He reached around to palm your cock, jerking you in time with his erratic thrusts. Huh. For and old dog— he sure had stamina.

Dean's thumb swiped over the sensitive head, smearing the copious precum. You let out a high, keening wail, back arching as his orgasm crashed over him. Pearly ropes of cum painted Dean's fist and splattered across the counter as your hole clamped down around his pistoning length.

The pressure sent Dean hurtling over the edge. With a guttural groan, he slammed you back onto his cock, all the way down to the hilt. Bulging your belly. At the same time, he had bit onto your shoulder, breaking skin and leaking blood.

Your body twitched, eyes rolled back and unfocused. You leaned forward, finding support on the wooden counter (now littered with scratch marks) as Dean massaged your hips. "Hah.. haahh.."

Uncontrollable sighs escaped you, bones melting against Dean. Smaller spurts of semen shooting out of Dean's tip sent shocks down your spine, smaller cock red and spent. With your cum dribbling down onto your tiny balls.

Sweat trickled down their skin, breaths heavy. Illuminated in the moons light.

Finally, with a groan, Dean pulled out (albeit begrudgingly) of your warm hole.

He watched, transfixed, as a string of his cum connected his softening cock to your puffy, well-used hole. The sight made his spent dick twitch with interest. Fuck, he could do this all night.

Ah... but you seemed tired. He chuckled, eyeing your spent form. All sweaty and twitchy. Particularly focused on the bite mark that stuck out on your shoulder.

"Congratulations, boy. Now yer a true, fully-fledged recon cat.”

this was supposed to be lamb reader but idk,,, let me see how this does first then ill think abt it :3 ALSO WHAT IS IT WITH ME AND CAT READER??? ffuckin cat burglar n heavenly,,, urg. So sorry guys idk. I just love pussy!!

#っω=`)ㅤ⎯⎯ㅤmy works...#bottom male reader #bottom reader #sub male reader #uke male reader #male reader smut #x male reader #male reader #oc #mlm

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zepskies · 3 months ago

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OVER THE BRIDGE

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Soulmate!Reader

Summary: Your car is teetering on the edge of a rickety bridge. When Sheriff Beau Arlen arrives at the scene to help you, he realizes that for the first time in his life, he can hear his soulmate’s thoughts.

AN: Happy Beau Wednesday! And here we go—my last bingo square for @jacklesversebingo … Round 1! 😉 That’s right, I’m gearing up for a Round 2 of fun prompts! But I had to do something for Beau before I closed out this masterlist for the first round. I’ve also been wanting to do another soulmate AU, since I haven’t written one since Never Say Goodbye (Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader). I’ve never seen one for Beau Arlen, so I thought, the time is now! Lol

Jacklesverse Bingo Prompt: “I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe.”

Posted on Patreon: 4/09/2025

Word Count: 4.2K

Tags/Warnings: Survival situation, sort of meet cute lol, angst, soulmates, and romantic fluff.

JVB Masterlist || Beau Arlen Masterlist

You picked your head up slowly from the airbag. You could barely feel that side of your face.

Blood began to drip into your eye, but you managed to wipe it away. You glanced down at your hand to watch the tremble in it, curiously.

Your gaze drifted beyond it, beyond your steering wheel. A sea of wheat-like grass and beds of gravel looked ready to meet you through your windshield. The groan of metal accompanied a slight rocking of your little 2009 Toyota Corolla, back and forth. You sucked in a shaky breath and tried to hold in the urge to cough.

Your chest hurt. It was sharp and aching where your seatbelt clung tightly to your ribs.

Then, your heart fell into your stomach as you realized…

Your car was teetering on the edge of the Morelli Bridge. It was one of the few in Helena, Montana that hadn’t yet been replaced for repairs or sold for scrap, but you knew it was old. An old, old timber bridge, built in 1893…which meant you were infinitely screwed.

You braced yourself on the driver’s side door and held your breath, trying to keep the panic from rising up past the tightness in your throat. Your bruised body was otherwise paralyzed; you didn’t know what to do, or even why you were hit. But you could guess.

You glanced out your window through frizzy strands of your hair at the silver SUV that bulldozed into your back tires. The SUV had spiraled away from your car and hit a lamppost. Now the front of it was crunched like an accordion, where it was smoking on fire. Two men broke open the driver and passenger side doors open with their boots. They were dressed like ranchers in their long jackets, jeans, and Stetson hats, but when they hauled out guns along with them, your eyes widened.

What the hell’s going on?!

You heard a horde of police sirens coming closer, until their lights were half-blinding you through the back windows of your car. An unfamiliar thread of feeling laced through you then. You didn’t know exactly what it was, but it cut into your awareness, for a moment right through your fear.

Goosebumps spread across your arms. A tingling warmth enveloped you, comforted you, if just for a few seconds.

A white van striped with red was racing across the bridge along with the squad cars. Between your ringing ears, you almost thought you could hear a man’s chatter, giving orders to cut ‘em off. Form a perimeter. Like some kind of police scanner.

Tears of desperation filled your eyes.

Please. Please help me.

Beau Arlen heard the thought like it was his own, loud and clear as a bell.

His voice cut off mid-sentence as he was speaking to Jenny and into the police radio. She shot him a look—first in confusion, then in concern.

“Beau?” she prompted.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, clearing his throat. His mouth opened to continue giving his instructions on how to round up these guys; they had already ducked behind their smoking car and were shooting at the squad cars pulling up to them. They’d been caught on the act of trying to steal a showhorse. Luckily the horse was safe and being taken to the precinct, but these dusty cowboys were on the run.

“You okay?” Jenny said. “It’s not often that you’re at a loss for words.”

Beau shot her a wry look. He opened his mouth to reply, but the voice in his mind grew even stronger. Sharper. Feminine, and desperate.

Hellooo! Can they even see I’m still alive over here? Oh, God. Please. I can’t move…

Beau blinked in confusion, but the sharp tug of fear and dread inside his chest was even harder to ignore than the thoughts in his head—thoughts that were most definitely not his own. It was the strangest sensation, like a vice-grip on his heart.

