summary you ask dean questions and he thinks you're too lovely!
content shy, awkward gn!reader, friends with mutual crushes, dean is very in love, reader is sort of new to hunting, use of sweetheart and sweet thing and pretty because he can't help but to call reader sweet names!
masterlist ♡ requested
wc 473
⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆
Dean is irrevocably endeared. Looking too cool in his leather jacket, he watches as you turn pages idly and doesn't ask why you've been sneaking small glances at him the whole evening.
You're a sweetheart. He won't embarrass you like that. But he'll sneak glances right back, because he thinks you're too pretty. The low curl of your lashes as you read and the way your lips part in an oval when you see something interesting.
He's got to blink once, twice, a third time and focus on the blaring screen of his laptop. It sends an ache through his eyes. He'd much rather keep on looking at you. Soothing and soft and easy as a lazy summer stream.
"What makes holy water holy?" you ask, sudden, and now he's got an excuse to tip his head up again and meet your gaze.
The beginnings of a laugh prickle at his throat, but he swallows it down, because you're being earnest. Your gaze pokes over his expression and your nose has taken a subtle scrunch. He likes teaching you, but you should know this, and he can't help but wonder why you've forgotten.
Way too cocky, to consider that maybe it's because of him. It doesn't matter. His heart is spinning out like loose thread on a spool and he never minds repeating things to you, anyway.
"It's gotta be blessed," he says. "Or you can dunk a rosary in a tub and bottle it after it's sat a while."
"Oh." You swallow. "I, um... knew that. Just forgot."
He feels the corners of his mouth tug up before he registers that he's smiling at all.
"That's okay, pretty," he assures, voice feathery. "I forget stuff, too."
You hum, and smile almost unnoticeably. "I don't believe you. It seems like you always know everything."
He blinks under his canopy of dark lashes and feels funny. Maybe it's because you think he always knows everything, or because of how you're watching him all quiet and lovely. He decides it's a blend of the both.
"You're flattering me," he teases light and pushes a smirk to one side of his face. "I just know what I know. Not everything."
Your fingers tap against the rickety motel desk.
"Would you get annoyed if I asked a thousand more questions?"
"M'never annoyed with you, sweetheart."
You pause and a whispered, sweet lily breeze curls into the room through a window someplace behind him. He can nearly see it billow around you, petals and stems. He'd like to sigh fond and hold you and sway you.
What's going on in your head, sweet thing? He refrains from asking.
"Okay," you finally murmur. "Then I'll ask another thousand."
He nods. "Bring 'em on."
You laugh like a gentle chime, his cheeks are plummy. All yours and wanting to be.
out of the winchester brothers, sam is defff the most jealous and even a liiiiitle possessive too
a string of strange killings was happening around a town and to get more info, you had to go and flirt with a cop at a local bar— no harm, no foul, right?
but from afar, sam was watching you. both his grip on his cup and his jaw tightened, hazel eyes pinned on the sight of your polite smile flashing for the cop as you let out a fake laugh from the cop’s corny joke
sam knew this was just an act, that you loved him. he knew what your real laugh sounded like, how your actual smile was flashed, how you looked him so softly with a look that was only reserved for him
but did the sight of you, sitting and chatting with that cop, stir something in sam? as much as he’d hate to admit it, yes, yes it did
so the moment dean said he’ll be back after a few hours after all of you returned back to the motel, that gave sam all the time he needed with you
time that was more than enough for him to hook both of your legs around his waist and sink his cock deeper in your pussy, warm and inviting for his length
tonight was a different version of sam, and you could tell from the way his lips were messy and possessive on yours, knocking the air out of your lungs from how hard he was kissing you— not to mention his thrusts, deep and almost rough, which made you do nothing but moan endlessly on his mouth and claw his toned back from the ruthless pace he was giving
and his words. god, they were filthy.
“fuck, always takin’ me so well. like you were made for it”
“arch that back for me, thaaaats my girl”
“mine. god, you’re mine”
especially the last part. he would murmur “mineminemine” endlessly on your lips, each thrust making you roll your eyes at the back of your head as his hands held your hips firm to make sure they didn’t move from the angle he was fucking you in— an angle that made your pussy flutter all over his cock
sam’s lips finally broke free from yours and trailed down your neck. “hated the way that cop looked at you” he whispered on your skin. you tried to let out a small laugh from his jealousy, but it resulted in a whimper leaving your lips from the tip of his cock hitting a certain spot
he brought his head up from your hickey covered skin to lay his forehead on top of yours, looking at your blown eyes filled with both desire and jealousy. and god, the way you looked under him— face fully contorted with pleasure, boobs bouncing from his rough and sped up thrusts. all while looking up at him with those wide eyes of yours he’ll stare at for hours.
too bad the cop wasn’t here to see this
“say my name” sam whispered, his hot breath hitting your swollen lips. “let me hear it from those pretty lips, yeah?” one hand left the side of your hip to cup your face and drag a thumb down your bottom lip
that was more than enough to do what he asked. “sam” you whispered, almost as a plea. “sa— oh god, sam” you gasped, knocking your head back to the pillows
“don’t hide from me”
his hand on your face brought it back down not just to face him, but to claim your mouth with a kiss once more. “there she is”— a kiss that was open mouthed, more hungrier and greedy than the last as you arched your back and pressed your chest onto his from his hips snapping roughly on yours as you kept murmuring his name in small gasps over and over
it made sam do nothing but groan in satisfaction as a response from both your voice and your pussy clenching onto him more than it already was, biting your bottom lip and immediately sliding his tongue in once you parted your lips
“sounds so good coming from you— fuck” he moaned on your lips, his hand on your face tilting it to kiss you deeper than he already was and feeling his orgasm slowly approach him. “gonna have it memorized by the time i’m done with you”
from then, you realized on one thing— that jealousy has never looked this good, especially on sam winchester
i don’t care what anybody says, sam winchester is a freak in bed
i’m talking about putting you in a chokehold, your face suffocating in his biceps and drooling on it mindlessly from the backshots he was giving you, his hips ruthlessly snapping to yours while your back gave him that beautiful arch he loved so much
his bicep would be covered by your saliva, red bite marks and hickeys bright and evident on his skin.
“uh huh” sam panted, eyes pinned down on yours and examining your expression— a fucked up, lewd expression squished by his bicep— a sight to behold. “keep that back arched for me, mmm”
i’m talking about gripping your hair whenever you were straddling him, the slight tug making you moan in the hungry, passionate kiss and giving him enough space for his tongue to slide in your mouth
and because of that, there was no way to hide that beautiful face of yours from him. even when your face was buried in his shoulder as you rode his cock, breathless gasps of “sam! mph- sam” leaving your lips. it made his hand—that was already buried in your hair— lift your head up by your hair to lock your lips into a messy, open-mouthed kiss
“don’t hide from me” sam murmured in your mouth, his other hand pulling your leg closer to bury his cock more into your cunt. “wanna see your face when you make a mess all over me”
the drag of his length in and out was stretching out your poor, fluttering walls. enough for your hips to slightly jerk back and a small sound leave your lips, only for it to be swallowed by sam and easily hold your hips in place with one hand, the other still buried and gripping onto the locks of your hair
and i’m talking about his large, large hand around your neck as he has you pinned under him in missionary, hovering on top of you and whispering filthy things in your ear to add onto the wet, slaps of his cock in your needy cunt
“thaaaats it. youre doing so so good f’me, baby”
“god, you look so good like this”
your throat would bob in his palm and his thumb would brush under your jaw, a subtle gesture so soft it felt almost out of place from how eager sam was for you, how starved he was
a moan left his lips when the veins on his length were brushed perfectly, biting your shoulder to swallow back his sounds as he kept murmuring on your skin without a thought. “fuck, you have no idea how you drive me crazy”
﹙ ¹⁸⁺ ﹚ ₊ ❜୧ A QUICKIE WITH YOUR HUSBAND SIMON.
you're sorting through what feels like the millionth tiny sock when simon comes up behind you, large hands settling on your hips. "kids are occupied," he murmurs against your neck, and you can hear the suggestion in his voice.
"si, i have to get this done," you protest weakly, but you're already leaning back into him. wash day waits for no one with three kids, and you're drowning in tiny clothes. "and they won't stay distracted for long."
"exactly why we should be quick about it." his hands slide around to your stomach, pulling you flush against him. you can feel he's already hard, and your resolve wavers. "been thinking about you all morning, luv. watching you bend over sortin’ laundry..."
"you're terrible," you breathe, but you're already turning in his arms. seven years of marriage and three kids later, and he still looks at you like he wants to devour you. "we have maybe ten minutes before someone needs something."
"can work with that." he's already lifting you onto the washing machine, hands pushing up his sweatshirt that you wore around the house. "fuck, no panties? you trying t’kill me?"
"it's wash day, baby," you remind him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "everything's in the dirty hamper." but your explanation dissolves into a moan as his fingers find you already wet.
"fuckin' convenient," he growls, working you open with practiced efficiency. there's no time for slow and sweet; not with three kids in the house. "always ready for me, aren't you, swee'eart?"
you bite your lip to keep quiet as he replaces his fingers with his cock, pushing in with one smooth thrust. "simon," you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. "fuck—w-we have to be quiet."
"then you'd better keep that pretty mouth o’yours shut," he says, setting a punishing pace immediately. the washing machine rocks with the force of it, and you have to brace yourself against the wall. "can't have the little ones hearing what daddy does to mummy."
the filthy words in his rough accent make you clench around him. he notices, of course he does, and smirks against your neck. "like that, do you? knowing i'm fuckin’ you while our babies play down the hall?"
before you can respond, there's a loud bang on the door. "mommy! mommy, open!" your five-year-old's voice cuts through your haze of pleasure. "need you!"
simon doesn't stop, if anything going harder. "mummy's busy, swee'eart," he calls out, voice impressively steady for someone currently railing you against major appliances. "go play with yer sister."
"but mommy!" another bang. "daisy took my doll!"
you try to answer but simon chooses that moment to hit that perfect spongy spot inside you, and all that comes out is a strangled sound. he covers your mouth with his hand, eyes dark with amusement and lust.
"mummy's folding clothes," he lies smoothly. "she'll be out in a minute, go tell daisy t'share."
"don't want to!" your daughter whines, and you can hear her stomping her little feet. "want mommy now!"
