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thatonewriter15 · 8 days

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I am crying Real Tears™ over here.

Stay With Me

A Supernatural Story

~Dean is into his second bottle of whiskey, desperate to drive his problems away. But he knows deep down, the booze isn't what he truly needs...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

1,390 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

In one fluid motion, he cracked the seal on the new bottle of whiskey and plopped back down into his chair. The old seat groaned and the wheels rolled back a bit, sliding with the force of his weight over the polished floor.

Dean poured himself another healthy shot and stared down into the glass, enjoying how the light from the glowing table beneath set the crystal aflame. His lips turned in a half smile and he sighed.

“If you hold it up to the light at the right angle, you can see a rainbow.”

Y/N’s voice hit his ear and he lifted the glass to his lips, smiling even wider as she came into view.

Dressed in his old green flannel and seemingly nothing else, she leaned against the archway, arms and bare ankles crossed. He looked up and licked a drop of drink from his lips, savoring the taste and the way she looked. Her hair was a beautiful mess, the day’s makeup smudged around her eyes like she had meant it to look that way. Her mouth still held a faint stain from her faded lipstick and she pouted as he stared, driving his mind towards unholy thoughts.

“Rough day?” she asked, pushing off the tiles to walk slowly towards him.

“You should know,” he sighed around the rim of the tumbler. “You were with me.”

Y/N nodded and pulled out the chair across from him. “True.”

He eyed her over the glass, loving the way she sat down so delicately only to slump against the back of the chair. She leaned back and kicked her feet up onto the map, toes casting a shadow over Brazil.

“But really, it wasn’t that bad,” she teased. “Not bad enough for a second bottle of bourbon, anyway.”

“It’s whiskey,” he corrected.

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

Dean shook his head and set the glass down, fingers lingering on the sharp edges of the design. “Not true. Bourbon is always whiskey, but whiskey ain’t always bourbon. This is just straight up, get ya drunk, forget your life for a few hours whiskey.”

She knocked her feet off the table and turned to face him head on. “And why would you want to forget your life, Mr. Winchester? What’s so horrible lately that you’d want it to go away?”

He laughed sadly, bowing his head, avoiding her eyes. “Oh, you know me. Just being overdramatic.”

Y/N leaned forward and set her clasped hands in front of her. The ring he’d given her glinted in the warm golden light from below and Dean’s gaze was locked on the antique silver and brilliant red stone.

He remembered when they saw it in that little shop outside Paramus. The old hippie behind the counter told them that carnelian was special, used for protection and to ward off evil spirits. Y/N had laughed so brilliantly when she heard that, rolling her eyes at the thought of a cheap little ring keeping the demons away. Her smile had been so beautiful that Dean doubled back later that day and purchased the ring for her.

She never took it off.

“Dean Winchester, you are never overdramatic,” she asserted. “Medium dramatic, sure. A little crazy sometimes? We all are. But never overdramatic. Under dramatic if anything.”

She winked and Dean’s shoulders relaxed, his heart melting for her like it did every time she was close by. He was quiet for a long moment, just studying her face. Memorizing the way the lights and shadows played on her cheeks, the unique line of her nose, the fan of lashes curved over her pretty eyes. She was engraved in his mind, her face always hiding just behind his closed eyes.

“Under dramatic, huh?” He took a sip and let the whiskey burn his tongue a bit before swallowing. His mouth was mostly numb by now, but the little bit at the roof of his mouth still felt and that feeling needed to be punished.

“You know I’m right,” she grinned and sat back. “I always am.”

Dean chuckled and drained the glass. “Sure are.”

It was an old joke between them. She was always right no matter the situation, no matter the topic being discussed. The unwritten rule was that even when wrong, Y/N was always right. She also seemed to win every single competition and argument. A smile could get her out of trouble, a pout would break him enough to roll over and let her win. Every single time.

“You’re damned right, Winchester. I’m always right.” She dipped her chin and stared at him, gorgeous eyes peeling back the mask he so often hid behind. “So, spill. What’s wrong?”

Dean licked his lips and tried to look away. “I’m fine.”

She clicked her tongue. “Bull. What’s going on?”

Again, he tried to tear his eyes away, but he was locked in her gaze, trapped by her voice. “Nothing.”

With a huff, she stood up and kicked the chair away with her right foot. It coasted across the floor until it hit the wall and spun around on itself.

Slowly, she walked around the table and perched on the edge next to him. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing in the sweet smell of her. Faint coconut and something sugary filled his senses and Dean leaned back with a squeak of antique coils.

Y/N reached for his glass and Dean watched as she lifted it to her lips, held her breath, took a long sip. She shivered as it burned down her throat and coughed gently.

“This is terrible,” she laughed, setting the tumblr back down.

He nodded. “It’s not great.”

“So, what’s got you trying to kill your liver with the worst fucking whiskey I’ve ever tasted?”

She wiggled a bit to get more comfortable, spreading her knees just enough to touch his leg with her toes. He melted into the touch and fought back a fresh wave of tears.

He knew she wouldn’t let it go until he confessed, knew she’d keep on teasing and prodding until he gave her what she wanted. But he couldn’t say it aloud, couldn’t let the words leave his head and fly out into the world.

If he did, she would leave.

He needed her there, just for a little while longer.

Needed to smell her coconut lotion, feel her toes on his thigh, see her sweet smile. He needed to hear her say his name in that sweet, secret tone she only used with him.

A single tear slipped through his defenses, sliding carelessly down his cheek.

Y/N gasped under her breath and reached for it, wiping the wet away with the soft pad of her thumb. “Oh, baby… it’s ok.”

Before she could pull away, Dean grabbed her wrist. He wrapped his fingers tight around her arm and held her there, letting her heat fill his mind, soothe the pain.

“It’s not OK, Y/N/N,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and took a breath, one last drink of her air, her being. “I- I don’t want you to go.”

She leaned forward, dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “I have to, Dean. You know that.”

Drunken tears flowed freely; his throat closed tight. “Please,” he begged, close to choking on his grief. “Stay with me. Just a little bit longer…”

Y/N sighed and slid down off of the table, her hand still locked in his. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to go.” She chewed her lip and smiled softly. “But I’ll always be with you. I promise.”

Green eyes rose to her face. She was haloed in something brighter than the Bunker’s lights, something sacred, some glow cast down from Heaven.