Christ, it can’t be, he thought. Here? Now? But where—

His eyes widened when he looked over and caught sight of a little blue Toyota Corolla. It was teetering on the edge of the bridge, already tipping toward the side of falling right off.

“Pull over here. Now!” Beau told Jenny.

His voice was serious and sharp enough that she did what he said without questioning. She might enjoy poking at him from time to time, but he was still the Sheriff, and after the summer they’d had solving the case of Buck Barnes and putting his wife behind bars, Jenny respected Beau. More than she ever thought she would.

She pulled her 1996 Ford Bronco over beside the Toyota. Beau had his seatbelt off before she even hit the brakes. She started to put it into Park, but he stopped her.

“You back up the squad. I’ll handle this,” he said. He opened the passenger door and climbed out.

“What?” she said incredulously. “If someone’s in there, you’re gonna need help.”

“That’s what the Fire Squad’s for,” Beau said, tossing a thumb behind him at the firetruck speeding towards the bridge. He threw Jenny’s passenger door shut and banged on it twice with an open hand, asking her without words to do what he said.

Jenny didn’t like it, but she peeled off to help the blockade of policemen trying to corral the men they were after.

Beau didn’t exactly know why his instinct was to go to the tipping car alone, but he understood it the moment he hurried over and found you through the driver’s side window. Tears streaked down your face while you sat there very still, and very terrified. Not only could he see it in your face, but he could feel it behind his ribs. It made his desire to help you even more visceral—like a gut punch that reached all the way up into his throat.

“Hey!” he called to you.

Your head whipped over to meet him, and your eyes widened in abject relief. He could feel that too, and it made him smile, even as his own heart began to trip up faster. He pulled at the car door handle.

“Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma’am. I’m gonna get you out. Don’t you worry,” he assured. “Can you unlock the door? Slowly. Try not to rock the boat, so to speak.”

You gave a jerky, minimal nod, and you reached over to press the “unlock” button. The sensor didn’t respond for the locks or the windows. Beau’s lips pressed together. No matter how he pulled at the door, it wouldn’t budge. All he had on him was his gun, a pocketknife, and a lockpick that wouldn’t do him much good here.

Damn it. Should’ve grabbed a slim jim, he thought.

Beau noticed the way you paused, your head tilting as you stared at him with wider eyes. It made him pause as well.

“Did you…did you say something?” you asked, raising your voice so you could be heard through the closed window.

Beau was about to respond when a firefighter captain approached from his right.

“Sheriff,” he greeted with a nod. The firetruck was parked near the Toyota, and there was an ambulance coming up from behind on the bridge. “Just the driver in the car?”

Beau nodded at him belatedly. “Yeah, just be real careful. It’s teetering on the edge of the bridge.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the captain said. “You might wanna step back, Sheriff.”

Beau looked back over at your tear-streaked terrified face, and he shook his head. He wasn’t about to step out of your line of sight. He wanted you to know that he was here, and he wasn’t leaving you.

“Just get this door open for me first, and we’ll get her out,” he said.

The captain took note of Beau’s firmness, and so he agreed. Two more firefighters came with Halligans and power tools to pry the door open. All the while, Beau was focused on you. He could see your growing panic when the tools whirred loudly and shook the car.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. This thing’s going to tip over and I’m going to be a fucking gravel pancake!

Hearing your thoughts again was like another dousing of cold water to his senses, but he felt compelled to get closer—as close as he could without getting in the firefighters’ way.

It’s okay, darlin’. You’re not gonna tip over. I’m not gonna let that happen, he thought in reply. It was instinctual, but he knew that you heard him. He saw the way you gasped, even as another tear rolled down your cheek.

He was struck then by the look of you. Despite your frizzy hair and a line of blood drying down the side of your face, you were beautiful; your eyes, the shape of your face and the shade of your hair, and the way you were looking at him now, like you were crying for a whole different reason.

You…you’re…

Beau Arlen, ma’am, he answered, with his best charming smile (albeit a bit nervous). He carded a hand through his hair on reflex.

You managed to smile back, wiping your tears away. Yeah, you said that.

What’s your name then, darlin’?

You hesitated, but when you gave him your name, the roll of the letters and the sound of your voice…it all made a strange, warm tingle run down his spine. It filled him with a sensation of champagne bubbly, stirring low in his belly. His hand pressed harder against the Toyota’s hood without him realizing.

The car groaned and began to tip even more.

Shit! Beau’s eyes widened. You gasped and clung to the car seat by your nails.

“Beau!” you yelled out through the glass.

“Got it,” one of the firemen said, and he wrenched the door open.

Beau stepped in quickly and fished out his pocketknife. Flicking it open, he barely had time to meet your eyes before he tore through your seatbelt. Then he slid an arm around your back and under your knees, gathering you to his chest before he scooped you out of the car.

It was just in time for it to snap against the cables secured around the car. You wouldn’t have gone over the edge, even if Beau hadn’t grabbed you and pulled you out…but neither of you had known that.

Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your teary face against his chest. You were shaking. Beau nodded at the firemen in thanks and walked a few more feet away from the car. The ambulance was having a hard time getting through on the narrow bridge with all the police cars and the firetruck itself, so Beau saw no other solution but to have you kneel down on the ground with him, using the firetruck as cover.

“You’re all right. I gotcha,” he said gently.

His heart clenched at the way you clung to him, trembling. You nodded shakily, swiping stray tears from your face. When you looked up at him, he was struck silent again.

Just straight up raw beauty. His lips parted, but not a sound came out. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Yes, thank you,” you said. The fear faded out of your expression, melting into a smile. “For the save, and for the, um…the compliment.”

Beau blinked in confusion. Complim— Aw, shit.

You’d heard his thoughts just now. Too bad it was entirely the truth. He couldn’t help but smile too, if a bit sheepishly.

The moment shattered when a trill of gunfire sounded. A couple of bullets actually pierced the firetruck, one of them taking out a side mirror. You screamed, but Beau instinctively protected you with his body. He covered you by tucking your head to his chest and wrapping his arm around you.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said.

