𝐝𝐢'𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚

total word count (so far): 8,551

Read me on Ao3! ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

⋆˚࿔ Find all the Parts Here 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Summary:

He was everywhere you went; Gino's pub on Friday nights when you went line dancing with your friends, your favorite spot at the lake, you can't escape him when he's always in your house taking the last beer. It doesn't make it better when his duty-as sheriff and your father's best friend-is to monitor your every move.After a series of robberies and break-ins, it's only fitting your father would assign Sheriff Arlen to be your unofficial body guard until further notice. A few years ago, it would've been different; because a few years ago YOU were different, but college changes people. Maybe you don't see it, but he does.He notices the stolen glances you share with one another, the way your heart races when he calls you "sweetheart," and even if he knows it's wrong, he can't help himself most nights.He's older than you, by at least twenty years, he's off limits, he practically grew up with your father, and there's no getting away from it.

tags🏷️ :

Top Beau Arlen, beau arlen - Freeform, Fluff, Smut, dbf, beau arlen dbf, age gap, Bodyguard, Forbidden Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, dom beau arlen, midwest gothic, gothic coastal small town vibe where something doesn't feel right, PIV, Protective Beau Arlen, Jealous Beau Arlen, Older Man/Younger Woman, No Pregnancy, i have tokophobia im sorry, small town, Cunnilingus, summertime, Gloomy Weather, Cock Warming, Reader-Insert, No Use of y/n for reader-Insert, maybe catholic guilt, talking you through it, Fluff and Angst, Southern Gothic, Praise Kink, Angst and Porn, Yearning, a man who yearns is a man who earns, older beau arlen, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Probably Accidental Voyeurism, Sneaking Around, calls you sweeheart, definitely talks you through it, Thigh Riding, Slow Burn, Dirty Talk, coastal gothic, hope you can swim, if not now you can, taboo themes, Daddy Issues, probably fauxcest i'm sorry

Chapter 05: Lake Days

No guy had ever made a makeshift picnic for you, let alone after taking care of a nasty hangover. But Beau Arlen was no regular man, as you’d learned over the past few days. 

You’d just missed your dad when his best friend drove you both to the house, he left a note on the counter top for both of you to read:

Expected to be back by the weekend, bring her along to the office, will ya? Maybe give her an apprenticeship for the summer and out of her room. Left money for takeout in case y’all get hungry.  

-Dad

Beau didn’t pocket the money, instead gave it to you and said it was “our little secret, you’ll need the money more, kid.” He made himself comfortable in the guest room he was already familiar with after staying at the house many nights before, just across the hall from your room. The last he’d been up there was when he caught you almost twirling in your panties, almost caught a kiss from you, too. 

He hung his summer flannels in the closet, never too cautious about this town’s bipolar weather. Some days you’d wake up to fifty degree mornings and rain showers, by noon it would be in the nineties and humid – the sun rarely came out except on days like this. It was a perfect day to bathe under the burning sun and take a sneaky dip in the lake. The only difference was you weren’t alone at the lake, you were alone with a man who could be your father, he sure did act like it. 

“Gon’ burn if you keep rubbin’ that oil on,” Beau’s silhouette hovers over you laying on the towel. Previous bikinis were becoming loose on you, the only option was a tiny triangle bikini: the only problem? The cups went missing in the washing machine, and his voice alone made the buds of your breasts tingle.

He reached his hand out in front of you again and pulled you up to meet his figure. He towered over you, messing up your wavy hair before rushing towards the water, splashing into the lake. You went after him, feet kicking in the dirty sand then swooshing through the water, almost tripping on a rock before Beau caught you. 

“Easy there, kiddo,” a soft heat settled across your face with his touch. Beau’s face brightened after seeing your warmed cheeks. Droplets fell from the tips of his sandy brown hair onto your face, as he held you there staring at you like no man has before. 

“You alright?” He asks and you nod quickly. He gets ahold of himself, letting you float in the abalone shell water watching him submerge himself. 