“Please… Stay with me.”

Her image began to fade but her smile never did.

Dean closed his eyes, kissed her hand, whispered her name into the empty room.

She was gone again, drawn back into his memory, a ghost only in his whiskey addled mind.

He knew she wasn’t really there when she appeared- he’d set the pyre ablaze himself. But still, whenever he met the bottom of a bottle, he’d dream her up and feel her spirit around him. Nights like these he wondered if maybe, if somehow… she had stayed with him.

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!) @alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#read with larrs

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thatonewriter15 · 9 days

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Hello! Congrats on the 100 followers. You're an excellent writer and also your feedback is very appreciated and super encouraging. For the Fanfiction Writing Asks, I'd like to know your answers to:

11. Do you write your scenes in order?

22. Do you write your title before, during or after and how do you come up with a title?

30. How much do you edit your fics?

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn't expect?

And also, 69. What are your favourite fics at the moment? I'd like some recommendations and I'd trust yours!

Oh, my goodness, thank you so much! <3 That means a bunch coming from you. =]

11. Do you write your scenes in order? For the most part, yes, I do! Every once in a while, something I need later down the line pops up and I jot it down, but I almost always need to go with the flow from beginning to end.

22. Do you write your title before, during or after and how do you come up with a title? My titles usually come to me during. When I'm really struggling with one, however, it won't crystalize until I'm done. I try to find a title that fits the theme of the fic, but I also occasionally use the title as a nod to something more specific within the fic.

30. How much do you edit your fics? To death. x'D Seriously, though. I don't post anything that I have not gone through probably at least eight times, no matter how short it is.

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn't expect? Not overly so, no. But a recent fic did get some fast traction, which doesn't typically happen. My fics' statistics tend to be a slow build. False Alarm (rated 18+) skyrocketed in comparison to many others.

69. What are your favourite fics at the moment? The first one that came to mind is @rizlowwritessortof's 11x17 Drabble. Not to be dramatic, but that one swims in my blood. It's, like, my perfect fic. Something I've found more recently is @highfunctioningflailgirl's Damage Control Series. In the last couple of months, I've branched out into reading some fics that do not have a relationship pairing, and I have found some lovely pieces--hers being one of the very best. Both suggestions involve a lot of hurt/comfort, which is my jam, and I know is something you enjoy, too. =]

Here are the Fanfiction Writing Asks, if anyone else wants to send some in or use them on their own blog.

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thatonewriter15 · 10 days

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Fanfiction Writing Asks

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Where do you get your fic ideas?

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?

How do you choose which fics to write?

How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

What’s the last line you wrote?

Post a snippet from a wip.

Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?

Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

Do you listen to music while you write? If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

What is your favorite location and position to write in?

What’s your favorite time to write?

Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?

Do you have a writing routine?

Do you enjoy research? Which fic of yours required the most research?

Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters?

Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

How do you choose whose POV to write in?

What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

What area of writing do you want to improve in?

What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

How much do you edit your fics? Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

Do you use a beta reader/editor?

Do you take fic requests? Why or why not?

Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most?

How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?

What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

What fic are you proudest of?

What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

What is your most self-indulgent posted story?

What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?

Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?

What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?

Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

What is your favorite genre to write?

What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?

If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

Who is your favorite character to write for? Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

How would you describe your writing style?

Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?

What’s the average word count of your fics?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics?

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?

How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges? If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?

In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?

In [insert fic], what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

In [insert fic], is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included? Why did it get cut?

What was the hardest part of writing [insert fic]?

If you rewrote [insert fic] now, would you change anything?

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would happen in it?

What’s a fun fact about [insert fic]?

If a fic was titled [insert made up title], what would this story be about/how would you write it?

Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

What are your favorite fics at the moment?

Are you subscribed to any writers on AO3?

Do you spend more time reading or writing?

What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?

Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?

Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

What motivates you during the writing process?

Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!

#in honor of 100 followers...#feel free to hit my ask box!

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thatonewriter15 · 10 days

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When I joined Tumblr a little more than a year ago, I just wanted to give feedback to fic authors because they deserve to know how good their work is and how much it's appreciated.

I never expected people to show this kind of interest in my blog or my writing or me.

I am flattered and humbled. And I'm very glad I'm here. <3

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thatonewriter15 · 11 days

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Gotta say, I'd happily sacrifice a bedframe for that very reason. Hoo, momma.

I loved the little hints that these two were getting Serious. They're so cute. <3

Also, you banged this out in one night and then posted it the next day? Damn, you're good. I spend weeks obsessing over several hundred words. xD

A Crime of Passion

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.

AN: I couldn't help myself lol. I wrote this last night. Here's a quick little drabble for the Take Me Home series, set directly after A Good Man Is Hard to Find!

Based on this request from @jessicalynnann.

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Implied smut, fluff, and a murder (of sorts).

Catch up on the TMH-verse: ⤵️

❤️ Take Me Home Masterlist

You just…you couldn’t stop laughing.

“All right, you done?” Beau asked.

You never thought you’d see this man blush so thoroughly. It made you laugh harder, though you tried to stifle it with your hands covering your face.

He had you laid out beside him, still skin against naked skin as the cool air began to dry your dewy bodies.

You were lying against him in an odd position, considering your bed now had a deep crack in the bedframe that ran all the way down the middle. It meant your legs were bent at an angle, almost like you were laying in a recliner seat.

You just couldn’t believe it.

This man had really broken your bed.

In fact, he murdered it. Killed it dead. Though you supposed it was a crime of passion, in this case. (You held in a snort at the thought.)

There were even a couple of screws that had rolled across the tile floor.

“Again, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I promise I’ll pay for a new frame,” Beau said contritely.

The truth was, he was embarrassed beyond belief.

Another giggle escaped you, though you tried to soothe him by caressing his cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay. This thing was old. I’m surprised it survived the move all the way from Chicago, honestly,” you said. The twinkle of mischief in your eyes made his face warm further.

“But how damn lucky am I,” you added, your lips curving. “My man quite literally shatters expectations when he makes love to me.”

And despite the unexpected cracking sound that had left you wide-eyed, it had been a spectacular finish. Even now, you were still tingling between your legs from how hard you’d come on his cock. (Twice.)

You slipped your bare leg between both of his and pressed a sweet kiss to his chest.