“But, my car—” you said, with a tremble in your voice. The firemen were still trying to pull it back onto the bridge. Beau nodded.

“I’m gonna take care of this, but until I do, I need to get you somewhere safe,” he said, cupping the back of your head. “Come on.”

He withdrew his gun and helped you to your feet. He hastened you over to the ambulance, covering your head and your body with his broad frame until he could guide you inside the vehicle. The paramedics collected you from there, but you still stopped short and turned to grab his arm.

“Wait! You’re going back there?” you asked, alarm lacing your tone.

Beau felt your worry for him, your instinct to cling to the newfound connection in your soul, the part of you that sensed its equal. It was like a warm thread thrumming strong between you, but also delicate.

Beau gave you a patient, apologetic smile. “Can’t leave my team hangin’. But don’t worry, I’ll come find you when I’m done here. So we can…”

Your eyes stared deeply into his, and somehow, he knew you were holding your breath. Beau grabbed your hand and squeezed with purpose.

“I’ll come find you,” he promised.

You were reluctant, but you eventually nodded. He was the Sheriff, you reminded yourself. Of course he had to go back. You released his hand, letting him slip away from you.

Every step he took back toward the crime scene—every step he took away from the ambulance revving up to drive away was another step that felt wrong, down to his bones. When the vehicle made its way across the bridge and eventually disappeared around the bend, the warm tendril of connection in his chest dissipated.

He didn’t come.

Not when you spent four hours in the hospital’s Emergency Department. Not when you took an Uber home, ordered takeout, and cried through the entire movie of Fools Rush In to try and make yourself feel like you were home, and not a shaken mess.

However, nothing you did made you feel as safe as you did when the Sheriff held your hand.

Beau Arlen, you reminded yourself. The name that felt branded under your skin, on your heart, the moment he locked eyes with you.

You snuggled yourself deeper into your collection of fuzzy blankets in bed. You pictured his bearded face in your mind, and that small smattering of freckles that only showed up when the firetruck’s headlights hit his face.

You remembered his strength, his little show of badassery when he cut you loose from the car. But most of all, you remembered feeling his determination and his caring. Even if he didn’t say it in words, or even in his thoughts, you knew what you’d felt from his soul connecting with yours. He wasn’t going to let you go over the bridge.

By Wednesday afternoon, you were standing in front of your last class of the day. Helena High School was large enough that you didn’t have every junior upperclassman in your classes, but your 12th grade Honors English class had to be your favorite. The kids were sharp, and they actually paid attention and took notes when you spoke, even if it was on Wuthering Heights.

“Bye, guys. Have a good day,” you waved at them after the last bell of the day rang.

“Bye, Miss!” the last few of them called back.

So polite, you smiled. That was also what you liked about the honors class. The last girl was struggling to pack everything up into her backpack. A book fell off her desk and tumbled to the floor. She looked up at you sheepishly, strands of her light brown hair slipping out of the ponytail and into her honey brown eyes.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I got it,” you said, and you slipped between the rows of desks to help her. John Grisham. Interesting…

“Legal thrillers, huh?” you noted. “Not your typical reading for a seventeen-year-old, but I dig it.”

Internally you wanted to slap your own forehead. Did people even say dig it anymore?

Emily didn’t seem to mind. She just laughed.

“I know. I’m just not that into…you know, sexy vampires, and sexy werewolves, and…sexy fairies.”

Your brows rose of their own accord. “Sexy fairies?”

She nodded, with a blushing smile. “Yeah. But um, anyway, my dad’s on his way, so I’ve got to get out front.”

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” you said. “It’s my turn to supervise student pickup with Mr. Harrison.”

You leave your classroom with Emily and head down the hall with thoughts other than lesson plans running through your head.

I can’t believe that man. You couldn’t keep the frown from crossing your face. Three days, and the Sheriff couldn’t be bothered to keep his promise? What, he couldn’t get my information from the paramedics? The hospital? My damn police report?

You’d gone to the Lewis & Clark Police Department the very next day after the incident to file it, but the Sheriff hadn’t been in his office. You’d asked a Deputy there, a pretty blonde woman, and she’d told you that he was on a case.

“Do you want to leave a message?” she’d asked, when she noticed you hesitating to leave.

“No,” you’d replied. “No, it’s okay. Thank you though.”

You sighed. It was kind of sad, really. You were an English teacher who couldn’t write a simple note…even if it was to your actual soulmate.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Emily asked, breaking you out of your reverie. You gave her a smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just thinking about everything I have to do before tomorrow’s class,” you lied. In fact, you lied through your teeth.

You two made your way outside the building and to the pickup and drop off area. You monitored most of the kids getting picked up, but Emily sat on one of the benches with her headphones in while she continued reading her John Grisham book. You smiled at the sight. It was nice to see kids reading of their own free will.

But you became a little concerned as the hour ticked by.

Geez, where’s her father?

You didn’t know much about her family, but you did remember that her parents were divorced. Her private attorney mother went to the PTA meetings whenever she could, outside of her busy schedule. Come to think of it, you supposed you knew where the interest in legal thrillers came from.

And suddenly, it hit you.

Emily Arlen…Arlen.

You gasped out loud, remembering the pair of green eyes that stared into yours so intensely, and the light brown hair that matched his daughter’s.

"Sheriff Beau Arlen, ma'am."

You jolted out of your thoughts when a red truck pulled into the pick-up zone and stopped at the curb. The man at the wheel honked twice, grinning at his daughter through the rolled down window. Your mouth fell open in soft shock.

“Finally,” Emily muttered, but she smiled when she looked up at her dad. She took out her headphones and stuffed her book into her backpack so she could go over to his truck.

She glanced at you as she passed by, about to tell you goodbye. Noting the spaced-out look on your face, she frowned and stopped short.

“Hey, aaaare you okay?”

It was the second time she was asking, but this time, you couldn’t lie to her. Because her dad followed her line of vision and finally found you standing there. His eyes went wide as well.