Being alone with him for the next few days was one thing, but the tension between the two of you kept growing and the damn bikini wasn’t helping. It might as well be lingerie, your breasts were escaping from your breasts as the water stretched the fabric. Your feet kicked in the water as you extended your arms ahead, one inhale and your head was underneath the water. It was clear and a mix of a green and blue, small fish swam past you as your arms pulled you deeper into the lake. 

Beau swung from the tireswing into the lake, waves only brought you closer to each other. You’d lay on the dock and bask in the sunlight and know his eyes were watching you from across the lake. He’d sit there with his toes touching the water and his arms resting on his knees and just watch you, watching him. Your eyes flickered beneath your sunglasses, hands raised above your head to stretch your body. He’d curse under his breath, never wanting you to hear his sins and secret prayers. 

He kept his guard up around you, most times, but Beau knew he was going to break. He could’ve kissed you all day on this lake, taken away any innocence you had left as he’d sweep any loose strands out of the way. Maybe he could’ve been more for you, if you’d let him. If God would let him, maybe that was why he hadn’t kissed you yet. 

You were raised Catholic, brought up in holy communion and got confirmed at such a young age without knowing what any of it meant. Until one night you woke up one night, terrified and wrecked in tears, asking how many more “Our Father's” would I have to do in order for you to let me in? Forgive me, for I don’t know my wrongings, but my doubts–!

You raised your sunglasses and lifted yourself up, Beau’s eyes never left you. He took a swig of his beer before placing it back down. Between his legs was a tent, a bulge staring right at you in his trunks. No one else was around, he would’ve whipped it out in front of you, but once again he held back. Beau made his way back into the water, breastroking his way towards the dock you sat from, now dangling your toes to touch the tips of the water. His lips brushed past your feet while he pulled his upper body up onto the dock. His tanned biceps flexed, and that feeling between your legs came back. 

Like fucking grapefruits in his arms.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

His aged stomach still had plenty of muscle in him, just a small belly with a trail of dark hair leading down his–

“Any summer romances, kid?” 

Your eyes shoot up to Beau, who’s been watching you watch him. 

“Oh, um,” you’re flustered. Of course you’re flustered, he’s a Greek god and compared to you–you’re… you’re… you.

“Well there was a guy at the party yesterday, but he wasn’t really…”

Beau shuffles closer to you. “Go on, don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart.”

“He wasn’t really special, I guess.”

“Not ‘yer type?” A brow raised.

You shrug and kick your feet in the water. “I guess not.” 

“So what is it, then?”

“What is what?”

“”Your type, darlin.”

A faint blush spread across your cheeks, it was impossible to hide but subtle enough to ignore. 

“Oh.” You pause, taking a breath. “I never really thought about it, I guess a bit of everything.”

Beau let out a hoarse laugh, hands running through his long, wet hair. “That ain’t a real answer, kid.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, preferring anything but. “Beau?” His head cocked to your direction. 

You swallowed, throat tightening as the words caught up in your throat. 

“Do you think someone could ever love me?” Memories your ex flashed through your mind, of your parents, of God himself. 

His smoldering grin turned into a subtle line, then a frown. “What do you mean, kid?” You scoff, leaning your hands back, chest and stomach showing off. “See, that. That’s what I mean, is everyone gonna stop seeing me like a child? I’m allowed to vote, I can drink and smoke pineapple express legally. You keep calling me kid, I’m not a kid.” 

Beau sighs, letting his head droop for a moment before pulling himself back up. “I know you ain’t a kid, sweetheart.”

His green eyes lock with yours, his veiny hands their way towards you on the wooden planks. 

“Then why do you keep calling me a kid?” Your heartrate began to spike, your breasts peaking out of your bikini top. Beau’s breath hitched, a hiccup escaped from his lips and the scent of beer filled your nose. A silver chain hung from his chest, your gaze went back and forth to the necklace and his eyes.

“Because the things I wanna call you would make me a sinnin’ man, sweetheart.” 

His hands reached behind your top to reach for the stings of the fabric when a voice shouted your name. 