"ella." simon's voice drops into what you call his lieutenant voice — gentle but brooking no argument. "go play. we'll be out soon."
there's a moment of silence, then you hear her stomp away muttering about simon being unfair. the second she's gone, simon removes his hand from your mouth.
"such a good girl," he praises, but you're not sure if he means you or ella. "keeping quiet while i fuck you senseless. though i bet y’wanted to scream, didn't you?"
"simon, fuck, please," you gasp, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly fast. the combination of his cock and the thrill of almost getting caught has you on edge. "i'm gonna-"
"i know, luv. she's fuckin’ squeezin’ me." his thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles. "c'mon then. cum all over my cock before another one starts bangin’ on the door."
as if on cue, you hear your two-year-old calling from somewhere in the house. "mama?"
the use of your married name plus the perfect pressure on your clit sends you over. you bite his shoulder to muffle your cry as you cum all over his cock, whole body shaking with the force of it. he follows right after, groaning low in your ear as he fills you.
"mama!" your toddler's voice is getting closer.
"shit," simon pants, pulling out and quickly fixing his clothes. he helps you down, steadying you when your legs wobble. "y’good?"
"just peachy," you breathe, smoothing down his sweatshirt. you can feel his cum starting to leak and clench your thighs together.
"though i'm going to need to shower before i finish this laundry."
⊹ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐘. ── ⦂ minors are not allowed to interact.
ִ ⟡ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 ˖ dean winchester ⅋ f!reader. ❜ ࿐ ⊹ ׂ
🖊️ ❛ 𓂃 it turns out that his gun has more than just one use. content ♥︎ warnings. gunplay, rough motel sex, impact play, creampie, light bondage, strong language.
dean winchester is a horndog.
it’s no secret. it’s not something he hides. it’s a fundamental, baked-in part of his being, like his love for his car or his questionable taste in music. and you love it. you love the way his eyes darken with a specific kind of hunger that’s reserved just and only for you, the way his hands always seem to find their way to your body, no matter where you are. he loves the idea of doing just about anything with you, and you’re always, always willing to play.
right now, you can’t see the look on his face, but you can feel it. your face is pressed into the cheap motel mattress, the scent of stale fabric and him filling your senses. your hands are pulled tight behind you, his worn leather belt cinching your wrists together, the buckle digging slightly into your skin. he has you on your knees, ass in the air, completely at his mercy.
and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
your ass is on fire, a deep, pleasant throb radiating from the globes of your cheeks. they’re swollen from where he’d been smacking you, his big, rough calloused palm leaving stinging prints that were already turning into bruises. he’d fucked you just as hard, a frantic, desperate rhythm that left you breathless and seeing stars.
he hasn’t pulled out yet, but the motion has stopped. he’s just sitting back on his heels, his weight a comforting pressure on your calves, his cock still buried deep inside you. you can feel yourself clenching around him, your slick walls trying to coax another thrust out of him. your hole is sopping, utterly ruined and dripping his cum down your inner thighs in thick, milky trails.
a low chuckle rumbles through his chest. “look ‘atcha,” he growls, his voice thick with satisfaction. “so sweet and tight. took about every lil’ drop, baby.”
he finally slides out of you, and the sound is obscene, a wet, sloppy noise that makes you whine at the sudden emptiness. you feel a cool draft hit your wet skin. he stays kneeled behind you, and you know he’s just admiring his handiwork. you can picture it perfectly: his cock, slick with your wetness, a perfect white ring of his own cream still clinging to the base of the head. he’s probably got that smug, shit-eating grin on his face.
you feel his fingers tracing the edges of your hole, dipping into the slickness and teasing the swollen, sensitive flesh. he swirls a finger around, making you squirm, your hips twitching.
“still want more, huh?” he murmurs, his voice a low promise. “she’s always been so greedy.”
his fingers disappear, only to be replaced by the sharp, open-palmed smack of his hand right against your dripping cunt. the sound is wet and loud in the quiet room, a sting that has your whole body jolting.
you just groan in response, pushing your ass back towards his hand, a silent plea.
you hear a soft metallic scrape, the sound of him reaching for something on the nightstand. you assume he’s just grabbing the lube for another round, but when he comes back, what presses against you isn’t his fingers or his cock.
it’s the cool, heavy press of metal.
it’s his gun. the norinco 1911A1. the one he babies same as the impala. the one that’s always on him wherever he goes, a permanent fixture tucked into the back of his worn jeans. dean presses the tip of the barrel right against your dripping slit, the cold a stark, shocking contrast to the heat of your body.
a soft, surprised choked mewl escapes your lips. your hips jerk.
“shhh,” he whispers, his voice right by your ear. “hold still.”
he uses the barrel to nudge your folds apart, the metal sliding through your slickness. then, slowly, deliberately, he slides it in.
you let out a loud, shuddering moan. the feeling is insane. the cold steel slipping inside your hot, tight core, the weight of it, the smooth, unyielding texture. it’s wrong and dangerous and so, so, so right. he pushes it in slowly, the barrel gliding deep inside you until the front sight is pressing against your g-spot.
he didn’t put the safety on. you know he didn’t. he likes the risk, the sharp, thrilling edge of danger that makes everything feel more real, much more intense. when you started dating dean, you learned that risk wasn’t just a part of his job; it was a part of him, and it bled into everything, especially the bedroom. you didn’t just accept it; you craved it just as much as he did.
“feel good, don’t it?” he asks, his voice a low rasp.
you can only nod, your face still mashed into the pillow, your body trembling.
he takes that as his cue. he grips the handle of the gun and starts fucking you with it, his movements slow at first, pushing the barrel in and out of your tight, wet cunt. the cool metal slides against your hot inner walls, a friction that’s completely alien and unbelievably good. you start to bounce back on it, meeting his thrusts, your own hips moving in a desperate rhythm.
the sight of it turning him on.
a strangled groan rips from his throat. you hear the frantic, slick sound of his hand wrapping around his own cock. he’s watching you. watching his gun disappear inside of you, watching you ride it, watching his cum drip from your overused hole. he starts jerking off, his pace rough and frantic, his breaths coming in harsh, ragged pants.
he’s fucking you with his gun and fucking himself with his hand, and the sheer, filthy depravity of it all sends you hurtling over the edge. your orgasm hits you like a lightning strike, a violent, all-consuming wave that makes your whole body seize, your inner walls clenching hard around the cold steel buried inside you.
your scream is muffled by the mattress, but dean hears it, and it’s all he needs to tip him over to the edge. his body locks up, a sharp curse bitten off as he cums hard, his hot seed spilling over his stomach and onto the sheets, just as your limbs give up, a trembling, satisfied mess.
18+ MDNI can't get enough of you :: simon riley x fem!reader
simon can't get his hands off you. no matter where you are, at home or in public. and once you're in his grasp, there's no escape. not that you ever want to escape.
whenever you're in his vicinity, his eyes are fixed on you, paying no attention to whatever the hell is happening on the telly or the constant yapping of your friends, no matter how much they yell for him to listen.
his eyes follow your every move, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, with only one thing on his mind; how to get you alone and all to himself.
you're at home, wearing only his shirt and a pair of cute panties, greeting him in the morning with your bed head and puffy face still laced with sleep. you'd think nothing of it but he's done for.
"goddamit, woman. wha' are ya tryin' to do?" he says as a feral need takes over him. he pulls you in his lap, strong arms wrapping tightly around you. no chance to escape. "simon!" you squeak, giggling in your hands.
his lips crash onto yours, stealing your breath in an instant, large hands roaming your body under the shirt, breathing "god, you're so fuckin' hot, love." while squeezing every piece of flesh he can find, guiding you to lay back on the couch, getting in between your legs and humping his growing bulge onto your core. "gotta have you, love. please." simon begs desperately as you try to catch your breath.
and with only a nod, he's taken his hard drooling cock out of his pants and pulled your panties to the side, before impatiently plunging himself inside your tight hole, letting out a sigh of relief into your neck.
he holds you so tight while setting a rapid pace, giving you no time to adjust as you whine and writhe beneath him. he's thrusting with such force and determination you'd think your body is on fire, thick mean cock stretching you so wide and repeatedly punching your cervix you lose your mind entirely.
his hulking body pressing you further into the cushions, hot breath fanning into your neck as he lets out breathy groans beside your ear, using your body to relieve himself.
on nights out with friends at the pub, simon holds you flush against him, hand pressed onto your waist as thoughts of how to ruin you take over his mind.
he can't take it anymore, the bulge in his pants growing by the second, painful and desperate. he needs to have you, feel your body against him. he needs to see your pretty pussy dripping for him as he stretches you out on his fat cock, feel your soft warm walls wrapped around him in a vise.
he breaks the conversation abruptly without a care for the confused looks he's getting.
he pulls you into the bathroom and bends you over the sink, bunching up your dress around your waist before yanking away your skimpy panties, making you gasp and complain about how expensive it was. "shut up. i'll buy you another one."
and with no warning, he shoves his cock into your needy cunt, gripping your hips tightly and slamming into you mercilessly, sending you into a state of feverish ecstasy as you chant his name, loud moans punctuated by each vigorous thrust leaking out the door and reaching the ears of every passerby.
- summary : after dating sam for a while, during your first time with him, he's surprised when he finds out how dirty you can talk. divs by toastray wc 2.1k
cw heavy makeout, dry humping, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, pet names "baby", brief descriptions of male anatomy, creampie, breeding kink if you squint, aftercare, sweet sam
sam was never the hookup type. after jess it took him a while to even think about kissing someone else.
he became good at burying it, until he met you. it was passing thoughts he pushed down until the only option was his hand helping him out.
besides all the joy and love you show him, dating you has brought back those feelings he's been repressing. sam was always fine being patient, but with how you look, it's been hard.
he's so attracted to you, in a way he hasn't felt in a long time. he wasn't ever pushy, excusing himself to the bathroom, thinking of your mouth around his cock instead of his hand. shooting spurts of cum down the shower, as his neediness washed away.
it would work for now, even if he dreamed of more. hunting alongside dean and sam didn't make your relationship easy, you didn't have much time to just the two of you.
but today was different, you woke up with a mission. dean would be gone, went to see a movie he's been talking about all month. that left you and sam.
sam woke up earlier than you as usual, comfortable in his grey t-shirt and jeans incase he needed to step out, while you stayed in your pjs.
before your boyfriend could put himself to work, submitting himself to scanning all news outlets for the next case, you crawled into his lap. he was reading a book on the dingy motel bed, denim covered legs taking up all the space.
his chin tilted up as you settled in his lap. "hi." you spoke softly, eyes shining as you admired the pretty man infront of you.