He quickly parked the car where it stood. He climbed out, and when he came around the hood toward you and Emily, his foot almost missed the curb and made him stumble.

You broke your frozen limbs out of the proverbial ice and reached out a hand, even though you weren’t even close enough to help. You held your other hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

Beau righted himself, clearing his throat. Then he took measured steps over to you and his daughter. The cut of his beard, short brown hair that swept over his dark brows, and kind green eyes…he looked exactly the same, if with a different jacket. This one was beige and suede. It matched well with his blue jeans and boots. His shiny gold-on-leather badge hung on his belt.

“Hey, there,” he said, with a short wave.

Your smile grew. “Good afternoon, Sheriff.”

He smiled too, setting his hand on Emily’s shoulder.

“Dad, this is my English teacher,” she said.

Beau’s brows raised high. “Really. Small world.” His eyes were set on you, and they didn’t leave your face. You bit the inside of your lip as your face began to heat up in a blush.

Emily gave him a confused look. “What?”

Blinking, as if coming back to himself, he patted her back.

“Ah, you know what, I actually want to ask your teacher something. Mind waiting for me in the car?” he said. “Just don’t blast the music too loud, kay kiddo?”

Emily gave him a slightly suspicious look, but she did as he asked, waving goodbye to you. You waved back as she went over to the car. It left you with her father.

Beau swept his fingers through his hair. He was a bit nervous, and you were now picking up on it as the connection between you two flared to life. You felt it deep and warm and thrumming in your chest. At least you weren’t alone in your nerves.

“Looks like you’re doing well. I’m real glad for that,” he said.

You nodded. “I am, thanks to you.”

He smiled at that. It was genuine at first, before it turned rueful.

“I uh…I owe you an apology though,” he said.

“That’s a good place to start,” you replied, though you softened it with a somewhat playful gleam to your smile.

He chuckled, and it pulled at the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. Somehow, you thought it just made his smile all the more charming.

Then, he seemed to pause. His lips tugged harder at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, me and my charming smile are most definitely sorry,” he said.

Your face fell. Shit. Did he hear that?

Oh, he most definitely did. His grin kicked up into a smirk.

You covered your mouth when a snort bubbled up, your face flaring with a hot blush.

“So we’re basically human lie detectors now. Great. Just…great,” you said, giggling a little.

Beau’s amusement soon faded. “Look, I can’t excuse myself. First I just…I thought you might want some space after what happened. I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Then…well, maybe I just started second-guessing, letting myself get busy. I had no idea you were Em’s teacher.”

Your head tilted as you considered him. After a moment, you softened with a sigh.

“She’s a good kid. Really smart too,” you said, taking a cautious step closer to him. “Think I know where she gets that from.”

Beau snorted. “Definitely from her mother.” But he drew closer to you too, with a meaningful look. “Who I’m civilly divorced from.”

“I know,” you nodded, “but thanks for that footnote.”

He was a bit hesitant, but he reached out and grasped your hand. You took in a deep breath through your nose at the shiver that ran up your spine. That feeling was different, like the burn of smokey, rich whiskey filling your chest. Your heart leapt as you looked up at his face.

Safe. That was the feeling.

“Do you think I might be able to take you out for dinner tomorrow?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t want to go too fast for you, but considering our situation—”

“Beau,” you stopped him with a gentle hand over his. “You literally saved me from falling off a bridge, not to mention a hailstorm of bullets.” You smiled up at him more brightly. “I already know what kind of guy you are. You also happen to be my soulmate. I think I would very much love to have dinner with you.”

When your words finally registered, Beau’s shoulders loosened in relief. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he glanced back and realized that Emily was still waiting in the front seat of his car and watching you two curiously.

Beau sighed. He knew he was in for a full spotlight interrogation on the way home, but he fished out his phone and texted you his number. Somehow he had it without asking for it first…

“So, can I call you later?” he asked, with another one of those smiles that set your insides fluttering.

“Ah, so you did get my cell number off my police report. And still you couldn’t manage to call me?” you teased.

Beau chuckled, ducking his head in embarrassment. Was he even starting to blush?

“Well, you got me there. I really am sorry, darlin’. I just—”

You reached out for him this time, squeezing a hand over his wrist.

“It’s okay, really,” you said. “You’re here now. Let’s just…figure out what this can be.”

Beau peeled his gaze from your hand and looked back into your eyes. He had to smile. If he let himself, he could feel you. Your relief, your good humor, and your hope. It all felt sweet as pie to him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

Despite lingering insecurities and the remnants of past mistakes threatening to dampen the moment in his mind, he had just one thing winning out above them all.

I’ve got a feeling this is gonna be good, he thought.

He hoped you could hear it.

AN: Bridgerton fans who have also seen Queen Charlotte will get one of those little references in there. 😘

▶️ Read the Sequel: CONNECTION

Summary: Beau saved you from your car nearly going over a rickety bridge, discovering he was your soulmate in the process. Now, the two of you enjoy a milestone date at the county fair.

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destielaureversebb · 6 months ago

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Coming soon for the @destielaureversebb: “Where We Belong”

Author: quiettewandering @wanderingcas Artist: @eggchef

Rating: Explicit Archive warnings: None Length: 35,000 words Tags: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Rancher Dean Winchester, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Fluff and Angst Relationships: Dean/Castiel

Summary:

Castiel never expected to see Dean Winchester again. But when he returns to his hometown in Challis, Idaho after 10 years away, an accidental tumble into a creek on Winchester Ranch throws him back into the path of his unrequited high school love.

Dean never expected to see his high school crush Castiel Novak again and he certainly didn't expect to find Cas in his creek one Thursday morning. It's an uncomfortable reunion, made even more so when Cas is hired as the accountant to help the failing Winchester Ranch out of the red—and when Dean and Castiel begin to realize that their feelings aren't nearly as unrequited as they previously thought.

Excerpt:

“I’m taking a walk,” Cas states, like it’s obvious.

Dean stares, waiting for Cas to go on, but—he doesn’t. The hammer in Dean’s hand lowers an inch. “Into the creek?” he snaps.

“That was clearly a mistake.”