Behind you was Shayla with her boy toy, waving to you and Beau, who in a swift movement had his arms crossed. 

After swimming your way back to the beach, she updated you both on the news. “I’m surprised Sheriff Beau didn’t tell you about the curfew they set,” she goes on. “The criminals are still on the run, apparently a lot more harmful than we thought.”

You shot a look at Beau, before noticing the sun was beginning to set between the trees and clouds. Thunder began to growl in the sky, Shayla was off with her date back to her house, warning us about the storm coming tonight. 

You turned back to him, now your arms were crossed. “A curfew now? Really?” “It’s the whole town, sweetheart, for everyone’s safety.” He ruffles your hair and starts picking up the  remnants of the makeshift picnic. “Let’s go home, doll.” The tone in his voice changed, but you paid no mind to it. 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

You sat on the phone talking to Shayla, twirling your hair into spirals. You were showered, sitting in your socks and panties with a night shirt covering your breasts. 

“I’m pretty sure I saw something,” Shayla gushed, followed by a giggle.

“He was tightening my top, it was going to fall.” It was a white lie, but you weren’t going to be the one to admit to her.

“Uh-huh, whatever you wanna tell yourself, just wait until you catch him huffing your panties.” 

The thought alone makes your thighs squeeze together, feet shuffling socks. 

“I don’t know, it’d be like dating my dad.” 

“Who said anything about dating? That man is mount everest; a rough journey to be enjoyed. Besides, at best he’s like your uncle.” 

You sigh, sinking your head into the silk pillow. “That’s not helping.”

“What do you think of being a Salem witch for Halloween this year? Yanno, strap me to a log and I’ll scream while strapped to it.”

“What conjured this thought, Shay?”

“Eh, alcohol. Maybe depression too, hard to say at this rate. I gotta go, good luck with your DILF!” Before you could curse your friend out, the phone call was wiped from your screen. It was getting late anyway, you’d might as well go to sleep.

Across the hall, behind a closed door, stood Beau; his hand gripped around his thick erection, pumping up and down his length trying to keep his moans and groans in his mouth. His boxers left his cock sprung out across the desk, looking at a polaroid photo of you. You were in your freshmen year of college, in some skimpy little dress– a photo he ungratefully took while you were showering. 

One of these nights he was going to barge into his room and have his way with you, no matter how wrong it was, he’d fuck you until every crucifix fell in the house. He’d pound into your soaking core, slide his tongue in between your folds until you came all over his face–

It was just a matter of hours. 

The lights in the room flickered as he came onto the polaroid. 

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 ✶.𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Persephone, I wasn't lying when I said I would burn the world for you." "That's what I'm afraid of." – Hades and Persephone, Unknown

He was everywhere you went; Gino's pub on Friday nights when you went line dancing with your friends, your favorite spot at the lake, you can't escape him when he's always in your house taking the last beer. It doesn't make it better when his duty-as sheriff and your father's best friend-is to monitor your every move.

After a series of robberies and break-ins, it's only fitting your father would assign Sheriff Arlen to be your unofficial body guard until further notice. A few years ago, it would've been different; because a few years ago you were different, but college changes people. Maybe you don't see it, but he does.

He notices the stolen glances you share with one another, the way your heart races when he calls you "sweetheart," and even if he knows it's wrong, he can't help himself most nights.

He's older than you, by at least twenty years, he's off limits, he practically grew up with your father, and there's no getting away from it.

tags🏷️ :

Top Beau Arlen, beau arlen - Freeform, Fluff, Smut, dbf, beau arlen dbf, age gap, Bodyguard, Forbidden Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, dom beau arlen, midwest gothic, gothic coastal small town vibe where something doesn't feel right, PIV, Protective Beau Arlen, Jealous Beau Arlen, Older Man/Younger Woman, No Pregnancy, i have tokophobia im sorry, small town, Cunnilingus, summertime, Gloomy Weather, Cock Warming, Reader-Insert, No Use of y/n for reader-Insert, maybe catholic guilt, talking you through it, Fluff and Angst, Southern Gothic, Praise Kink, Angst and Porn, Yearning, a man who yearns is a man who earns, older beau arlen, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Probably Accidental Voyeurism, Sneaking Around, calls you sweeheart, definitely talks you through it, Thigh Riding, Slow Burn, Dirty Talk, coastal gothic, hope you can swim, if not now you can, taboo themes, Daddy Issues, probably fauxcest i'm sorry