"hi." he smiled, putting the book on the table beside him.
"you look good." you said, hand moving to stroke his shoulder. he seemed surprised, he was used to you complimenting him, but this felt very different.
"you too." he muttered shyly, a soft pink spreading across his cheeks. his hands moved cautiously to settle on your hips, you leaned in then.
your lips crashed into his softly, he made a cute noise, his hands tightening around the fabric of your sleep shorts. you hummed against his mouth, hand reaching to rest on his neck as you kissed him deeper.
he groaned, tongue swiping against your bottom lip before you opened your mouth wider. you felt him hardening against you, pressing right where you needed him most.
you moaned as you kissed him sloppily, sucking on his tongue when he let you. his breathing was unsteady before you started rocking. sam sighed happily, breaking the kiss to watch you.
his lips were parted and swollen. a perfect shade of pink, and his hazel eyes glistening as he took in your figure. braless under your regular sleep shirt, and your shorts riding up as you moved.
"so pretty." he breathed, hand moving to hold your waist, leaning in to kiss your neck. you let out a groan, letting your fingers tangle in his hair.
you could hear the noises as he sucked soft marks on your skin, air fanning while he breathed out his nose.
you moved faster, more desperate, definitely soaking your shorts. he had to be fully hard now, he felt so big. he groaned against your collarbone.
"fuck sam." you whined, the grind against him bringing you closer to the edge along with his noises.
he looked up at you, he was truly a sight, hair tousled, eyes dilated with lust, soft lips begging to be kissed.
you caught his lips in yours again, fully stopping your movements. his hands roamed your body, squeezing your breast softly, happy when you moaned into his mouth.
you left a few parting kisses before pulling away. the room felt hot, the fabric between you not helping the heat coursing inside you both.
"sam," you spoke, hands moving to the hem of his shirt "let's get these clothes off hm?"
his eyebrows shot up, "are you sure?" eyes pleading for reassurance, he's fantasied about this moment countless times but never imagined it'd feel this perfect.
you nodded, "i'm sure." admiring the man in front of you, perfect in both personality and appearance, always making sure you were okay no matter what.
he smiled, letting your hands pull his shirt over his head. he was built, softly tanned skin and toned abs, moles scattered across his stomach.
you looked back up at him, his eyes already on you, full of love & lust. his hands reached for your shirt before pausing, waiting for your nod of approval before pulling it off.
your breasts fell free, his eyes following your body. "god." he swallowed, adam's apple bobbing while his thumb stroked your thigh. "you're so beautiful."
you felt flushed, head turning to the side to laugh "don't make me nervous.." he chuckled, looking down before apologizing.
you laughed again, moving off him to pull your shorts & panties down. sam unbuckled his jeans at the same time, zipper opening as he slid his pants and boxers off.
you could feel his eyes on you, all clothes tossed beside the bed before you looked at him. "you're perfect y'know that?" he smiled, cheeks flushed pink as he spoke.
you returned a soft grin, "could say the same to you" you let your eyes scan his body, your throat drying up at the sight of his cock.
he was bigger than any guy you've slept with, twitching against his stomach, precum dripping down his blushed tip.
the sound of his laugh took you out of your daze, "now you're gonna make me nervous." he joked, doing that awkward smile he does.
"sorry.." you shook your head, frowning with a tender look on your face before settling back on top of him. your knees bracketed his thighs, heart beating fast in your chest.
he watched you carefully, checking for any signs of discomfort, he wouldn't find any. you were right where you wanted to be.
"by the way i'm on the pill, we don't have to use the condom unless you want to?" you spoke hesitantly, eyebrows creasing as you looked up at him.
his eyes dilated further, mouth parting before he spoke "that's fine with me, only if you're comfortable–i haven't been with anyone in a long time."
you smiled at him, heart full with your love for the man "i haven't been with anyone else either." he looked at you like you hung the damn moon, watching as your hand moved to grip him.
up close it was even prettier, twitching in your hand, slight curve to it, vein up the middle with good girth and length–god he was pretty everywhere.
you gave it few strokes before rubbing it between your folds, coating it in your wetness before pushing it in. you braced both hands on his chest, watching his stomach tense before seeing his face.
his mouth was wide open, cute tongue prodding out, watching you sink down on him. you grinned before sighing. he was stretching you out, it felt new yet pleasant.
you both moaned as you bottomed out, skin to skin, his hands moved to grip the plush of your waist.
"you're so tight." he groaned, head falling back. you let out a shaky breath before grinding against him, your eyes rolled back. "fuck sam."
he grunted roughly, thrusting up to meet your grinds, fingers making small indents in your skin. "you feel so perfect–keep going baby."
you listened, moving faster, whines spilling out your parted lips. "fuck–you're so deep, stretching me out so good."
he almost choked–taken completely aback by your words. "shit.. your mouth," he almost whimpered, eyes shut as his lips stayed parted.
you felt him throb inside you, it was taking everything in him not to cum right there. "didn't know you could talk like that."
you flushed, still making small movements, hands steady on his stomach. "sorry–it slips out.." you said breathy, almost embarrassed before he spoke.
he twitched inside you again, hips still meeting yours, "don't–fuck, don't be, drivin' me crazy."
you smirked, growing a confidence before getting closer to his ear. "yeah? like it when i tell you how good you feel? how big you are? i think i feel it in my stomach sam." you whined, feeling him rut into you harder.
"god–that's so fucking hot." he groaned, you smiled in response, pulling back to kiss him, hands holding his face, speeding up your drags along his cock.
he was a whiny mess, hands traveling to your stomach, gripping at any part of you. he wanted to be all over you, his mouth trailing down your neck and breasts.
you sighed, hand moving to grip his messy hair. you changed between small grinds and circles against him, the friction bringing you closer and closer.
in the next moment he held your waist tighter, quickly turning you over without pulling out. your mouth fell open in a high moan at the position change.
"shit–look at you.." he moved slow, eyes scanning over you, his hands passing over your stomach, noticing a bulge outline on your pretty skin. "feel that? how deep i am?"
you whined, eyes shut at the lewdness of this man's voice. "sam," you breathed "fuck–yes i feel it."
he thrusted slower, almost reverent, soft sounds of skin slapping echoing along with the squeakiness of the cheap bed.
"say that again, wanna hear you." he groaned, he was practically mumbling at this point, completely drunk off you, hands gripping your supple skin.
"feel it s' deep, you fuck me so good baby." your back arched as he sped up, hitting your g spot perfectly, string of moans falling from both your lips.
"you're so good for me." he babbled, leaning in to kiss you. it was wet and hungry, faint taste of coffee on his tongue, his pace struggling not to falter while his mouth stayed on yours.
his head trailed down your body, leaving hot open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone and breasts, smoothing over the blooming marks from earlier.
one hand of yours was gripping the sheets, the other on his neck, it felt like pure bliss. the drag of his cock along your fluttering walls was heaven-like.
he groaned against your skin, feeling how you clenched harder. "fuck, gonna cum–where do you," he gritted before you interrupted,
"inside, come in me please." you begged, hearing him make a noise too similar to a whimper, his thrusts uneven and speeding up as he chased his high.
his head was buried in your neck, hair brushing your cheek as more moans fell out his lips cracked and high pitched.
your wetness coated his thighs, squelching heard throughout the room and maybe the neighbors too.
"fuck!" he gasped, his hips stuttered, once, twice before burying himself at the hilt. his cock throbbed as he spilled into you, perfect white ring around his base.
the pressure brought you completely over the edge, "ah, sam!" your hands gripped him closer, arching off the bed, eyes rolling and shutting at the same time.
he moved slowly against you, helping you ride out both your orgasms. he watched where your bodies connected, the urge to push his spend back in was strong.
he sighed happily, sweat covered skin glowing in the light. your chest heaved as you came down from your high, head still thrown back and eyes struggling to open.
he pulled out with a hiss, fingers near your warmth as he watched his cum leak out of you. "fuck.." he dragged out, eyes glistening while he gaped. you couldn't help but throb at the sight, his abdomen tensing and his softening cock twitching as he looked at you.
he snapped out of his daze, looking at your pretty, but fucked out face, hand coming up to rest on your cheek. "you look so beautiful, did so good f'me." he sighed, toothy smile making your heart ache.
you held yourself up with your elbows, noticing his eyes fall to your breasts quickly as you breathed heavily.
"god, you're telling me i'm gonna get that all the time? that was the best sex i've ever had." you laughed airily, shaking your head, thinking about what you just experienced.
he huffed, soft grin tugging at his lips. "i feel the same way." he stroked your cheek before getting up, grabbing a towel to wipe you up, even though the sheets were another story.
he was gentle, knowing you were still sensitive, smile never faltering as he cleaned you.
"thank you, givin' me the special treatment here." you joked, nervously scratching your neck while you watched him. he looked up at you, eyes filled with much adoration.
"you deserve every bit of it, i'll do it any time." he spoke so gentle, a tone that showed he would do anything for you. this was the first time of many, and you both were looking forward to that.
NOTES : beau arlen is your father's best friend and is asleep in the guest room all alone, just ripe for the taking.
WARNINGS : female reader-insert (no y/n) age gap, dad's best friend! beau arlen, dub con, male oral, waking him up with oral, cunnilingus, panties to the side, praise, sixty-nine position, overstimulation at the end.
CONFIDENTIAL MATERIAL ── 18+ ONLY.
beau arlen lay sprawled on his back in the guest bedroom bed, the thin sheet barely covering his hips. his breathing was deep and even in sleep. you slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind you, and crept to the foot of the bed. the room smelled like him; soap, faint cologne, and warm skin.
you lifted the sheet slowly and crawled beneath it. his cock lay soft and heavy against his thigh. you leaned in, pressing your nose to the base first, inhaling the rich, musky scent of him. then you gave the head the softest kitten lick, just the tip of your tongue tracing the slit. another lick followed, slow and delicate, tasting the salt already beading there. you kept going with those light, teasing strokes, feeling him twitch and start to swell against your lips.
beau stirred. a low groan rumbled out of his chest. his hips shifted. another moan followed, deeper this time, as his cock hardened fully under your tongue. the sheet rustled when he lifted it. his eyes opened, heavy-lidded, and he looked down to see you between his legs, mouth wrapped around him.