“Well this is private property, asshole,” Dean growls. “Or did you miss the fence?”

Huffing out an impatient sigh, Cas crosses his arms over his chest. He looks way too dignified for a guy that’s soaking wet. “I realize that it’s your property. I grew up around here. I got turned around, and—”

“If you grew up here, then how the hell’d you get 'turned around’?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “It’s been a while.”

Yeah. Ten whole freaking years. But Dean doesn’t say that, because Cas doesn’t seem to recognize Dean, and Dean’s not about to be the stalker that remembers a high school classmate who barely spared him a glance in the hallway.

Instead, Dean gestures to Cas’s wet clothes. “So, what—you fall in?”

Cas’s glare deepens. “Obviously,” he grits out.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?” Dean snaps. “I didn’t put the damn creek in your way.”

“I’m not—” Cas’s shoulders slump as he looks away. “I’m having a bad day.”

Dean appraises Cas, then slips the hammer into his back jeans pocket. “Wearing a trench coat for a hike was your first mistake.”

“The hike was a spontaneous decision.”

Despite himself, Dean runs his eyes over Cas’s body. Under that trench coat is a white dress shirt, which is wet enough that Dean can see the pink of Cas’s skin, contrasted by the dark hair on his chest. Dean’s mouth goes dry at the sight.

Baby whinnies and flicks her tail impatiently behind him. And, yeah—good fucking point. Settle down, Winchester.

Posting date: February 8, 2025

#destiel au reverse big bang #promo post #destiel fic #destiel art #author: quietwandering #artist: eggchef

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honeyryewhiskey · 6 months ago

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01. eyes full of stars

ᯓ★ story index abt, your winning streak has caught the attention of outlaw dean. but when he challenges you at your own game, you may have just met your match. warnings, bar scene, alcohol use, strong language, 18+ 2.6k words

The low hum of Tequila Cowboy’s neon blue sign buzzes over the murmur of voices and the clink of beer bottles. Smoke curls through the air, catching the dim light as it billows out of Dean’s lips. He’s leaning against the bar, one booted foot propped on the brass rail. His green eyes peek from under the brim of his worn-out Stetson, locked on the pool table in the corner, where a small crowd has gathered around you.

Your body folds over the table, a coy smile playing on your lips as you line up your shot. Dean didn’t need to watch to know the eight ball was going exactly where you wanted it. It isn’t the game that has his attention. It’s you—the way you work the room, charming the rich ranchers out of their wallets with every sway of your hip and winning flick of the cue stick.

The crowd erupts as you sink the shot, and Dean caught the faintest flicker of satisfaction in your fox-like eyes before you straightened and collected your winnings with a dazzling smile. When your gaze finds his stare, it lingers for half a second too long.

A smirk plays at your lips as you lean against the pool table, “Didn’t think you’d have the guts to stare me down,” you called out, loud enough for the room to hear. Your voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it that cut through the bar.

Dean’s lips curled into a lazy smirk as he pushed off the bar and saunters toward you, his spurs clicking softly against the wooden floor. “Didn’t think you’d be bold enough to call me out.”

The crowd watches with rapt interest as the space between you closes. Dean stops a few feet away, his tan arms crossing as he gives you a slow once over. ��Nice hustle,” he drawls, his voice low and rough like gravel warmed by the sun. “But I’m thinkin’ you haven’t played your best game yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until the toes of your boots nearly touch his. “And you think you’re the one to bring it out of me?”

Dean’s tongue swipes over his lips, jade green eyes boring into yours as you notice the dimples in his smile. “I know I am.”

The tension between you crackles, hot and electric, like a summer storm brewing on the horizon. The crowd has faded into background noise as you lean in, your voice dropping just enough to make it private.

“Careful, cowboy. Playin’ with fire gets you burned.”

Dean’s head tilts, eyes dancing with mischief. “Yeah,” he starts, his voice dripping with a boyish charm that hits all your sweet spots at once, “but what’s life without a little heat?”

You laughed softly, the sound low and dangerous, before stepping back and tossing him a cue stick. “Rack ‘em up, Sweetheart. Let’s see if you can back that silver tongue with a little skill.”

And just like that, the match was set. A game neither of you could afford to lose—one with stakes far higher than a few crumpled bills. Because you recognized something in him. The way he stalks around the table deliberate and unhurried, was the mark of someone who knew how to play the long game. But there was fire there, too—smoldering beneath his easy smirk and sharp green eyes, daring you to push him, to see how far he’d go before he broke.

And dammit, you wanted to know. You wanted to unravel him, see if the silver-tongued cowboy could handle being outmatched.

This was a stand off with a lone wolf like yourself, someone who tricks and swindles their way through life. The rush of such a match was irresistible. It sent a thrill down your spine, sharper than the bite of whiskey and more intoxicating than the smoky haze filling the room. This man, watching you from the otherside of the pool table wasn’t just a charming outlaw; he was a mirror held up to your own reckless soul.

Dean bent over the table, lining up his shot. The room had quieted some, despite the growing crowd watching the close competition of the first few rounds. The air between you two remained charged. His gaze flickering up to meet yours with a spark of mischief.

“You know,” he starts, his voice dripping with mock sincerity, “I’d hate to embarrass you in your own game. You sure you wanna keep going?”

You smirked, leaning on your cue stick with the confidence of someone who already knew how this was going to end. “Big talk for a guy who’s down by two shots.”

Dean grins and draws back the cue, the crack of the shot slicing through the tension. The striped ball rolls cleanly into the corner pocket. He straightens, flashing you a cocky wink. “Make that one shot.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the grin tugging at your lips. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’re still losing.”

As the game went on, it became clear just how evenly matched you were. Every shot Dean made, you countered with one of your own. Every taunt he threw, you lobbed back, sharper and more daring.

“You always this good?” he asked as you circled the table, lining up a tricky bank shot.

“Maybe I’m just inspired,” you replied, flashing him a quick smile, holding his eye contact as you flick the cue stick forward, sending the ball careening off the cushion and into the pocket.