Beau fought it, but he had to smile at your words, and your affection. He sunk a hand into your tangled hair, first brushing his thumb against your cheek.

“You sure you’re okay then?” he asked.

“I’m more than okay,” you said. He felt the shape of your smile against his skin. You pulled back to meet his eyes. “Better the bed than my back, anyway. Jesus.”

Beau let out a sigh. Another giggle bubbled over and escaped you. You rubbed his arm.

“Think of it this way,” you said. “Now we can go pick out a new bed together.”

Beau tilted his head at that, and he nodded. A smile grew across his face.

“Now there’s an idea,” he said. It was probably too soon for him to broach the topic of moving in with you, but this could be a good first step.

“Right?” you replied in excitement. But there was something else dancing in your eyes. “We’ll just have to make sure the frame’s reinforced with titanium or something, because goddamn.”

Beau couldn’t help but laugh. He dropped his forehead against your shoulder while his own shook. You held him to you and didn’t bother to try and hide your own amusement anymore.

One thing you knew for sure?

There was no way in hell you’d ever let him live this down.

And one thing he would never tell you…

Beau Arlen was damn proud of himself.

AN: 😂 Well then. That was fun, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Take Me Home Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @brianochka

@branj19 @globetrotter28 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @ades106 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu

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#read with larrs #content 18+

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thatonewriter15 · 12 days

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Straight-up re-read this as a bedtime story tonight. =']

It's so lovely and sweet and very much my taste. <3

Holding Tight

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request: can you write a fic with dean where he just craves physical attention but not by verbally asking for it? like when dean wakes up from a nightmare he crawls into y/n’s bed and they both just know what to do, like they’ve done it a million times. or after a bad hunt, y/n just hugs dean while he processes his emotions in his own way.

Masterlist

Story:

The car ride back to the motel was quiet. Dean drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, Sam stared out the window watching the rain, and [Y/N] sat in the back, her head resting against the back seat, exhausted. No music played, no one spoke, no one wanted to discuss the hunt they had just finished up with. It had been one of [Y/N]'s least favourite monsters; a wendigo. The trio had arrived in a small town full of disappearances a week ago, and it had taken them five days to track down the wendigo's lair. Five days of continuous disappearances, knowing that each day that passed meant finding survivors less and less likely. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. One they found the creature, Sam had been knocked out almost immediately. Dean's gun jammed, and [Y/N]'s lighter wouldn't light when she'd had the chance to set the thing on fire.

When they eventually killed it and went looking for the missing people, only one was still alive, and only barely. They'd gotten the survivor to hospital, but the doctors were sceptical they'd ever recover. Between the week preceding and the week during the Winchesters and [Y/N] being in the town, eighteen people had gone missing. Seventeen people had died on their watch, and the remaining survivor would most likely add to the count within the next couple of days. They were all miserable, but Dean took it the hardest. He always did. To him, if Sam or [Y/N] didn't manage to save someone, then it wasn't their fault. No one can save everyone all of the time. When he couldn't save someone however, it was because he wasn't good enough. He didn't train hard enough, he wasn't fast enough, he wasn't smart enough, he just wasn't enough. [Y/N] looked at the back of his head from her position in the back of the Impala, he was thinking these thoughts so loud she swore she could hear them. It was taking everything in her to not try and tell him it wasn't his fault, but she knew he would shrug her off and only fall deeper into self destruction, so she stayed quiet.

It was one of the rare instances where the motel had a room with three separate beds, usually they'd have to book two rooms, or [Y/N] would have to take the couch, or one of the brothers would end up on the floor. Tonight all three of them were thankful that they'd have each other in the room, even if they weren't talking, and all three were looking forward to the day ending and getting into bed. [Y/N] showered first, trying to be quick and not use up all the hot water while also getting all of the blood and dirt out of her hair and off her body. She tucked herself into her bed straight after while Sam took his turn. She rolled onto her side to face Dean, who was sitting at a little table in the motel room, staring out the window at the rain just as Sam had in the car. She sighed quietly, wishing more than anything that she knew what to say to calm his mind and take the guilt away from him, but she knew he would come to her when he was ready, he always did.

Dean went for his shower as soon as Sam came out. The moment Sam's head hit his pillow, he was out, softly snoring having not even bothered to get under the covers. [Y/N] listened to the sound of the water running in the shower, feeling sad knowing that Dean was in there beating himself up like usual. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, the guilt of not saving everyone also weighing on her own shoulders. In some sad toxic thought process that they all shared, it made them all feel worse that they themselves hadn't sustained any major injuries. Sam had been knocked out but given the all clear by the paramedics, and [Y/N] and Dean only had a few scratches and bruises between them. She closed her eyes when she heard the shower turn off, holding her breath in anticipation to find out if Dean was ready to seek comfort in her or if he would choose his own bed and wallow in self pity.

The bathroom door opened, and she heard Dean's footsteps walk to the side of her bed. She opened her eyes and turned her head to the side to look up at him, only just able to make out his features in the low light. He looked broken, his eyes were red having obviously cried in the shower, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked tired. She pulled back the covers and opened her arms in a silent invitation, and he crawled onto the bed, his knees either side of her legs and his hands either side of her shoulders, before he let himself down, lying on top of her. He was shirtless, and his warm body covered hers, his arms snaked around her waist and his head lay on her chest, tucked under her chin. She breathed in, the scent of shampoo in his damp hair just beneath her nose. She felt him sigh and relax on top of her, and she brought her hand up and around to his back, scratching lightly. One of her hands wandered up his spine, along his neck, and into his hair, lightly scratching the top of his head while her other hand drew circles on his back. He tightened his grip around her, as if he was trying to get as close as possible. Her movements slowed as she grew tired, and when she heard his slow and deep breathing she finally let herself drift off to sleep. She knew that in the morning she would wake up in his arms, rather than Dean still be in hers, his masculinity having got the better of him at some stage during the night, so she let herself enjoy holding him while it lasted. She needed this too, being able to hold someone, comfort someone, make them feel safe, it comforted her.

***

Several weeks later, and they had returned to the bunker after another unsuccessful hunt. The two successful hunts they'd had in between didn't seem to matter, only the hunts with less than ideal outcomes stuck in their heads. Sam had gone off to his room as soon as they'd arrived back. Dean had a pretty bad cut on his shoulder and [Y/N] had offered to clean and stitch it up for him, but he'd waved her off, grumbling about how he could do it instead, and disappeared into his room. [Y/N] stared after him as he walked down the corridor, sighing as she knew he was yet again probably stuck in his head, repeating the events of the hunt over and over again, thinking about anything that could possibly be considered a mistake.