“fuck, pretty girl,” he rasped, voice still rough with sleep. “you having fun down there? choking on this old man’s cock?”
you hummed around his length, the vibration making his thighs tense. you didn’t stop. you kept sucking, taking him deeper, your tongue swirling over the head with every slow bob of your head. beau’s hand slid into your hair, not pushing, just resting there, fingers tightening when you swallowed around him.
“jesus,” he breathed, watching you with dark, hungry eyes. “that’s it, baby. keep going just like that.”
beau’s gaze dropped lower, the corner of his mouth curving into a lazy, knowing smirk. “bet your pretty panties are all wet, yeah?” his voice stayed low and rough. “come here. let me see, baby.”
you crawled up his body on shaky arms, leaning in for a kiss, but his hands caught your hips instead. he dragged you forward without warning, pulling you straight over his face until your knees settled on either side of his head. the thin cotton of your panties clung to your folds, soaked through and nearly transparent, the dark patch spreading wider as you hovered above him.
beau groaned at the sight. he hooked one finger under the crotch of your panties and tugged them aside, exposing your slick pussy. his tongue dragged a slow, heavy stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting how wet you already were. you gasped, hips jerking, but his grip tightened, holding you down so you had no choice but to grind against his mouth.
a broken whine slipped out of you. beau’s free hand slid up your stomach, over your chest, until his palm covered your mouth completely. his voice vibrated right against your clit as he spoke into your dripping cunt.
“don’t be too loud, sweetie. atta girl. be nice and quiet for me. you can do that, can’t you, pretty girl?”
his tongue pushed inside you, fucking you with slow, deliberate strokes while his nose pressed against your clit. every time another needy sound tried to escape, his hand pressed firmer over your lips, muffling you. your thighs trembled around his head, cotton panties stretched to the side, soaked and useless as he licked and sucked at your pussy like he had all night to keep you right there.
beau’s tongue kept working between your legs, slow and deliberate, when you twisted around on his face. your knees stayed planted on either side of his head while you stretched forward, lining your mouth up with his cock. the second your lips wrapped around the thick head, he groaned right into your soaked pussy, the vibration shooting straight through you.
you sank lower, taking more of him, sucking wet and eager while your hips rocked down against his mouth. his tongue pushed deeper, licking broad stripes through your folds before circling your clit again. every time you moaned around his shaft, the sound came out muffled and broken, your throat vibrating against him.
beau’s hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider so he could bury his face completely. one palm slid up your spine and pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned down on his cock. your soft cotton panties stayed shoved to the side, soaked and clinging to one thigh as you humped his tongue, grinding harder every time he sucked on your clit.
you bobbed your head faster, drool running down his length while you tried to stay quiet. his cock filled your mouth, hot and heavy, twitching against your tongue with every sloppy suck. beau muttered into your dripping cunt, voice low and rough, “that’s it, baby. keep sucking. don’t stop.”
your thighs shook around his head. you kept riding his face, hips rolling in messy circles while you choked yourself on his cock, the wet sounds of your mouth mixing with the filthy noises coming from between your legs. you can't help but clench around his tongue when he finally cums in your mouth, hips thrusting into your warm, wet mouth.
finally, you both slow down and let out breathless laughs into the silence of the sex scented room.
"im so fucked.." beau mutters into your pussy as his tongue starts to lap up the rest of your cum.
one last fuck, to be more exact, between you and vacation!price before the world and callings from home forced you back into the unforgiving grips reality… work and grocery shopping and paying bills. all the things john swears he would very much pay someone else to do for you while he’s paused mid-thrust. belly rising and falling against your back as he huffs out the gruff promises. flexing himself inside you at the same time he grabs for handfuls of your sides. palms hungry.
a thick sound grunts out of you when john collapses on top of you, his cock slicks the remaning veined legnth inside you. you curse, eyes trying not to roll when the man readjusts, somehow sinking himself deeper, head nudging against a place that warms you well past the capabilities of the setting sun.
“oh, my g-god.” you gasp. and then gasp again, reaching but failing to grab onto something as his beard drags along the skin of your shoulder.
“i mean it, dove. give y’anything ya like. get ya set up real nice. a house. dog. whatever you want… jus’ come home with me.” john’s vows come out low, just at the shell of your ear. in between each sentence, a long, dragged-out drive of his hips. always concluded with a smacking of his sack, heavy with need, and a squeezing of john’s embrace around your shivering, sweaty figure. he’s holding you like you’re already his. as if you’ve already agreed to leaving all you know by replacing it with him. john fucks you the same way, raw and sticky skin and to pattern of silent claims. “and just think… we can do this every night, ’n then some. keep y’nice ’n full. drunk on me, yeah?”
with blurred vision, you mumble and nod. drunk on him. drunk on the way he’s fucking you from behind, smushing you under him. drunk on the very recent memory of how you sucked him until he painted your mouth, then the feeling of his fingers swiping against your swollen lips to rub in the thick seed. drunk on the pants at your ear and the cream you can feel forming a ring at the base of john’s cock. drunk on the possibility of feeling like this again and again.
tears in your eyes, you clench at the building of hot pressure that has you barely able to breathe. john’s really taking you now. less rambly and more focused, hips striking your ass, pumping inside you with deep desperation. he’s got you pinned and closer enough to wail at how his weight won’t let you do anything but take it.
“ah… f-fuck. go-gonna come again… i–john…” your croaks tug a smirk at the man's lips.
“s'alright. go ‘head ’n come if it’s a yes, dove.”
with a croak, you gush and cry around john, who’s already wondering what color to paint the bedroom.
summary you unknowingly cling to dean in your sleep!
content gn!reader, unestablished relationship, only one bed! dean is very in love and would like to share a bed with you every night forever. heaps of soft cuddling and sleepiness! use of sweetheart and angel.
masterlist ; requested
Dean is hot under the covers, because he had the decency to sleep in sweats instead of just boxers, and your fingertips are soft where they graze his bicep. The touch sends his arm thrumming. He's only sharing this knotted mattress since you'd been so insistent about him not taking the couch.
"Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart. C'mon. We can share."
And he loves you. Moderately or too much, he isn't sure, but enough to unfurl a sweet, figgy maroon over his cheeks when you look at him and smile pearled. He simply wasn't going to let you shift all night on those old, stained cushions while he took the bed.
You've been snoring. His lashes are mussed and the motel is dark, but with a faint sliver of gaudy streetlight from the window he can make out the curve of your cheek and parted lips. Another gentle purr falls from them. He finds himself wanting to press deep into the sound.
It's endearing and lovely and you'd be embarrassed.
He's staring. Is he a creep? So much drowsy, besotted fuzz has roiled his mind, he can't consider it for very long, but decides that he isn't. How could this one and only pure, tender thing he feels make him creepy? Doesn't seem right at all.
Your knee bumps his upper thigh and lazily cascades down to his knee until they both meet. Dean can't breathe; doesn't let himself, has to remain very still, though resisting to indulge is asking a lot from somebody this fond of you.
He whispers your name, and everything is quiet besides your unconscious rustling of sheets.
You're gravitating to his body. Delicate fingers mold the slope of his shoulder and trail lazily up until they reach the honeyed hair at the back of his neck, his skin pricks tiny bumps. Green eyes wide and wider when your face comes to his, nose so close.
He'd like to peck a kiss there. You're sleep-soft and pretty.
"Angel," he murmurs, knowing you aren't listening, and settles his hand onto the plush of your waist with such bravery. Your breath fans the subtle dip of his cupid's bow.
If given the chance to slow this forever, Dean would. Doesn't protest when your arms cling and cross over his back, squeezing tight. You pull him towards the crook of your neck and he follows obediently, allowing himself to meld and sniff and sink.
In the morning, he stirs more refreshed than he's ever been, needles in his heart as he sits and slides from the blankets, and doesn't mention anything when you blink awake.
wrote this at two in the morning i offer a big apology if that is obvious <3
Leon’s hands have choked. They’ve stabbed. They’ve skinned. They’ve killed creatures you couldn’t conjure up in the deepest, darkest vaults of your imagination. And yet, they touch you with nothing less than tender, loving care.
His fingers swipe up and down your back, his nails catching all the right places, so feather-light it almost tickles. That’s where this little ritual got its name from.
“More tickles,” you whimper, shifting onto your front to give him a better angle.
It’s annoying as hell, the way you squeal and beg for his hands to scratch your back, your thighs, up and down the length of your arms, even your ties (?).
Five more minutes!
Yet it’s the thing he craves the most while he’s out on missions in the middle of who knows where, caked in dirt and blood and substances he doesn’t even want to give a name.
His hands constantly ache to touch your skin, almost as much as they ache when he does.
“My hands are tired,” he says, his nails retreating.
You glance over at him, puckering your lips into a pout. “Just until I fall asleep?”
His dark brows furrow. “That could be thirty minutes from now.”
“Okay, one more minute, then,” you negotiate. It’s not a question. Leon rolls his eyes, gesturing for you to lie back down.
You’re oh-so pretty, and he has the forethought to imagine what it’ll be like next week, when he’s been shipped out on another assignment, the tips of his fingers only knowing the cold, hard trigger of his gun, the stem of his blade. In that moment, he’ll be wishing he was right back here, in bed, touching you.
Tired hands, be damned.
“Fine.” He chuckles, relenting, brushing your hair from the nape of your neck. “Five more minutes.”
(one day, I'm gonna remember to put the taglist in BEFORE I publish)
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks into your mouth, mid-kiss, although he can read your mind. Perhaps he’s reading your body language instead, the way your shoulders tense, your lungs expanding to full volume, how your fingers tremble as you unbutton his shirt. But none of those physical manifestations of anxiety can eclipse the pure, unadulterated need in your stomach, far beyond the innocent flutters of butterfly wings at first blush. This feeling–the flame across your cheeks, the throb between your legs–it’s something utterly sinful. There’s nothing sweet about it.
“I’m sure, Leon,” you say, the words carried from your throat on the back of a hitched breath. How unconvincing.
Then, to make things worse, you pull back. Why did you pull back?
“Everything alright?” He asks, already high off the taste of your mouth, forcing himself from his euphoria to check in with you, though there’s nothing he wants more in this moment than to rip the cloth from your body and ravish everything that was beneath it.
You swallow hard, a nest of fear and guilt caught in your throat, scratching the gummy sides of your esophagus on the way down. “Don’t freak out, okay?”