Dean let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “You know, for a sweet little thing like yourself, you sure do play dirty.”

You laughed, stepping aside to let him take his turn. “Flattery’s not gonna save you, sugar. But nice try.”

Dean leans over the table again, his biceps flexing just enough to catch your eye. He took the shot with deliberate precision, sinking another ball with maddening ease. When he looked up at you, his smirk was back in full force. “That one was for you.”

You bit back a retort, focusing on the table instead of the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like warm honey. It was your last turn, the eight ball poised perfectly for the win.

Dean steps back, giving you space but watching you like a hawk. “No pressure, sweet thing.”

You arched a brow. “Don’t need luck.”

With a steady hand and a flick of your wrist, you sank the eight ball, the final pocket dropping with a satisfying thunk. The crowd quickly resounds around you, whistling and cheering as you retain your winning streak. But your attention can’t find a break from your opponent, eyes locked on him as he coolly joins in the applause.

Dean let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he straightened. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re somethin’ else.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance as you set the cue stick back on the rack. “Told you I’d win.”

Dean follows suit, close enough that you caught a whiff of leather and whiskey. His attention stays trained on you, his head having to tilt down to yours at this closeness. “Guess I owe you somethin’ for the show.”

Your lips quirked. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay me.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, before nodding toward the bar. “How ‘bout I buy you a drink? Least I can do for gettin’ my ass handed to me.”

You pretended to consider it, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “Well, I am thirsty… and you do look like the kind of guy who can afford my usual.”

Dean shakes his head, clearly amused, as he steps back to let you pass. “Lead the way, miss.”

With a smirk, you took his offer, knowing full well you’d be sparring with him long after the drinks were gone. For once, though, you don’t mind the company.

You settle into the seat across from Dean, swirling the amber liquid in your glass. Tequila Cowboy might be rowdy enough to make the walls shake, but the corner table you’d claimed offered a rare pocket of quiet.

“So,” you start, leaning back in your chair with an easy smirk, “what do they call you?”

“Dean.” He lifts his glass to his lips, his smirk curling against the rim. “Dean Winchester.”

You snort softly, shaking your head. “Ain’t no way that’s your God-given name. Winchester? Like the rifle?”

He hums, jade-green eyes glinting with amusement. His gaze holds an undeniable pull, the kind that could unravel most anyone if they weren’t careful. You’re trying your hardest not to fall into that quiet gravity. “Wouldn’t lie to you, little miss.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“I swear it.” He crosses his index finger over his middle, pressing them to his lips before pointing them at you in a playful gesture. “And what about you? Got a name to match that sharp tongue?”

You lean forward slightly, eyes narrowing with a knowing glint. This was a question you heard often enough, and you’d learned long ago to keep your name—yourself—guarded from wolves in cowboy boots. “Whatever you want me to be, sugar.”

Dean chuckles, low and warm, a sound that doesn’t crumble under your carefully constructed allure. It piques your curiosity; clearly, he’s not like the others. The thought lingers, tempting you to learn more about the man with green eyes and a devil-may-care smile. “Holdin’ your cards close. I can respect that.”

“I haven’t seen you around these parts before,” you change the subject, tilting your head. It’s not uncommon for wanderers to pass through town. You only came here for the high stakes pool games, but never spent more than a few nights in this town. “You just passing through?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He sighs, leaning back, his knees knocking against your crossed legs under the table. “I’ll be here a few days, then it’s back on the road. I don’t stay anywhere too long.”

A ghost of a laugh escapes your lips, “Yeah, you don’t look like the type to linger.”

“Oh, yeah?” His brow quirks, eyes roaming over you with lazy interest. “What do I look like then?”

“Haven’t figured that out yet,” you admit, feeling a blush creep up your neck. The admission surprises you; you’re not one to get flustered, especially not when trading sweet talk with another smooth-talking cowboy.

Dean notices, his grin widening as he watches you try to mask the pink dusting your cheeks. His voice is as smooth as the bourbon he’s sipping. “Well, you let me know when you do.”

Shaking off your momentary slip, you smirk. “Oh, I will.”

A charged silence settles between you, comfortable yet crackling with something unspoken. Dean leans forward, breaking it with a question. “So, you always make your living hustlin’ rich ranchers outta their pocket change?”

“Depends,” you say, your voice playful but cautious. “Why? You looking to hire me?”

Dean’s smirk deepens as he sits up to lean over the table. The smell of cigarettes and dark liquor dances between the small space between you. His eyes meander around the people surrounding you as he lowers his voice, the warmth replaced by something sharper. “Word is, there’s a little stash of gold sittin’ in the hands of a real bastard.” His pupils have grown, eyes boring into yours with a dangerous glint of excitement as his voice quirks with sarcasm. “Seems like a damn shame for a guy like that to carry all that weight alone. Was thinkin’ I’d help lighten his load.”

Your brow arches, interest piqued. The thrill of his words settles over you like a second skin. “You asking for my help?”

“Maybe,” he drawls, his smile slow and deliberate. “Would you?”

“What’s my cut?” you quip, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he rolls the pet name off his tongue like honey, the sound making you lean in closer, “you’ll be paid generously for your trouble.”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “You’re a dangerous man, Dean Winchester.”

“And you don’t seem like the type to play it safe,” he shoots back, tipping his glass toward you.

He’s right, of course. This is the kind of thrill you can’t turn down, not with a man like him by your side. “When do we start?”

Dean turns toward the window, where the faintest glow of pre-dawn light softens the edges of the night. Only his eyes flick back to you, a hint of teasing swirling in the green, “Sunrise ain’t for a few more hours.”

You finish the last sip of your drink and set the glass down, standing with a grin. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

He pushes back his chair, unfolding with the grace of someone who’s always ready to move as he slips on his leather jacket. “I reckon we’ll make a damn good team, me and you.”