She got herself a glass of water from the kitchen, and sat down at the table for a moment, staring into space. As bad as she felt for Dean, she felt emotionally drained too. She'd held someone while they died from a werewolf attack, too far gone to help. Dean had been thrown against a large rock, leading to the gash in his shoulder, and [Y/N] hadn't been able to help. Sam was the one who eventually killed the wolf, and although she knew it couldn't hurt anyone else, it still felt like a failure. When she finished her drink, she washed the glass and began to walk to her room. She passed Dean's room on the way, and stood outside the closed door for a moment, wondering what was going through his head. She sighed, and knocked on the door. In the absence of an answer, she decided to crack it open. Peeking inside, she saw Dean sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, cleaning supplies sitting beside him untouched.

She quietly opened the door farther and stepped inside before closing in gently behind her. She knelt down in front of Dean, who hadn't acknowledged her presence, and she hooked her finger under his chin, pulling him up to look at her. They locked eyes for a moment before he shook his head and looked away. She took his decision to stay seated as an invitation, and she took the bottle of alcohol and an antiseptic wipe from beside Dean, and got to work. He didn't flinch when she poured the alcohol on his shoulder, and he didn't flinch when she began to sew up the wound either. He just sat there, his face turned away from her. She finished by taping a bandage to his shoulder and closing up the supply kit. She sat down beside him and sighed. "Dean". She whispered.

Dean looked to her and he broke, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap so she was straddling him. He leaned his forehead against hers and she felt a tear drip down onto her face. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. She leaned up and kissed his forehead, watching his eyes flutter closed before she dipped her head down, snuggling into his chest. They sat like that in silence for a long time, holding each other tight, before Dean lay back, bringing her down with him. She lay her head on his chest and this time it was Dean who traced circles on [Y/N]'s back, the act of soothing her also soothing himself. The pair fell asleep in each other's arms, sharing the sadness between them lessening the effect on their minds.

***

It was only two nights later when [Y/N] was woken up by the sound of her bedroom door creaking open. Glancing at her clock, it was just after 3am. She didn't need to look around to know that it was Dean who'd just let himself into her room and closed the door. Dean often checked in on [Y/N] during the night, sometimes just quickly glancing in to check that she was breathing before leaving again, sometimes walking over and pulling her covers up, or pulling her shoes off after a long day when she hadn't intended to fall asleep fully clothed. Sometimes he just came in to replace the glass of water she always kept on her bedside table, and sometimes he only came in to gently kiss her forehead, and appreciate how grateful he was to have her in his life.

This night however, Dean needed more than just a quick check or a forehead kiss. She heard him walk over to her bed, and she felt her covers pull back and her bed dip down behind her. Dean pressed his chest against her back and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. He tangled his legs with hers, and rested his chin on the top of her head. She heard him sigh in contentment, and she reached up to stroke her fingers along the hand and arm he had around her waist. He snuggled in closer when he realised that she was awake, holding her as tight as possible without hurting her. He kissed the top of her head and listened as her breathing became slower and deeper. Whether he was holding her tightly or being held by her tightly, he needed it. He needed her and she needed him, they would always know and give each other what they needed.

The end

#read with larrs

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thatonewriter15 · 12 days

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Dean Winchester in SUPERNATURAL 7.03 'The Girl Next Door'

#precious boyyy

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thatonewriter15 · 13 days

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That opening line knocked me flat on my ass. LET'S GOOOOO.

Thank goodness for bonus one-shots. Hoooo.

That "I love you" on the tip of her tongue. And her reasons for hesitating. Considerate and understandable. But it also gave me a bit of a sad.

“What took you so long?” she asked. “Traffic,” Beau lied, his face warming.

Good Stuff.

Nice "murder cluster" inclusion! But oh, to have the weight of that along with the fact that his daughter and partner could possibly be next. </3

And he clearly did not handle it well...

The reader and Emily (and even Carla) getting swept up in him losing himself in the case. Man… My heart ached for all involved.

Beau stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, with the towel wrapped around his hips, his chest and arms all dewy. You had to force yourself not to take notice.

Strong woman. xD<3

The cheating line--ouch!

A Donno sandwich! And another blow she did not deserve, especially while extending an olive branch once again. =/

November 2nd!!

His cell phone lighting up with a notification drew his attention, even perking him up a little, but he deflated when he saw it wasn’t from you.

So much was said in that line.

Not our girl being attacked again(!) after dealing with all this other stress. Just can't catch a break. =[ But the self-defense move--hell, yeahhh.

“It’s over, honey, I promise. I promise I’ve gotcha,” he said quietly in your ear.

I melted.

Watching FRIENDS with Beau Arlen. Sign me the fuck up. Under better circumstances, though. =']

The exchanged "I love yous," the actions speaking even louder than the words--what a great ending. <3

A Good Man Is Hard to Find

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Summary: When Beau starts pulling away from you and Emily during a very difficult case, will the pressure make or break your relationship?

AN: This is a sequel story to the Take Me Home storyverse, set just a few months after Part 9!

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, a Law & Order: SVU-esque case, angst, perilous situations and violence, hurt/comfort and fluff.

Catch up on TMH: ⤵️

❤️ Take Me Home Masterlist

You took pleasure in the sounds you were pulling out of this man.

You continued to kiss down his neck. Each of your movements was slow and purposeful.

Your hips rolled against his, brushing your clothed, aching core against his risen length. His hands were like steel bands on your hips, not letting you leave even if you wanted to. He groaned.

“I needa get ready for work,” Beau chuckled. And he pointed out, “So do you.”

You smiled against his skin, and you gently dragged his flesh between your teeth.

“It’s still early,” you argued in his ear. You teased the shell of it with your tongue, making him shudder and rock his clothed hard-on between your legs. The wet tip of his cock dampened your panties further.

His hands moved down your thighs, caressing, squeezing, getting a handful of your ass in the process. Just as his fingers dipped under the satin hem of your panties, his phone buzzed on one of the nightstands. Beau let out a sigh of disappointment and reached over blindly for it.