Leon can’t help but let his eyes go wide. His mind travels to dark places in the beat of silence between you. “What is it?”
Maybe you don’t tell him. You still have time. Act coy and coquettish, write your hesitation off as flirtation when he asks why you pulled away. Still, looking into his eyes, all large and fawn-like, and filled to the brim with such care you’d be an ass to keep anything from someone so understanding and willing to listen, especially something as important as this. He deserves to know, like he deserves to have all of you.
“I’ve never done this before. Ever.”
His brows furrow. “What?” Then, as if you can see the cogs turning through a window in his forehead, you watch him put the pieces together, nodding at his conclusion. “Sex?”
“Mhm.” You cut your eyes, unable to meet his. “Sorry.” The apology quickly slips from your lips, a formality you’ve taken upon yourself more than bending under the pressure. It’s not as though you’re embarrassed or ashamed, but it seems like something to say at the moment.
“Hey, look at me. No need to apologize,” he promises, crooking a finger under your chin to direct your gaze back to him.
“I haven’t scared you off?”
“Honey,” he says with a laugh as if you just told him the sky is green. “It takes a lot more than that to scare me.” And you know he’s not lying. “But–”
“You don’t want it?”
The tension in his brows melts, and he tilts his head as though personally offended by your assumption. “That’s not true, and you know it.” He grabs your face in his hands, dipping his chin to give you a sweet peck on the forehead. “I just want to make sure it’s something you want. Is it?”
You nod against his lips, then he pulls away, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.
“Can I hear you answer in that pretty voice of yours?”
“Yes. Yes, Leon, I want it.”
He smiles with a little bit of tooth. “Good.”
“Deep breath. Come on, deep breath.”
You inhale, pushing your lungs to their full capacity, savoring the scent of Leon’s skin: musk and clove, black pepper, and that specific smell attached to men who don’t try too hard to smell good but it seems to be embedded in their DNA.
“That’s it. One more time. Just relax.”
Another inhale. This time, you feel your hips melt a little further into the mattress, your head dizzying as though you took a hit of a joint or sipped on a glass of wine. A good, deep breath is a drug in and of its own.
“There you go,” he coos, pumping himself in his fist. You try not to look, already intimidated by the sheer size of him. Not too thick but, boy, is he long. And pretty. With a pink head, already weeping with a bead of anticipation, and a few sprawling veins that crawl up and down the length. “Don’t be scared. It’s okay. I’m here.”
He could make you kill a man if he asked you in that voice.
From above, his eyes are affixed to yours as he awaits your signal. “You ready?”
You nod. “Yes. Please.” Parting your legs just a bit more to accommodate the width of his hips between them, you allow the head to glide up and down your pussy, waiting teasingly at your seam.
He chuckles lightly at your plea, manually lining himself up with your hole, already sopping wet from the work of his tongue. Then, he enters you. One inch at a time until he’s half-way there, another promise. The stretch is something you could never imagine on your own without experiencing it once or twice. It burns. Like that time when you were a kid and fell off your bike, knees scratched and gouged. And it stings.
You hiss through gritted teeth, immediately regretting it once Leon’s hips stop moving, and he’s caught, half-way inside.
“Shit,” he curses under his breath, looking down at you. Strands of icy blonde hair hang down like curtains, the tips tickling your forehead. “You okay?”
Biting down on your lower lip, you nod. “Yes, keep going.”
He doesn’t. One hand comes to cup your cheek, the other smoothing your hair down the side of your head, his weight still resting on his elbows, dug into the mattress top. “If you want to stop, just tell me, okay?” He would really hate that, though. You’re so tight around him, squeezing his cock to the point he’s unsure if it’d let him go. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Leon plunges the fullness of his length inside you, causing you to cry out like a wounded animal on the forest floor, or a future piece of roadkill on the side of the highway.
“You’re doing such a good job. Keep breathing for me. Just relax.”
He goes slow at first, warming you up, waiting for the signals that your pain has melted into pleasure. Once he hears your cries turn into gasping moans, he picks up the pace, hips slapping against your pelvic bone, the sloppy, wet sound like a cheer from the sidelines of a race.
“That’s it,” he coos in your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. “You’re taking me so good.” The praise is punctuated by a whimper of his own. “Doin’ so good for me, baby.”
You dig your fingernails into the meat of his shoulders, tethering yourself to him, sure the movement could saw you into the mattress if you didn’t hold on to something. His chest begins to beat against yours, his heart thumping through his pec, the beat matching the rhythm of his thrusts
“You feel me stretching you? That feels good, huh?”
Not sure what to say, worried you’ll make a joke or something just as stupid, you nod quietly, drinking in the sounds of his pleasure, each moan and yelp from him adding to your own. It does feel good. Not quite the screaming, crying type of ‘feels good’, the kind of euphoric pleasure he inflicts on you when he eats you out, but it has the potential to be.
He tries so hard to elongate the act–it’s your first time after all. That’s the least he could do.
But that all too familiar tension grows in his abdomen, the muscles there contracting and releasing at an erratic pace, and his cock begins to throb as he continues plowing into your pussy. Your pretty, wet pussy–fuck–he’s gone.
Not even two whole minutes and he’s already finishing inside you, seizing and thrashing as he releases his pleasure. For a man who wasn’t, at all, inexperienced, one would think it was his first time.
summary: your dad hosts the neighbourhood Fourth of July get-together every year, and every year, his best friend, Beau Arlen, is there. After Beau meets your new boyfriend and realizes you deserve better, he wants to make sure you know it.
♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, outdoor sex, angst, taboo-ish relationship, lotsss of pet names, unprotected sex, nothing rlly kinky or freaky, no mentions of y/n, reader insert, everyone is 20+.
.ᐟ.ᐟ : i just love beau i'm sorry | i have more fics of him posted now! Check them out <3
The Fourth of July, the damn biggest event in your neighbourhood, and your dad was the one who hosted it every time.
Families gathered in your backyard, kids running around, neighbourhood moms bringing their homemade goods, and all you had to do was sit back, smile, and tell the silly stories about college. It was pretty easy, and your boyfriend sitting beside you made it easier.
You’re sitting at one of the tables scattered around the yard, giggling to your boyfriend about something, his hand on your thigh, rubbing where the edge of your denim shorts stops. You met him in college, and he’s currently the talk of every grandma who comes by you, immediately accusing the young guy of being your future husband.
Yeah, right.
Your dad stands by the grill, quietly cursing to himself, and it catches your attention; he’s messing around with the propane tank beneath it, mumbling something about being out. He’s clearly stressed out; the entire neighbourhood’s stomach depended on him serving something.
Slipping off the lawn chair, you hurry to your dad’s side, and he turns to you.
“Dad, what’s going on?” you ask, eyes glancing at his struggle, then back at the kids behind you, asking their parents when the food will be done.
“Left the new friggin’ propane tank in the garage,” he groans, peeking up at you through a wrinkled brow. “You don’t mind grabbin’ it, do you, honey?” he asks, giving you a nervous-needy smile.
“No–no, I don’t mind,” you mumble, shaking your head and glancing at your boyfriend, who should be the one grabbing it, but he acts like he doesn’t notice. You roll your eyes.
You bypass the parents and kids, go through the side gate of the house, and head to the front yard, then to the garage.
“Kiddo,” a familiar, deep voice drawls behind you, and you quickly turn around, seeing him, in all his stupid cowboy glory; Beau Arlen.
He stands in your driveway, a grin curling at his lips, his beard untrimmed and unforgiving, his green eyes roving over your body, his hair messy, strands falling over his forehead. How the hell has this man babysat you before?
“Sheriff Arlen,” you say in disbelief, not having seen him in about three years, and his grin widens.
“C’mon,” he laughs with a shake of his head, taking long strides towards you. “You use’ta call me Uncle Beau, and now I’m Sheriff Arlen?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
“It’s–it’s just been so long,” you stutter, shaking your head as he approaches. “Like… not since I went off to college, type of long,” you laugh, finally smiling.
“And ya’ missed me that entire time, yeah?” he teases, lifting his hand to ruffle your hair. “C’mon, give me a hug,” he says, not even offering; he just opens his arms, and you naturally find your way into his.
It’s not the same as when you were twelve, and he hugged you to calm you down after you fell off your bike.
He’s all firm and muscular now, warm and thick, his cologne wrapping you up just like his arms, and his large hands rest against your back, pressing into the white cotton of your shirt. It’s a longer hug than usual, gently squeezing your frame.
“Cannot believe the size of ya’,” he says, looking you up and down. “Remember when you were jus’ a little thing, could fit in my arms,” he shakes his head, looking back at your height.
“Yeah.. yeah, it’s been a while,” you agree, shyly backing up, and he adjusts his belt with one hand.
“Your daddy givin’ you trouble?” Beau asks, his grin still stuck on his face. “Even when you were off at college, still pissin’ me right off, callin’ me over and all that,” he laughs, briefly wetting his lips with his tongue.
“No… no, he’s been fine, everything has been fine,” you nod, and he huffs, resting his hands against his hips.
“Good… I’m glad,” he agrees, looking past you at the open garage. “Need help with somethin’, darlin’?” he asks, noticing you’re not in the backyard with everyone else having a good time.
“What on earth is taking you so long?” your dad suddenly blurts, stepping into the front yard to see you and Beau standing there, and he instantly drops the dad-mode he shifted into.
“Beau, finally, thought you were skippin’ this year,” your dad laughs loudly, instantly forgetting the conversation, leaving you to stand awkwardly there. You ignore the propane tank completely and walk back into the backyard to find your boyfriend again.
“Hey, babe,” your boyfriend grins as you return, and you cringe at the silly pet, giving him a small smile. “You mind if we leave before… like eight?” he shrugs, looking beside him as you sit down.
“Fireworks don’t even start until nine?” You furrow your eyebrows, staring at his boyish features twisting into an obnoxious glare.
“You wanna watch fireworks?” he laughs in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. “We have my car, babe… you know… maybe,” he teases, reaching over to pinch your waist, and you shift away, rolling your eyes.
“In your dreams,” you groan, crossing your arms, looking away, and sighing.
You watch as Beau enters the backyard; all broad and smiling, his strong hands carrying the tank. You swear you’ve never seen him this way, but it’s hard not to when everyone around him is fawning over him, and his jeans fit him a little too well. You look away when you notice him approaching.
“Beau,” you say softly when he reaches you and your boyfriend, and he glances between the two of you, suddenly eyeing the young man instead of you.