@a1ecmcdowell @titsout4jackles <3 ily ily ily mwah

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester au #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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envydean · 4 months ago

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Decoherence

Written by @farenmaddox | Art by @envydean

Dean got lost in the woods as a boy and swears an angel helped him get home, even though getting that close to one should have killed him. No one believes him and it nearly tears his family apart. Years later, the same angel crash-lands in his fishing pond, wounded and on the run. Castiel has dangerous information about a political plot to ruin angel-human relations, and he needs help if he’s going to live long enough to expose the truth. Dean is the only person he knows who won’t die helping him, and the only person Castiel might be willing to die to protect.

Tags: Rancher Dean, Angels as a Species, Political Corruption, Fantasy Racism

I had a lot of fun joining in this bang this round, especially as I haven't done a bang in a very long time. Faren has written an amazing fic to pair with my originally submitted art piece! So definitely go and check it out 🥰

#destiel AU reverse bang #decoherence #fanfic #supernatural #edit #spnedit #destieledit

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deanbrainrotwritings · 1 year ago

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— SEMPITERNAL

SUMMARY : part II of gimme half. vanilla is a basic flavour. but sometimes it’s just the right thing for mornings like this.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), p in v, smut, unprotected sex, fluff

WORD COUNT : 2.2k

A/N : bring me the horizon song title. ah, the second day of January, getting closer to Dean’s bday, it will be the best day of my life or the worst. I have ocd (so does my mom) so idk what’s normal lmao Xxxx

It must have all been a dream.

She would never go to her neighbour’s house. Not when they were supposed to hate each other. Not when it was freezing cold. Not at night. Not close to Christmas…

He was very pretty though, in her dreams. Still, so pretty. Irresistible. Hot. Frustrating. Adorable. A million lovely things. It felt very real. So real.

His lips. All pink, warm, soft, and sweet. His hands. Rough, warm, calloused, and skilful. His skin. Freckled, covered in scars, tattooed, hot. God… she wanted that in reality, too. To feel it against every inch of her skin once more. She especially wanted what’s between his legs.

Were her sheets always this cold? This thin and… not downy at all?

If she could return to her dream. That would be nice. Making friends with her enemy, Dean… Well, making love is more what it was. Very rough, desperate, hot love.

She grumbled sleepily, lifting the sheet up her body. Trying to get her arms warm, to stop the cold from getting through the openings. Something stopped her, something hard behind her, and she didn’t want to wake up.

And wait… why was the window in the opposite direction?

She rubbed her bleary eyes and looked around the unfamiliar room, the beige and white bed sheets that were definitely not hers. The pictures and posters on the walls were unfamiliar…

She sat up on the bed slowly and twisted her body cautiously to peek at whoever was sleeping beside her.

Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped slightly.

Dean.

She shut her mouth and smiled, trying not to laugh at the events that occurred the night before. They were definitely not a dream. For her bravery, she deserved a treat. Maybe six.

He really did look pretty.

Those muscular arms holding his pillow, skin freckled and lightly tanned. The sheets clung tightly to his hips, that tiny, narrow waist of his. So jealous. And… oh, God, he wasn’t wearing anything.

His lips were parted slightly, pink and swollen from sleep, maybe from all the kissing they were doing the previous night. He had the prettiest lashes, so long, thick, curled naturally. What even was he? Those gorgeous freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. His messy hair looked so soft.

Peaceful. Relaxed.

The sunlight made him look even more divine. Honey and gold, a verdant forest, a soft flower in a meadow. Springtime in the winter. That was Dean.

She looked around his room, she was completely naked. Some warm clothes and fluffy socks to keep the cold at bay would be nice.

She opened his drawer to look for some socks, sliding the top drawer out. She blinked at the contents inside. A vibrating cock ring stood out from the other things inside, in rose pink. She chuckled. There were a few candy wrappers, jolly ranchers, unused condoms in the front, a steel gun over books. Cute. There were old movie tickets, a Bob Seger cassette tape, Crime and Punishment, Persuasion, The Lord of the Rings, and 11/22/63. He’s so hot.

She closed it quietly and opened the second one. One half had perfectly folded, plain black t-shirts and the other half had only white t-shirts. She pulled out a black shirt from the top and put it on carefully. She took a deep breath of the scent of the softener that remained and sighed. Yum.

She opened the third and final one. Finally socks. They were neatly organised, folded, tightly fitting in rows and columns. Blue penguin socks caught her attention, but so did the pink ones with otters, the purple ones with avocados, and the green ones with giraffes. Could he get any more endearing?

She picked the boring black ones at the back. What if the fun socks were special to him?

She got out of his bed, walking quietly across his very cute bedroom, and into the bathroom. His very clean bathroom.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Thank God for the shower she took with Dean last night. No raccoon face from her eyeliner this morning. But she was definitely sore. Good sore.

He’s so… hospitable. And a billion other things, too many lovely things to list. She laughed quietly to herself, turning the water on in the sink to wash her face.

Maybe she shouldn’t get too ahead of herself with these thoughts and feelings. Last night was fast, blurry, heated, and emotional. Things could change, she knew that better than anyone. Morning clarity. After sex clarity? Who knows.

It would be impossible not to have marks over her body after the night they had. She turned the water off, gently shook her hands in the sink, and used the shirt to pat her face dry. Curiously, she kept the shirt up, and stared down at her body.

There were bruises on her hips the shape of his fingers. And Reddish-purplish marks on her breasts, sternum, and stomach, even higher up on her collarbone. There were bite marks on her shoulders that stung to touch-

“Sorry about those,” Dean’s raspy morning voice made her jump. She dropped the shirt and crossed her arms over her chest, smiling timidly at Dean. She didn’t know why. After the hot night they had together, being seen naked the next morning should be the last thing to make her this flustered.

“I’m not getting in the way of your secret escape, am I?” He changed the subject, teasingly smirking at her. He pushed himself off the doorframe. Unfortunately, he was wearing a soft grey robe tied loosely around his waist, some grey slippers, and his hair was a cute-slash-sexy mess.

“No…” she replied softly, running her fingers through her somewhat messy hair. It still felt wet… maybe she should have stopped Dean from throwing her into his bed after their shower, but he seemed more than thrilled to bury his face between her legs. God, that stubble on his jaw felt amazing between her sensitive thighs.