He saw the caller ID and took in a breath to get himself together first. Even though he didn’t quite succeed, he answered the call.

“Mornin’, Jenny,” he greeted. You grinned.

“Tell her I said hi,” you whispered.

Beau shot you a “stern” look, though his lips curved at a smile. He mouthed at you to behave.

You gave him a look that was cheeky at best.

“We caught a new case. If you want, you can meet us at the scene instead of the precinct,” said Jenny.

“Okay, where to?” Beau asked.

While Jenny gave him the directions, you used his distraction to your advantage. You shimmied out of your underwear and the overly large shirt you’d stolen from him last night. Then you drew down the waistband of his underwear and freed his cock into your hands.

“Okay, sounds g—” Beau was forced to pause on a sharp inhale.

“You okay?” Jenny asked.

“Y-Yeah. Just fine. Had a tickle in my throat,” Beau said.

"Okay, well just so you know," Jenny said, continuing to give him tidbits of information that he really should've been paying attention to.

He cleared his throat, shooting you an incredulous look. You didn’t pay him much mind as you began to touch him with care, from the weeping tip and along the shaft down to the base, even caressing his balls.

Beau’s furrowed gaze held yours as his breath faltered again. Your deft hands lined up his cock to your entrance. You teased yourself on the sensitive head of it, brushing it through your wet folds and against your clit. You had to bite your lip against a moan, but you didn’t quite manage to stifle the sound.

“Okay, Jenny. Thanks, I’ll see you there in a bit,” he said in a rush.

He hung up as soon as he could, but all the while, you were unrelenting. You finally sunk fully down on his cock, taking him all the way inside your wet heat.

Beau let out a strained groan and grabbed your arms. He sat up and pressed his forehead to yours. His lips formed a chiding smile.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said. His voice was a bit rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You want me to be nice?” you teased, beginning to let the full length of him slide out of you. You welcomed him back inside with a rock of your hips. “I just need a moment of your time, Sheriff.”

He nodded breathlessly. “Think I can manage that.”

You smirked and held onto the back of his neck as you rode him. You had a feeling you would find fingerprint bruises on your hips and thighs tomorrow, but this was worth it.

It took a lot to see Beau lose control, even in the bedroom. Now, he had a hand tangled in your hair and his lips fastened to your throat. He helped you move on him with a guiding hand on your hip. You slipped a hand from his shoulder and further parted your folds to find your clit.

But as Beau so often did, he moved your hand away so he could usher in your pleasure himself. He massaged your clit until your inner walls became almost too tight for him to drive up into you. Your thighs shook around his hips, and he managed to hold off on his own release until you came, hard on his cock.

You cried out near his ear and held onto his shoulders. He supported your collapse against his chest, but he still grabbed your hip tighter and rutted into you a few more times, until he was able to spill into you and fill you up to the brim with his warmth. You clenched on him on purpose, milking him for all he was worth.

Fuuuckin’ hell, he thought with a grunt, and he panted against your shoulder. He laid a belated kiss there.

“What a way to greet the sun,” he remarked.

You laughed breathily, caressing his cheek.

Beau was, inevitably, running late for work. He found that he was okay with that as he kissed you goodbye.

You were still in your robe and holding a mug of coffee. You didn’t need to be at work for another couple of hours. Your Tuesday classes didn’t start until 10:00 a.m.

“Have a good day, baby. I…” you trailed.

Certain words were poised on your tongue. Words that neither of you had said to one another just yet. Your heart started tripping up a bit as you realized it.

Even though you’d known the truth of what you felt for him for a while now, you’d been very careful to let him say it first. You told yourself you didn’t want to pressure him, in light of his contentious divorce and how new this all still was between you and Beau…

But more often, you wondered if you were maybe projecting, considering your own rocky past. Maybe it was just self-preservation.

“Yeah?” Beau questioned. You waved him off with a nervous chuckle.

“Nothing. I don’t know,” you said. “My coffee hasn’t kicked in yet.”

He just smiled and gave you one last kiss to the side of your head before he left your apartment.

Beau arrived at the scene of the crime: the parking lot of a movie theater. Jenny and Poppernak were already there inside the perimeter of yellow caution tape while the Forensics team did their thing. Jenny checked her watched when she saw the sheriff.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“Traffic,” Beau lied, his face warming. “What’ve we got?”

He quickly shifted his attention to the pool of blood staining the ground between his deputies. The path of his gaze led to the victim: a young woman wearing a blouse, skirt, and heels. The skirt was torn up to the hip. Her neck was cut, deep but clean.

There were other signs of struggle; road burns on her right thigh, like she had been dragged. Jenny even found a can of pepper spray rolled under the victim’s car.

“Maybe he was trying to get her to his car. She fought back hard enough that he cut his losses,” she theorized.

Beau blew out a sigh and nodded grimly.

“Okay. Let’s get started.”

Two months gave the Lewis and Clark Sheriff’s Department two more murders. Both were women, presumably alone and late at night, and in the dimly lit, poorly secured parking lot of an establishment.

Stressed didn’t begin to cover how Beau Arlen walked back into the precinct two hours before he truly had to. What little forensics they’d been able to uncover from each scene (and on the victims) let them to conclude that the suspect was male, and likely between 5’10” and over 6 feet tall.

As they now had a murder cluster, Beau and his team determined that the victims were found within a 5-mile radius. Both Emily’s school and the college where you taught were within that range.

It had led Beau to long nights spent at the precinct and in town, researching, canvasing, working with his team to lock down possible leads.

But those two months had also led him to cancel dates with you and plans with his daughter. He hadn’t stayed over your apartment in weeks. You’d spoken to Emily, and she told you he was often late in picking her up from school on his custody days with her. When she was with him, he always seemed distant, distracted.

It was all too familiar, Emily told you, and she hated it.

You were worried and becoming increasingly frustrated. Any calls you made to him to check in were a few minutes at most, before he left you hanging to go back to work.

Beau had told you this was a difficult string of homicide cases, and very little else. You knew that he shouldn’t and couldn’t tell you too many details about the case, but you also couldn’t help but feel that he was pulling away from you…and leaving you in the dark.

You’d just gotten home after a longer day than usual at work. Frankly, you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was shower and find whatever you could in your fridge to have for dinner. You didn’t care what it was at this point.