“And who’s this?” he drawls, his southern accent heavy.
“My boyfriend,” you nod, looking to him; he’s busy doing something on his phone, ignoring the Sheriff’s hand that’s currently hanging in the air, waiting for your boyfriend to shake it.
God, you want to crawl into a hole.
“Seems like a gentleman,” Beau says sarcastically, turning to you, and that’s when he finally looks up.
“Oh, hey,” your boyfriend mumbles, shoving his phone into his shorts. “You’re her uncle?” he asks, looking back at you.
“Close,” he shrugs, his thumbs resting in his belt as he stares down at the two of you. “She’s like m’daughter, ya’ hear?” he mumbles, and there’s a threat laced into that tone that makes you shift in the plastic chair.
“Yeah… I hear…” your boyfriend mutters, mostly confused, awkwardly looking away from the much taller man, whose eyes do not leave that poor son of a bitch.
“You havin’ fun, sweetheart?” Beau asks, switching his attention to you, and he looks at your shy body, curling into itself in the chair.
“Yeah,” you mumble with an unenthusiastic nod, and he knows you well, so he purses his lips.
“Why don’t ya’ come with me? I’ll make you somethin’ to eat,” he offers, waving you over, and you look to your boyfriend, who is currently flipping through something on his phone.
You hesitantly nod, but smile the minute Beau grabs your hand. It’s like you’re twelve again.
“Piece o’work, I’ll tell you that, darlin,” Beau mumbles quietly to you, still holding your hand as he walks towards the table filled with food others brought. “That boy… the hell are you thinkin’?”
“Shut up,” you mumble to him, laughing a little, and he grins at the way he’s made you laugh more than your boyfriend ever has.
“No… no, darlin, I’m serious,” he laughs along, stopping in front of the table, and he releases his hand from yours, gently resting it against the back of your arm. “Dumbest decision I’ve seen ya’ make… and I use’ta watch you go barefoot in ponds,” he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.
“He’s better when you get to know him,” you explain as Beau hands you a paper plate, and you reach for one of those sugar cookies that make your teeth rot. “He’s just… shy, awkward,” you defend, shrugging.
“Mmm…” Beau hums, giving you a knowing look as you shuffle down the long table. “We’ll see,” he shrugs, reaching over to add another sugar cookie onto your plate. He knows your taste buds more than you do.
After the two of you finish loading your plates with food, treats, and appetizers, Beau carefully walks you back to the table you were sitting at; two random people have taken the other spots, and your boyfriend stands there idly, realizing there are just two spots left.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened. I left to take a piss, and suddenly they’ve taken up the spots,” your boyfriend rambles on, and Beau cringes internally at the foul words leaving his mouth, and he glances at the disgust curling in your features.
You deserve better, and a mere 10-minute observation tells him everything.
Beau had been there before you could even remember; he was in the audience at your middle school graduation, watching you win award after award, and he even made it to your high school graduation, your GPA as high as ever. He couldn’t have been prouder of you. He braided your hair, tied your shoelaces, wiped your tears when boys picked on you, and now you were grown as ever, with a boy who did not deserve you.
“I got you, kid,” Beau suddenly chimes in, taking a seat in one of the chairs and immediately glaring as your boyfriend awkwardly takes the other.
Unfortunately for the poor kid, it plays into his plan.
You look between him and your boyfriend, suddenly noticing Beau patting his thigh, and your eyes widen.
“C’mon, it’ll be like y’er ten again,” he laughs, and you look at your boyfriend; back on his phone, completely oblivious to Beau asking you to sit on his lap.
You look at Beau, and he’s looking right up at you; those green eyes pour into yours, eyes crinkling in the corner from his gentle smile. You look back at your boyfriend again, then slowly turn around and lower yourself onto Beau’s lap.
“There’s m’girl,” he mumbles happily, leaning back in the plastic chair, one hand holding the plate, the other resting lightly against your hip. This feels a lot different from how it used to.
You glance down at your plate and realize your appetite is mostly gone; the pressure of Beau’s thick thigh between your legs is doing for you more than your boyfriend’s lousy thumb has ever done. You really want to die right now.
Your shaky hands pick at the food on your plate, lifting the sugar cookie to your mouth and taking a slow bite. You glance at your boyfriend, who is either oblivious or simply doesn’t care that you’re sitting on another man's lap. You sigh.
“Ya’ doin’ okay?” Beau draws quietly from behind you, and you turn your head slightly to glance at him; he’s looking right up at you, and the summer breeze stirs the stray strands of his hair that fall against his forehead.
“Yeah… yeah, of course,” you smile nervously, and Beau’s eyebrows furrow as he glances at your mouth.
“Hey, c’mere,” he mumbles, and you look around nervously, laughing at the way he lifts his hand. “Icin’ on your chin,” he explains, his thumb lightly wiping away the red-and-blue mess.
Beau smiles in satisfaction, looking up at you. Maybe he really does see you as the little girl he drove to school, but it’s hard to tell with the way he’s gently rubbing your hip with his free hand.
“Hey,” your boyfriend suddenly mumbles to you, nudging your shoulder, and he grimaces when he realizes the position you’re in; on Beau’s lap, his warm hand holding your hip.
“What?” you ask quietly, trying not to let Beau tune in to the conversation, but he already has a hand gently squeezing the soft skin beneath his palm.
“Too hot out, can we go to your bedroom?” he asks, his tone casual and carefree, glancing back down at his phone. Your cheeks burn red, knowing Beau obviously picked up on his implication.
“No… no, we can’t,” you mumble awkwardly, looking away from your boyfriend, who is huffing dramatically, shaking his head. You feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks, all red and warm.
A silence settles around the table, and you shift on Beau’s thigh, looking down. You make the softest noise when you do, and he lightly taps the waistband of your shorts with his thumb, and you shift again.
Beau looks at you from behind; your hair draped down your back, the white cotton shirt glowing in the warm sun, and he has the strongest urge to slide his hand right up the back of it. He holds back and shifts his hips in the chair, glancing at your dad, who occupies the barbecue.
“Ya’ havin’ fun, kid?” Beau suddenly asks you, and you look behind, seeing those eyes looking right back at you. God.
“Of course,” you say, smiling and nodding.
“I can get ya’ somethin’ to drink if y’er thirsty, or anythin’,” he offers, nodding towards the cooler packed with drinks. He taps your waistband again, watching your expression shift in real time.
“I’m okay,” you practically whisper, and he pats your hip in confirmation.
“Jus’ makin’ sure, baby,” he drawls quietly, and you feel yourself melt onto his thigh, all soft and warm, and it’s not from the July heat.
By the time dinner is finished, the evening has fully settled in; the sun is setting, and it begins to cool down, soft lanterns lighting up the backyard, kids already with sparklers. You’re still on Beau’s lap, the half-eaten plate in front of you, while he chats with another neighbourhood dad, all the while you occupy his thigh.
“Babe, hey,” your boyfriend says, and your eyebrows furrow as he stands up, looking down at you. “Gonna head out now… something going on with my friend,” he lies, gesturing toward the backyard gates.
“What?” you ask in confusion, standing up too, and Beau naturally guides you with two hands, not breaking away from the conversation he’s having with the man beside him. “Fireworks are in like, forty minutes, you said you’d stay.”
“Yeah… but, you know, there’s booze at this party,” he laughs, acting like you’d understand his reason for dipping early; his friends are having a better party, with alcohol.
“Yeah… but you said you’d stay for fireworks, and then you were going to sleep over,” you explain more, shaking your head. “My parents don’t care if you sleep in my bedroom.”
Beau raises an eyebrow, glancing at the two of you as you have a light argument, then returns to talking about the things Sheriffs usually talk about.
“Yeah, like we’ll have sex,” he scoffs, and you grimace at how loud he’s talking.
“Stop,” you mumble through gritted teeth, and he rolls his eyes, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m just saying,” he waves you off, looking around the yard, crossing his arms.
“Fine, then go,” you say, dismissing him, not wanting to beg someone to stay who clearly doesn’t want to. “Just… I don't know, text me when you get there,” you shrug, looking away from him and back at Beau.
Your boyfriend scoffs and turns away from you, slipping out of the backyard and bypassing the kids running around with their moms. You sigh, taking a seat where your boyfriend once sat instead of Beau’s thigh, and groan quietly to yourself.
There’s a beat of silence before Beau chimes in, leaning forward a little, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Kid,” he mumbles quietly, clearly seeing that interaction. “You doin’ okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, raising your eyebrows at Beau in defence, and he sighs quietly, realizing he had missed most of the angry young-adult stage.
“No, you’re not, darlin’,” he drawls just as quietly, and before you can snap back, he reaches over and gently pats your knee, shutting you up.
“Remember when you were jus’ a lil girl?” Beau starts, blinking slowly, gazing at the side of your face. “I use’ta drive you aroun’ whenever you got upset, to calm ya’ down,” he explains, and you slowly turn your head to realize what he’s offering.
“Right now?” you ask in surprise, remembering all the times he had you sit in the passenger’s side, driving you around town, buying you ice cream, and sneaking you back in when your parents were tucked away in bed.
“Right now,” he agrees, and you quickly smile, standing up from the chair, and he’s standing too, with a soft groan, quickly remembering he’s pushing fifty and can feel it in his knees.
Beau lightly takes your hand again, and you pass your dad, who is currently hunched over, messing around with fireworks in a way that would make anyone who knew anything about them have a panic attack. You don’t bother interrupting him.
Stepping into the front again, and you immediately spot it; the red Land Rover, years old, much too outdated, but it fits him perfectly; the rugged sheriff, spending his days off drinking. You remember it like it was yesterday and quickly head to the passenger side.
Beau watches you run across the lawn and towards it. He remembers hoisting you up, grabbing your waist, and you’d giggle when he buckled you in, wide eyes staring up at him, and now here you were, grown as ever without needing his help.
“Hold y’er horses,” Beau laughs as he jogs across the road, finding his way into the driver’s side.
“I remember all of this,” you smile, gazing at his dashboard, the CDs discarded in the centre console, bands and artists you didn’t know. He had a knack for that.
“M’sure ya’ do,” he smiles, quickly firing up the engine and rolling down the windows, immediately taking you down the street.