“Good,” he mumbled tiredly, smiling down at her.

He was irresistible. She could already feel heat forming between her legs, wetness seeping from her entrance, and her heart pound quickly in the casket of bones the closer he got.

Maybe it was those pretty green eyes of his, the burning fire in his gaze simmering deep within the golden specks. He checked her out from head to toe slowly, shamelessly, devouringly. Why would he have any shame after the night they had?

Her body reacted to him embarrassingly fast. Like two atoms, she ached to be fused together with him. Being in his presence just felt right. It felt fiery, more now than last night, more than when he was asleep. When he was asleep, he was more than adorable, but now… She wanted him on her again.

Her skin burned like acid rain had dripped down over her body, but it was just his hungry eyes. It was the memory of his mouth, his tongue, his lips, and his teeth. All marking her, making her his own.

Her lungs ached for slower, deeper breaths as he sucked the oxygen from the room with that deep, husky voice of his. He left her breathless, with those soft eyes and tender smile.

All he did was put toothpaste on the brush he gave her last night. He smiled when he gave it to her, his fingers brushed against hers, like jumpstarting the dead battery of a car.

She tried to hide the sharp inhale when she took the toothbrush from him by biting her lip. He seemed to like her reaction, a smile tugged at his lips, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to and neither did she.

She watched him do the same to his own toothbrush and slowly, wordlessly, he started to brush his teeth.

“Cute cock ring,” she told him casually, and began brushing her own teeth. He almost spit out the toothpaste and saliva when he laughed, a very beautiful laugh that made her insides warm and melty like cheese in a burger, or butter on pancakes, or whipped cream on waffles.

She was hungry.

“You looked through my stuff,” he stated, a mouthful of toothpaste still in his mouth. He continued to brush his teeth, staring at her the whole time rather than looking into the mirror. His eyes were sparkling, and not just because of the cold winter sunlight.

“I was cold,” she shrugged, then spit out what she had left before continuing to brush. He spit everything out at last, regarding her with a smirk.

“Guess I shoulda been a better host.” Dean finished brushing his teeth and she did soon after as well, waiting for him to finish freshening up from the doorframe.

“You more than made up for it last night,” she grinned, catching the smirk on his face, the sudden dreaminess that washed over his green eyes. Her insides twisted excitedly and he finally looked at her with those soft verdurous eyes.

“Are you still cold?” He teased when he finished, reaching for her waist and gently tugging her forward, and away from the doorway. She shook her head ‘no’ and smiled up at him. “Too bad,” he hummed, biting his lip. “You chose boring socks,” he pouted, then leaned down to kiss her.

She smiled against his lips. The kiss somehow felt more… warm than last night, and… well, like the birth of a star. Warmth bloomed in her chest, like a flower kissed by sunlight in the morning. It was like being reborn, like breathing the cleanest air.

“I was trying to be considerate,” she mumbled when he pulled away from her lips. He tilted his head with a confused smile, and moved her backwards, leading her back to his bed.

“Considerate?” Dean slowly lifted the shirt, his fingertips teasing her warm skin as he slid it up her body.

“Read my mind,” she whispered, throwing the clean shirt on his desk when it was around her wrists above her head.

“I don’t read minds,” he grinned down at her, pecking her lips. She hummed softly, amused just because he made her smile, and untied his robe. He humoured her anyway, staring at her as she climbed onto the bed, her soft hands moving up his torso slowly exploring, memorising, worshipping. “You… are so cute,” he teased, leaning forward to kiss her again.

She pressed her lips against his, moaning quietly against his mouth. She pushed the robe off his shoulders and he threw it over the small, sage-coloured sofa he had placed by the window that was opened to her house.

“That’s not reading my mind.” She buried her fingers in his hair and began crawling backwards, her warm tongue tracing his plump lips. He cursed softly against her mouth, kissing her back with as much force, and climbed up the bed with her.

“I told you,” he panted, lowering his body over hers once her head fell onto the pillows, “I don't read minds.” She pulled Dean down, closer to her, arms circled around his neck, legs parted for his hips to fit perfectly in between.

“I think you see through me,” she whispered, lapping at the red mark positioned on his pulse, making him moan softly. She couldn’t believe she felt insecure about it at first, but now, it was hot that he could read her, that he could figure her out in seconds. For however long he's been hunting, she had no doubt he was much more clever than he led on.

“You think wearing a pair of what might be my favourite socks will make me… sad?” He tried, barely moving away from her mouth. She snickered upon releasing how ridiculous it sounded out loud, she nodded anyway.

“I’d be upset,” she shrugged, sliding her hands down his back, his taut muscles shifting beneath her hands.

“Exactly why I said you’re cute,” he told her softly, rocking his hips against hers. She shook her head in denial, dragging her lips back up to his. His cock slid through her soaked folds, teasingly nudging her entrance, tortuously rubbing her clit. “You hungry?” He asked, leaning on one arm placed by her head.

“Dirty intent with that question?” She teased, nibbling his bottom lip. He laughed deeply, pressing his cock into her, slowly pushing in.

“Wanted to make ya breakfast,” he huffed, moaning with her when he pulled out gently and pushed back into her warmth. “So… breakfast?” His hand travelled freely down her sides, tenderly brushing against the bruises on her skin.

“Only if you’ll make me breakfast often,” she played quietly. With a husky moan, he slid his hands back up her sides, thumbing her sensitive nipples. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, smiling at her words, the tightening of her walls around him taking him to the brink of delectable release and delirious insanity.

“Only if you’re mine,” he rasped, taking her wrist to slide his hand into hers, pressing it into the pillow, and above her head.

“Yes,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, slipping her other hand into his hair. He lifted his face to stare into her sincere gaze, brought his freehand between their bodies to rub circles on her clit.

“To breakfast or being mine?” Dean inquired, rolling his hips swiftly into her. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him close, and drawing his lips closer with her hand clutching the short hair behind his head.

“Yes,” she murmured, drawing a soft laugh from him as she pressed a deep kiss to his warm lips.

➥ summer’s stellar gaze

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