Before you could go rummaging, however, your phone started to ring. You sighed and went back to the purse you dumped on the kitchen table, and you saw that the call was from Carla. Your brows knitted in confusion. She’d been on a business trip in California for one of her higher-profile trial cases.

Carla was polite on the phone, but sounded a bit stressed.

“Emily just called to tell me that Beau hasn’t come by to pick her up from school. She’s been there for two hours,” Carla said.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What? That’s not like him.”

“I know, but he’s not picking up his phone. Is he with you?” she asked.

“No, I just got home. He has to be still at work,” you said. You restrained a sigh as you grabbed your purse back up. “I can pick Emily up.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, in a relieved tone that suggested that was what she’d wanted all along, but she still wanted to be polite about it.

“Yes, I’ll get her. Don’t worry,” you said. “And I’ll talk to Beau about this.”

“Good,” Carla said. “I appreciate that.”

After getting off the phone with Carla, you texted Emily and let her know you were coming to pick her up. She texted back:

Are you sure? I can just take an Uber to your place or something.

You replied:

No, honey. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there in 15 - 20 minutes.

You didn’t manage to get ahold of Beau until you’d already picked Emily up from school. You braved through thirty minutes of traffic to get home again, and you stopped to grab dinner on the way.

Beau didn’t get to your apartment until later that night. You and Emily had a nice dinner of Tex-Mex takeout (though she’d said it was definitely better in Houston). He looked tired and apologetic as he went to hug his daughter first.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “I just got held up at work.”

Emily nodded and tried to smile at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“It’s fine, I get it,” she said.

Beau knew his daughter well enough to see the truth. He sighed, but he went over to you in the kitchen next. You were putting away the leftovers. He laid a hand on your back and tried to kiss you in greeting, but you only gave him your cheek.

You didn’t meet his eyes when you slid over the plate you’d set aside for him: a massive carne asada burrito with all the sauces, just like he liked it.

Beau felt like an ass.

You left him to heat up his food and went to Emily, who was helping to clear the kitchen table.

“Do you need help with your homework?” you asked her. “I know you said you did some at school while you were waiting.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m pretty much done. I’ve got it.”

You smiled at her. “Okay, good job.”

The next item on your mental list was grabbing the bedsheets out of the dryer, to set up the pull-out bed from the couch later for Emily to sleep.

Beau watched you putter around the apartment while Emily settled in front of the TV with the remainder of her homework. He felt like an outsider with his own girlfriend and daughter…and there was an eerily familiar feeling churning in his gut.

Later that night, you were reading in bed. Beau stepped out of the bathroom after a shower, with the towel wrapped around his hips, his chest and arms all dewy. You had to force yourself not to take notice.

You’d been missing him—practically aching for him for weeks, for two months. You were also upset with him though, and for more than one reason.

After he got dressed for bed in a long-sleeved shirt and some sweatpants, Beau once again noticed that deceptively calm look on your face. He knew that face, just as he sensed the tension in the air.

He sighed and came to sit on the edge of his side of the bed. Or at least, the side he’d claimed ever since he started sleeping over regularly here. Somehow, his own trailer had become a bit stale and lonesome, unless Emily was staying over.

Beau watched your profile and saw the way you were trying your best to ignore him.

“I get the feeling you’re mad,” Beau said, breaking the silence. “Sorry about today. I know Carla called you…I just got caught up with something at work.”

“Carla was right to call me,” you replied, though your eyes didn’t leave the page that you weren’t reading. Beau’s lips pursed.

“Darlin’, would you look at me, please?” he asked.

You dropped your book into your lap, and you met his gaze.

“All right, tell me. Why’re you mad?” he asked.

You raised your brows with a tense frown.

“I’m upset with you. Because this is the first night you’ve spent here in over a month. And it’s not because you wanted to.”

You shoved the blankets off your body and slipped out of the bed. Beau’s shoulders sunk a bit.

“Come on, honey. You know that’s not—” he tried, but you weren’t done.

No, you were very far from done.

“I’m upset with you, because every time I try to extend an olive branch and make plans with you, you reschedule at the last minute,” you snapped. “I’m upset with you because what few and far between conversations we do have? They consist of me trying to figure out what’s happening with you, trying to share with you about what’s going on with me—and you’re either half-listening, or you’re running off before the five-minute mark.”

Again, Beau opened his mouth to argue as his brows furrowed, but you beat him to it.

“And not to mention, you forgot your daughter,” you said. “You’ve been forgetting her, and you’ve been shutting me out.”

Beau stood along with you, his whole body tense with frustration.

“Look, it’s not like I’m out there cheating on you! I’m doing my damn job!” he said.

His words hit you like a physical blow. Your mouth fell open in soft shock. Tears even stung in your eyes.

“Reminding me of Michael,” you nodded in understanding. “Okay. Wouldn’t be the first time this month.”

Beau bristled; he didn’t think it was right for you to compare him to your bastard ex-boyfriend.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” he said.

"This isn't fair," you retorted, gesturing between you both with a pointed finger.

Beau's lips pursed. His jaw clenched as he averted his gaze, so he could better hold his tongue before he said something he might regret.

Too late...

Eventually, you stopped waiting for him to answer you.

Beau saw how you withdrew, both from the argument, and from him with a sigh. You crossed your arms and held yourself when you headed into the bathroom.

He internally deflated. Shit.

Something told him that if Emily wasn’t occupying the only other sleeping place in this apartment, he’d have been booted out of your room.

Things were tense the next morning.

Beau agreed to take Emily to school, since you picked her up yesterday. You gave Emily a hug before they left, and you had even packed her a good lunch for school. You knew she had to do that herself whenever she stayed at her dad’s place.

And yes, while the teen was old enough and responsible enough to pack her own lunch, you just wanted to make sure she knew you were still in her corner, no matter what friction might be happening between you and her dad.

You and Beau parted ways that morning with tension still lying between you, just like it had been last night in your bed. After they headed out, you found yourself at a loss, feeling unbalanced.

You didn’t have a class today until noon, so you took the morning to truly think about what was happening here. Whatever Beau’s case was about, you knew it was serious and complex, and he didn’t want to talk about it, likely for your safety.

All you could hope was that Beau, Jenny, Poppernak and the rest of the team were able to solve it quickly. You even began to wonder if it was fair of you to add stress on Beau’s shoulders when he was dealing with something that was clearly taking all of his energy, and making him distant with both you and Emily.