The summer breeze blows through the windows, your hair messy and blown out, and he can do nothing but watch you; streetlights occasionally dust across your pretty features you’ve grown into, and your teeth aren’t crooked anymore, all fixed by braces, taken off before he could notice them. He’s in awe of you and what you’ve become, and he knows that kid doesn’t deserve an ounce of your time.
You and Beau speed into the town square, and most people know his vehicle by now–dark red and completely vintage, and they smile as he drives by, occasionally waving. You forgot just how renowned he was in this small town, and you suddenly feel lucky for getting this time with him.
You glance back at the sudden loud sound; fireworks are going off in the background, being lit from your backyard, though you don’t care at all. You’re currently with Beau Arlen, soft music on the radio, the summer breeze in your hair, and all he can do is eye you. The pretty thing you are.
“Ya’ wanna watch em’?” Beau asks over the radio, reaching over to gently rub your shoulder when he notices you’re focused on the bright explosions behind you.
“You don’t mind?” you ask softly, and he instantly shakes his head, quickly making a sharp turn down a back dirt road, taking you both out of town.
“Use’ta take you here when you were just a lil’ girl,” Beau smiles with a slow nod, and he’s pulling up to a small clearing in a cornfield. “You loved it–the fireworks, watching them all damn night,” he explains further, taking a left into the driveway that leads to nowhere.
Beau parks the Land Rover on the dirt road, and you instantly hop out, taking his hand in yours as he guides you a little farther down the endless dirt driveway. Crickets buzz around you, and it’s still as humid as ever, but he’s taking you to the light clearing right beneath the stars. He’s always known this place.
With a thud, the two of you land on the hard ground, and he smiles at you, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders, keeping you close and into his side. You lean into him, resting your head onto his shoulder, and he doesn’t even hesitate before pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your head. Warm and grounding.
“Listen,” Beau starts quietly, and you lift your head up, turning it to face him. “That boy…”
“Beau,” you cut him off, biting your lip with a light tilt of your head.
“C’mon, baby,” he scoffs, shaking his head and lifting a hand to brush your hair back. “Smartest lil’ thing I’ve ever known, and y’er with him?” he asks in disbelief, eyes widening.
“Who should I be with, then?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, but you’re smiling now, and he lets his hand cup your jawline, a warm thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“You tell me,” Beau nods, his eyes narrowing, his tongue swiping over his teeth.
“No,” you refuse softly, shaking your head, and he finds it the most endearing thing he’s ever heard in his life.
Beau pauses and gazes at you, green eyes darker in the nighttime, and he slowly leans in, and you hold your breath. He doesn’t kiss you, no, he merely lets his forehead rest against yours, noses innocently brushing, and you’re still not breathing.
He leans in just a bit more, breathing quietly against your lips, and his tongue barely slips out, running over your lower lip, which is drooping from your mouth being agape right now. You exhale, and that’s when he finally leans in, pressing his lips against yours.
A soft sound slides by your lips, slipping right into his, and Beau doesn’t hesitate to carefully slide his long fingers in the back of your hair, long fingers curling into your strands, tugging, and you pull back, moaning softly at the grip. You’ve never been treated like this.
“Baby,” Beau breathes out at your reaction, staring at the way you’re already melting, breathing heavier. “He never touch ya’ like this, yeah?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head.
He immediately kisses you again, pressing his warm lips right into yours, tugging even harder to get that sound out of you again–a soft moan breaking out of your mouth and right into his. He’s basking in it, the feeling of you finally experiencing something, instead of just serving some stupid boy.
You’re kissing back sloppily, not used to being kissed properly. You lift your hand and gently hold the side of his face, his light beard pressing into your palm, and you slide your hand down, resting it against Beau’s chest, and he grins into the kiss.
You pant softly as he carefully maneuvers you, slowly but surely moving you to lie on your back, right against the dirt ground, and you whimper, and the thought of your shirt getting dirty.
Beau is nudging his way between your thighs now, gazing down at you; eyes wide, and soft lips parted and glistening in the mix of your saliva, and he swears this is the prettiest he’s ever seen you.
He moves down against, this time lightly kissing your jaw and then down the side of your neck, mouthing at the warm skin–he’s quick and feverish, breathing heavily, running on pure adrenaline, and your head is tipped back, gazing at the darkened sky and stars.
“Beau,” you moan softly as he lightly bites into where your neck meets your shoulder, and you grip his shoulder, squeezing. “Someone–someone is gonna see us,” you plead quietly.
“M’know this place like tha’ back of my hand, darlin’,” Beau mumbles into your neck, his hand briefly sliding down, long fingers finding the button of your shorts. “You trust me, dont’cha’?” he whispers, pulling back to look down at you.
You hesitantly nod, and he’s carefully unbuttoning your denim shorts, unzipping them. You gasp quietly when he lets them open, and he takes a look at your underwear; that’s when the guilt slips in, but he’s too far gone to stop now. You don’t even want him to.
“Jesus Christ, baby,” he whispers, lifting his hand to rub the side of his jaw as he shakes his head. “Prettiest thing ever,” he shakes his head again, fingers hooking into the denim waistband, and you whine.
“Beau,” you whisper again, and he looks up at you, his eyes narrowed. “I… I’ve always wanted this,” you admit quietly and nod, and he practically groans at your admission.
Beau curses quietly under his breath, breathing heavier now, clearly affected by your sweet words.
“Good, baby, that’s good,” he nods, reaching downwards, tapping the side of your hip, and you instinctively lift them, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide your underwear down with your jean shorts.
Beau leans back on his haunches, eyes blown out at the sight of you; spread out on the dirt ground, hair splayed behind you, wetter than you’ve ever been in your damn life–the pathetic sex you have with your boyfriend doesn’t compare.
“My God,” he mumbles in awe, glancing down between your thighs, and his jaw ticks; he sees the slick gathering, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his hand down, two long fingers gathering it.
You moan softly the minute he touches you, head tipping back, and he quickly realizes how neglected your body is.
“He never touches ya’ does he?” Beau asks, referring to your boyfriend, who is off at some party, oblivious. “He don’t deserve a second with ya’, baby,” he shakes his head, shifting further between your legs.
You whimper, your white sneakers digging into the ground beneath you, and he lightly slides a free hand up your shirt, the other one mercilessly exploring your folds; he’s just touching around, almost analyzing. Your head is tipped back, mouth agape, breathing ever more heavily.
“He don’t know how to fuckin’ touch you,” he practically groans in disgust, his thumb immediately pressing onto your clit. “Can’t fuckin’ do anythin’ for my girl,” he growls this time, rubbing in quick, even circles.
You moan louder than you ever have–you didn’t think you could, not with the way you’ve been touched before; your back arches and your hips stutter, a small hand reaching to wrap around Beau’s strong forearm.
“Yeah? M’makin’ you feel good? Better than he ever could, huh?” Beau sneers, pressing harder than ever, and you feel every nerve in your body twitching and igniting. Dear God.
“Yeah–oh, my gosh, yeah,” you pant out, whining through a bitten lip, feeling the cool earth ground beneath you. It’s firm, keeping you somewhat grounded.
“This is all you ever should feel, sweetheart,” he mutters, watching your eyes practically rolling back into your head. “Sucha’ shame you’re datin’ some loser.”
“Sorry–I’m sorry, Beau,” you whine, feeling him picking up the quick circles, only to pull back, immediately going towards his leather belt.
“Don’t apologize for nothin’,” Beau says, quick fingers undoing the clasp, the soft clink clattering amongst the crickets. “Jus’ upsettin’ you’ve never been fucked properly.”
Your eyes widen at the vulgarity dripping from each word, and you glance down; he’s hard as ever, a prominent bulge right at the front of his denim jeans, thick and throbbing. He notices the look on your face and scoffs.
“Lemme’ guess,” he croons, letting his belt hang open as he pops open a button. “Doesn’t compare to ma’size either?” he practically laughs, his zipper following suit, and your eyes practically pop out of your damn head when his large hand wraps around himself, pulling it out of his boxers.
“No… no, not at all,” you shake your head in disbelief, helplessly staring at the way Beau is stroking himself, long fingers careful, his thumb rubbing the tip, and your legs fall open further, an invitation.
“Could tell,” Beau ticks his head, nudging further in between your thighs, his free hand resting on your bare knee. “Squirmin’ around like a worm on ma’knee… knew right then and there that no man has ever pleased ya’ in y’er life,” he shakes his head, and you whine at the call out.
“No… no, don’t get all shy on me,” he laughs, shifting closer, aligning himself with your entrance, just a slight pressure. “It’s me… jus’ me,” he coos, and you bite your lip.
Beau doesn’t hesitate to rock forward, pushing in without a single ounce of care in the god damn world–he just wants to make you feel better, wants to make sure you know what it’s like to be fucked by an actual man, and not some douche who uses you like a living breathing sex doll.
You cry out the minute he’s in fully. You didn’t know sex was supposed to feel like this; pure fullness and pleasure, your body instantly clenching around Beau, tightening and constricting, and he tips his head back, groaning aloud.
“Fuck, no man deserves this,” he groans out, one hand now holding your hip, the other one gently spreading your thighs. “So.. fuckin’ tight, baby,” he pants, not even in disbelief.
You whine, feeling him push even deeper, and your head is tossed back, right in the dirt beneath you, and he instantly is thrusting, gripping your hips tighter than he can even think.
“Beau,” you moan louder into the night air, feeling the light breeze against your bare thighs, the soft echo of fireworks crackling behind the two of you. “Beau, oh, my gosh,” you cry.
“M’right… right here,” Beau grunts, each word punctuated with a hard, deep thrust, sending your body rocking. “M’got you… gonna make you feel.. So good, so deservin’ of feelin’ good.”
You’re seeing stars, and it’s not the one in the sky; it’s behind your closed eyes; a burst of light and warmth, and all you can feel is Beau Arlen, back and forth, deep, consistent thrusts. You can’t even think; all you can do is mewl and whine, still gripping his forearm.
“Look at ya’,” he mumbles, staring at that pretty face, all flushed and sweaty from the summer heat. “He ain't seen ya’ like this, never will,” he taunts, relentlessly thrusting.
The mere thought of your boyfriend being unable to do this is motivating the ever-living life out of Beau, and he feels he can’t stop himself as he moves deeper and deeper, watching your head loll back, limbs limp and blissful.
“Gonna look so.. So pretty, filled with me, so pretty,” Beau mumbles, his head tipping back, groaning and grunting, just thinking of filling you up, stuffing you, not your stupid boyfriend.