Blowing out a big sigh, you supposed you could try to be gracious one more time. You braved the annoyance of putting real clothes on—a blouse and work casual pants, as you later would have to go in to work.

You first headed over to the precinct with your purse on one shoulder and a plastic bag hanging from your other hand.

You entered the double doors and walked in past the reception desk, then through the bullpen. You noticed right away that there was a commotion going on, as you saw Jenny leading in a man handcuffed behind his back. You almost bumped into him as they crossed you in the hall.

The man was tall and lean, with pieces of his coiffed dark hair falling over his sharp blue eyes. They found you, and his lips curved into a smile after he gave you a once-over.

His smile made a shiver of unease prickle down your spine as you froze.

“Keep moving, Casey,” Jenny ordered.

Beau was right behind her, though the moment he took in the exchange between you and Casey, Beau stalked forward and stepped in between, urging the other man forward with a firm hand on his shoulder and a stern look of warning.

Jenny and Popernak led the suspect into a room for questioning, while Beau’s hand found the small of your back and guided you into his office.

He closed the door behind him and carded a hand through his hair. He let out a subtle breath and turned to face you. He didn’t look all that happy to see you, just tense.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Sorry, we’re a bit busy today.”

Before you could speak, he added, “Matter of fact, it’d be better if you called first next time.”

Your mouth snapped shut. Your brows knitted together in a glare, and you handed him the bag you carried in. It contained a nice hot sandwich and fries from Tonya’s diner, made by Donno himself.

“Here,” was all you said, before you walked out the door of the sheriff’s office.

Beau watched you go in surprise, with the word “wait” halting on his tongue. His gaze traveled down to the open bag between his hands, and sure enough, the smell of a good meal hit him, making his mouth water and his stomach twist with guilt all at once.

Damn it, he sighed. But lunch (and a phone call to you) would have to wait. He set it down on his desk and hastened down the hall to where their suspect, in what had been dubbed the “Fall Murders,” had finally been arrested and held for questioning.

Casey Sanderson; ex-military, dishonorably discharged, an abusive mother in his childhood and an unstable mind following two tours in the Middle East had left him unbalanced, according to his friends from his unit.

His DNA was also discovered under the fingernails of the most recent victim, Christina Mendez. Two weeks ago, her body was found behind a gas station late at night, her neck carved by a knife, and bruises littering her arms and body.

Beau entered the room where Poppernak and Jenny had already gotten started on the suspect.

“Casey here has lawyered up,” Jenny informed him, though her gaze never left the suspect. They were forced to wait on further questioning until the lawyer arrived.

“Ah, the Sheriff of Nottingham,” Casey remarked. His cool blue eyes watch with a measure of nonchalance as Beau stood behind his deputies, arms crossed.

Casey nodded up at him. “Was that your girl out there in the hall?”

Beau’s formerly calm face turned to stone.

Casey’s lips curved slightly.

“Good taste,” was all he said.

His tone was mild, yet it still made Beau’s skin crawl. And his rage built, igniting his blood. He did everything he could to temper that wildfire into a simmer that rolled just underneath his skin.

Jenny and Poppernak knew him well enough to see what he was thinking. Both of them watched him with hidden wariness and concern, especially when Beau stepped forward, placing one hand on the table between him and Casey Sanderson. Darkened green eyes met cool blue.

“Where were you on November 2 between 10:00 p.m. and 4:00 a.m.?” Beau asked.

Beau was irate when, a few days later, the ADA prosecutor called him at his office first thing in the morning to inform him of the latest news on Casey Sanderson.

“What the hell do you mean he got out on bail yesterday?” Beau snapped. “We have DNA evidence.”

“He claims that he and Miss Mendez had consensual sex earlier that evening, in the women’s bathroom, of all excuses, but they parted ways after leaving the movie theater,” said the ADA. “As you know, we couldn’t put him directly at the gas station near the theater, where she was found. The defense lawyer convinced the judge that the remaining evidence is too circumstantial to warrant holding him without bail.”

Fuckin’ hell, Beau let out an angry breath, carding his fingers through his hair. He hung up with the ADA moments later. His cell phone lighting up with a notification drew his attention, even perking him up a little, but he deflated when he saw it wasn’t from you.

Just Carla letting him know that she’d take Emily for the weekend this time, just like he’d asked. He felt bad for it, but he needed more time to concentrate on his cases. Sanderson was just one of many now, and Poppernak and Jenny couldn’t handle it all.

Beau tried to rub his tired face back to life, but once again, he thought of you. He still felt guilty, and he still missed you. Missed you like hell.

He hesitantly picked up his phone and he called you, hoping you wouldn’t let it go to voicemail again.

Admittedly, you were being a bit petty. You were screening your boyfriend’s calls.

However, if Beau Arlen wanted to see you, then he could get his ass up off that office chair and come to you this time.

You were tired of giving out olive branches left and right. You didn’t deserve to be the one left waiting and wringing your hands, wondering if this man even cared about you…as much as you’d come to care about him.

So you ignored his call—the second one today, and you prepared for your afternoon classes.

Even after your classes were done for the day, you graded a batch of papers to get them out of the way. As much as you couldn’t wait to go home, you didn’t feel like doing more work when you got there.

Another hour and a half ticked by before you finished grading and inputting the percentages into the online gradebook. Then, with a weary sigh, you grabbed your purse and your workbag and headed down to the garage where your car was parked.

You always tried to park in the same spot for faculty, in a space closest to the elevators. You found your car and put down your workbag in the backseat first. When you closed the door, you saw a figure in the window’s reflection.

You gasped and turned around. A man covered your mouth as a scream tore from your throat and echoed loudly in the garage.

He shoved you hard against the car door, but thanks to a few self-defense lessons from both Jenny and Beau, the heel of your hand came up on reflex.

It hit the man up the bridge of his nose with a crack. He shouted and reared back. When he pulled his hand back, it came away bloody. And you finally recognized him as the man you saw at the precinct: tall, thin, dark brown hair, angry blue eyes now staring back at you.

“Fucking bitch,” he chuckled. “Got some fight in you.”

Fear was a living thing inside you, but you somehow managed to force your body to move.

You scrambled for the driver’s door of your car and tried to open it, but the man shoved it closed, then grabbed at you once again. His forearm pressed across your chest and pinned you there.

The edge of a knife poised at your throat, making you freeze in panic. The blade teased your skin, hot breath against your cheek.

“Freeze, Casey!” came an angry shout. Both you and your attacker recognized that voice. Your breath was stifled in hope. Casey frowned in frustration.

Just over his right shoulder, you saw Beau holding his gun aimed at the man who held you. His brows were drawn together, his entire body poised to react to whatever Casey did next.

“Turn around, hands up high, and drop that knife,” Beau ordered.

Casey’s mouth edged into a humorless smile. “Evening, Sheriff. Up for a date night?”

He slid the blade just slightly against your skin, enough to draw a line of blood, and make you inhale sharply.

“I’m not gonna say it again! Turn around and drop the goddamn knife,” Beau snapped. “Try anything else, and I’ll make a third hole in your spine.”

Letting out a breath through his nose, Casey’s façade of nonchalance fell. He released you, stepping back slowly with his hands held in the air. The knife slipped out of his hand.

Beau stalked towards him before it even clattered to the floor. You were frozen where you stood pressed against your car.

You watched Beau stow away his gun and wrangle Casey’s hands behind his back, slapping on some tight handcuffs, and getting the man onto his stomach on the dusty ground, his cheek pressed hard to the asphalt. Beau held him down with one hand while he fished for his cell in his pocket to call for backup on the arrest.

Beau’s head lifted to catch your eyes. He gave you a reassuring look.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got this,” he said.

His voice was warm for you, steady. When you nodded, it was a jerky motion as you held a hand to your racing heart. You then raised it shakily up to your neck and swiped at the trail of blood there. The wound itself was minor, just a sting, but it was a cold reminder of what could’ve been.

The wait for Jenny and the rest of the team was agonizing.

Beau kept Casey on the ground, facing away from you. Eventually you were able to peel yourself off the side of your car and climb into the driver’s seat, just so you wouldn’t have to keep looking at the man who attacked you.

Jenny and Poppernak arrived within half an hour to haul Casey up and drag him into Jenny's SUV. That allowed Beau to return to your car and tap on the window of the driver’s side. You jolted and looked over to find Beau’s reassuring face.

“They took him. It’s okay,” he said, only a little muffled through the door. You nodded and gestured for him to step back, so you could open the door.

The moment you were on your feet and out of the car, you went into Beau’s waiting embrace. Hot tears welled up in your eyes. You hiccupped and struggled to breathe steady, but Beau held you tight and soothed a hand over your hair, down your back.

“It’s over, honey, I promise. I promise I’ve gotcha,” he said quietly in your ear. You nodded and let his warmth seep into you.

“I’ll take you home, okay?” he said. “We’ll get your car tomorrow.”

You sucked in a trembling breath.

“Please,” you agreed. “Take me home.”

“Am I going to have to testify in court?” you asked.

Beau held you close in your bed later that night. You two had dinner together and had been rewatching old episodes of Friends to take both of your minds off what happened today.

Beau reluctantly nodded in answer to your question.

“The ADA will probably ask you to, but…you can say no,” he said. “I’ll back you, whatever you decide.”

“No, I want to,” you said, even though the thought made you tremble inside. “That animal belongs in a cage.”

Beau silently agreed with you. He admired you for your vehemence, and your courage to even say that you wanted to testify against Casey.

Beau laid a gentle kiss above your brow and continued to rub your back. You both had the blankets up to your hips with a bowl of popcorn balanced between his thigh and yours. He moved it over onto his nightstand so he could curl you more securely against him. You raised your head to consider him thoughtfully.

“Why were you on campus?” you asked, as it finally occurred to you. “How did you know I was still there?”

“I thought I could catch you after your last class, so I went up to your office to see you,” he said. “But you weren’t there. A receptionist was on her way out though. She saw you head out a little while before, so I booked it back down to the garage to see if you were there.”

He was never more glad to heed his gut instinct. That was when he’d heard you scream.

The memory made his insides clench. Beau shook his head against the rest of it. He let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m so damn sorry for what happened. You gotta know, all this time, this is what I was trying to prevent,” he said, with pain written on his face. “But I’m also sorry that I shut you out. You and Em. I just didn’t know how else to keep you out of this. After what happened this summer…I wasn’t gonna let that happen again.”

With tears stinging in your eyes, you nodded. You knew now that he hadn’t meant to hurt you.

Beau Arlen truly was a good man, and that was hard to come by.

You shifted so that you were propped up on your elbow, resting on his pillow. You stroked his cheek.

“I understand. And I’m sorry too. I know that your job can be difficult, and stressful, and sometimes dangerous,” you said. “But I need you to talk to me. If we’re going to do this for the long haul, we need to communicate. I can’t be left in the dark like that again, Beau. I just can’t…"

It was your turn to sigh. "It feels too close to what I went through with Michael. Being lied to. Being told what I wanted to hear, never actually knowing what was going on, until it was too late.”

You admitted that last part with a hitch of emotion in your voice, meeting Beau’s eyes. His were full of remorse.

“I know. Again, I’m sorry. I promise, I’m gonna work on it,” he said, nodding. He planned to make it up to his daughter too. He would talk to her tomorrow.

You drew his attention back with the hand caressing his cheek.

“I just don’t want anything like that to happen to us. I love you too much,” you said. A tear worked its way down your cheek. “Beau, I love you.”

Beau grasped your hand, holding it to his cheek. His furrowed expression eased, and his lips slowly turned up into a smile. A true one, hinting at all the charm that was unique to this man. You’d missed that smile.

He dried your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Well that’s good,” he said. “Because I don’t think I’ve loved you more than I do right now.”

You laughed through more of your tears, and let him guide you into a tender kiss. One sparked another, and more, each one more searing than the next.

Beau’s fingers disappeared into your hair, just as your legs tangled themselves between his when he rolled you over, and underneath him, where he continued putting actions behind his words.

He gave you a promise that night, one that you’d both try to hold yourselves to in the morning.

AN: Ahh, I'm soft. This feels like the more "official" end to Take Me Home, though I'd be open to come back to these two if new ideas hit me. But until then, let me know what you thought of this one! 😘

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Take Me Home Masterlist

Big Sky Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

For those of you with tag lists, Tumblr is doing a weird thing again with tags. I had to separate them 5 at a time for the hyperlinks to work on each blog! So annoying lol.