You’re just taking it and taking it, whining loudly, your voice suffocated by the emptiness of the field you’re currently lying in.
“He ever cum in y’er pretty tummy? Ever make ya’ all full and warm?” he asks, and you’re shaking your head, knowing you never let him despite taking birth control every fucking day.
“Yeah… yeah, savin’ yourself for me? My girl… my sweet girl,” he mutters through gritted teeth, and he’s it; the twitch in your hips, the tensing of your chest, and he knows you’re close. First time in your life you’ve ever been close.
“First time cummin’ too,” Beau comments, and you whine louder, nodding to his words. “Pathetic boy he is, gonna teach him a fuckin’ lesson or two,” he’s getting himself angry, and it’s turning you on more than you’d like.
You feel it; the tightness, the knot, the coil that has your toes curling into your shoes, and your back arches, and Beau watches it, and feels it; warmth all over him, the loudest sound you’ve made in your entire life slipping by your lips. He swells with pride, and it only pushes him further and further.
Beau still fucks into you despite you finishing, and he’s just as close now, his hand pushing down on your hip, applying pressure, and he’s breathing heavier and heavier, eyes closing in bliss as he feels it build, and build. He cums without a single warning; just a loud groan, and a warmth blooming deep inside of you.
“Atta girl… mhm, stuffin’ you,” Beau groans, his other hand resting right beside your head, holding himself up, panting heavily, letting himself just stay pushed inside of you. He wants you to feel it, every inch, the warmth.
“Only… I can ever do this to ya,” he mumbles, out of breath, shaking his head. “He don’t deserve… any of you, baby, nothin’,” he rambles on, just groaning and grunting, refusing to pull out.
You’re blissed out, head still tipped back, eyes fixed on the stars above you, glowing and bright. You can hear the fireworks still, mixed with his breaths and pants and groans, and you’re completely out of it, just high on him.
“My girl,” Beau finally claims, fingers pressing into your hip.
You’re not sure how you’ll explain the bruises in the shape of Beau Arlen’s fingertips on your hips to your boyfriend.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ ⋆ ｡ ࿐ sleeping next to 𝐒𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 during summer nights.
SAM WINCHESTER who´s become your personal human heater, makes winter nights feel different now—warmer, softer, no longer fighting the cold under thin motel sheets; instead, it´s now replaced by the warmth of his body against yours. of course, sam has never minded the closeness, if anything, he adores it: loves the way you fold into him, melt under his hands, weighing over him with an arm around his middle and legs intertwined.
it´s a sweet yet simple routine he´s grown used to, the quiet comfort he´d spent so long searching for, somehow manifested in cozy cuddles and body warmth. but during the summer? let´s just say that it becomes a bit unbearable.
one night, you’re lying on your back, halfway through your second dream when you feel a heavy weight settle on your side—grounding rather than crushing, but still there. you ignore it at first, not thinking much of it.
but after a few minutes, that weight turns into a slow, creeping warmth that envelops you until your whole body feels like it´s overheating. you force your eyes open, blinking through the haze, and there he is, the culprit: his hair is all over the place, splayed on your pillow while his arm cages your torso, his head nestled into the crook of your neck. you make an attempt of mumbling out his name, voice low and still laced with sleep.
nothing happens.
you clear your throat once more, and you find your hands threading through his hair absentmindedly, “sammy, you´re cooking me alive, move.” though your words come out without any real force behind them.
still, he doesn’t move, and all you get in return is a small, protesting sound to the side of your neck. you try to ease yourself out of his hold, rolling onto your side, but the second you move, he’s next to you again, chest pressed up against your back while his head finds its usual spot on your neck, his 6’4 frame shadowing over you in an instant.
you sigh and scoot farther from him, but it´s useless—he reels you back in, trapping you under his embrace again. when he finally wakes, rubbing his eyes as he slowly adjusts to the darkness, he just stares at you for a hot minute before mumbling, “you run cold.” and then has the audacity to press his forehead to your shoulder like that explains everything, leaving no space between you while you´re seconds away from evaporating into thin air.
and what´s worse is that he believes in it, he thinks it´s sweet reasoning.
“cold? sam i´m literally sweating through the sheets.” you groaned in exasperation, looking down at him with every intention of giving him an earful, but the second your eyes land on him, your voice falters.
he just gives you that look—puppy eyes, bottom lip jutted out in a pout and all. you quickly avert your gaze from him, refusing to fall for his antics because he knew exactly how to get his way, “don’t give me that look, you’ll make me feel bad.”
he smiles, head tilted to the side, “is it working?”
“unfortunately.”
cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ small small fluff blurb i wrote yesterday when i was dying bc of the freaking heat oh my lord save me from this heat wave please!!!
tagging my sweetest lola <33 @samwspn ty for helping me choose my sammy pics for this!!
content gn!reader, established relationship, early twenties!dean, sam has recently left for stanford. use of baby, a kiss on the cheek. vague and very brief mention of verbal abuse (john). light angst and fluff!
masterlist
Dean has smoked once, maybe twice, in all his life. Both cigarettes sent a flare of nausea up his throat, made him woozy, and tasted so horrible he nearly gagged. He's long since decided that alcohol better suits his tongue.
He flips John's pack of Marlboro Reds over his palm.
"Dean," you whisper-shout from the doorway, and a gust of cool, Oklahoma breeze bites his nose when he turns to look. "Come on. He'll wake up if you keep dawdling."
You're so pretty. He feels almost completely free just staring at you, silhouetted by hazy moonlight, holding your bag in a tight grip to your stomach with both hands. Knuckles taut. He swallows final, washing down remnants of anxiety.
Relax, baby, he wants to say. We're almost there.
He shoves a big hand down his pocket and fishes Baby's keys, winces when they clink, and holds them out for you to take. When you do, he catches your wrist gently.
"Start the car and wait for me," he whispers.
You nod. He lets go and stares again at the cigarettes. Walks to the dusty couch where his bag is and ignores John's sleeping form in the armchair, because he might tether permanent to this motel and the next and the one after that if he doesn't. Let the fighting and the tensing and the anger keep him forever.
The Reds fit nicely at the bottom of his duffel, beneath a tin of menthol and a worn leather belt. He tugs the zipper up and slings it over his shoulder, feeling something strange shake in a deep, clogged gutter between his ribs.
Years worth of resentment purging in clumps.
This is so weird, Dean thinks. A low, coaxing purr sounds from the Impala outside. It thrums his entire body and he remembers the nights spent gazing at stained ceilings, feigning sleep, wondering if he'd ever get out.
His jaw works. In that time spent wondering, he'd thought this would be different. Louder, storming off after another fight, probably, with that awful, booming voice ringing in his ears.
Instead, the room is silent. He takes it in and starts for the door. John groans in his sleep.
Walk through the door and don't glace back.
Don't grant him the respect of that.
It shuts quietly behind and frozen air sneezes at his face. He steps over a lip of parking lot cement that's been cracked and eaten by dull grass. Pops open the driver door and throws his duffel towards the back. Sees you, blinking at him proud.
His heart aches pitifully.
"Hey," he breathes and settles, green eyes owlish.
"Hi, De."
He imagines burying his nose to the warm, sugary spot beneath your ear but remembers that priorities are a thing he's got to get together. Drive away from here, far, far away, before his father notices he's left.
"Thanks for starting the car."
You hum. Your arm reaches, fingertips kissing the amber shadow that the night has drawn along his cheekbone. It's the easiest task in the world, leaning into your touch. His lashes flutter, a dark canopy, and he allows two more seconds before sitting straight.
A quick kiss to your cheek, and then he's looking ahead.
The reverse is slow, until his boot presses firm against the gas and the motel quickly becomes a washed, beige speck in the rearview, swallowed by night. It feels like a dream. He can't pinpoint exactly what it is and tries to squeeze the wheel tighter, but his palms are too clammy to grip.
Maybe everything. It can be everything, it is everything, you're everything. Sitting perfect beside him with a new sort of smile curling your mouth; excited, nervous, ready. So, irrevocably ready to go and go and go.
He brings a hand onto your thigh and kneads.
"This is cool," you murmur. "Don't you think?"
"Really cool," he agrees easily. "I'm... he's gonna be pissed."
Your head swivels calm, watching his profile; he can tell from his peripheral. His thumb wears fast adrenaline circles on the seam of your denim.
"So what?" you offer. "You won't have to deal with it."
Dean has absolutely no idea what he'd do without you. Loves you so much, the fact that his organs haven't ruptured from the force is bewildering.
The road stretches before him, for him, thick-spreading tar unrolling like an unusual red carpet. A sudden shed of old skin makes him weightless, light, there's a growing plethora of things he needs to do. Wants to do, finally can.
His lips tug when he glances at you. Beautiful, sweet angel you, showing him all this bravery he wasn't sure he truly had.
"Where are we supposed to go?" he asks.
"Anywhere," you reply. "Everywhere."
the cigarettes i suppose were a very poor and subtle allegory of sorts for john and his abuse. like dean can never fully shake him away and finds a strange sort of comfort in his father because that behavior is so familiar to him. hence taking his cigarettes even though he doesn't enjoy smoking. bleugh whatevers
⊹ sam is very protective of you, though not overwhelmingly so. he sees himself reflected in the gentle gleam of your eyes, the apprehension visible in your shoulders, there's a melancholic cadence to your voice when you speak about certain things that hits deep into the pit of his chest.
it's a tender sort of obligation to make sure that you're alright.
"i'll be looking out for you," he'll murmur. "you can come to me if you need anything."
⊹ the protectiveness extends out towards your emotions, too. when you need a hand, a hug, a distracting conversation or to just be accompanied in your quiet, sam will be there, always and forever.
"c'mere, honey," he whispers, and brings you gently against his chest.
⊹ he adores having you as his research partner. instead of being subject to dean's annoying comments and snarky remarks, the endless teasing, he gets to relax and enjoy his evening with you beside him. he reads interesting paragraphs aloud and smiles all soft when you bounce his ideas with your own, so relieved that you're just as intrigued by the lore.
⊹ when the sun has melted low past the horizon and the moon rises in place, sam will brew a late pot of tea for the both of you. you'll have slow, drifting conversations while he fixes your mug; he knows precisely how much cream and sugar you prefer.
"is it good? yeah? i'm glad, sweetheart."
"wanna take a walk outside? the stars are bright, tonight."
"this is nice. i'm really glad you're here with us."