Chapter 01: His Favorite Girl

Chapter 02: Laundry Day

Chapter 03: Flimsy Limbs

Chapter 04: The Morning After

Chapter 05: Lake Days

Chapter 06: WIP

Read me on Ao3!

learn more about di'belladonna ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

tags🏷️ :

Top Beau Arlen, beau arlen - Freeform, Fluff, Smut, dbf, beau arlen dbf, age gap, Bodyguard, Forbidden Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, dom beau arlen, midwest gothic, gothic coastal small town vibe where something doesn't feel right, PIV, Protective Beau Arlen, Jealous Beau Arlen, Older Man/Younger Woman, No Pregnancy, i have tokophobia im sorry, small town, Cunnilingus, summertime, Gloomy Weather, Cock Warming, Reader-Insert, No Use of y/n for reader-Insert, maybe catholic guilt, talking you through it, Fluff and Angst, Southern Gothic, Praise Kink, Angst and Porn, Yearning, a man who yearns is a man who earns, older beau arlen, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Probably Accidental Voyeurism, Sneaking Around, calls you sweeheart, definitely talks you through it, Thigh Riding, Slow Burn, Dirty Talk, coastal gothic, hope you can swim, if not now you can, taboo themes, Daddy Issues, probably fauxcest i'm sorry

WC: 1.3k

The sheets reeked of sandalwood and smoke when you woke up entangled in foreign sheets. Memories from the night before begin to fill your mind: Catching a late cab with Shayla, slamming shots, making your way back to Beau’s home.

Your arm reached to the other side of the bed, sheets folded neatly meeting your side. Nothing happened, you said to yourself, unsure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Where was he, anyway? The alarm clock read five in the morning, the moonsetting illuminated his bed. You were still in your dress and socks, your boots were nowhere to be found on the other hand. Perhaps he’s a neat freak and the idea of shoes in his bedroom freaks Beau out, most men his age were slobs but his bedroom was spotless. 

It wasn’t very decorated, wooden drawers and rustic talismans hung on the walls along with a calendar. On the nightstand sat a small plate of medicine and a glass of water. 

“Eat me.” “Drink me.” 

You scanned the torn piece of paper before swallowing the small pills. The door swung open and Beau appeared, steamy with damp hair and a towel draped around his waist. You shuffled between the sheets as he made his way to the bed, smiling to himself.

“Glad to see ‘yer awake,” his voice drawls. “How you feelin’, sweetheart?” His smoldering gaze met yours as he sat across from you on the bed.

You shrugged, then said, “like I’ve had better tequila.”

Beau lets out a low whistle, his toned belly sucks in and out. “You must be hungry, aren’t ya?” You nodded. “Alright, let me get dressed and  I’ll cook some eggs for us.” 

You made your way out of the bedroom, feeling his eyes watch you escape his lair. Beau almost grabbed your hand as you stood up, to keep you there and drop his towel. But he didn’t, as much as he wanted to. 

After breakfast, eggs and toast, Beau listened to the news when washing the dishes. You insisted on helping, you felt guilty when noticing the makeshift bed on the sofa but Beau sat you back down in the kitchen.

“I offered, darlin,’” he’d say. His voice always softened when speaking to you, so gentle and firm–the world never saw this side of Beau Arlen. 

He’d informed your dad you were safe with him; his first secret with his best friend was how he wound up picking you up. Beau told him some alibi about one of your friends hosting a shindig and you weren’t feeling well. Dad didn’t seem to mind either way, he trusted Beau with his only daughter, even if it was the stupidest thing to ever do. 

Almost forty years of friendship could be ruined with just the touch of your skin, a risk Beau would risk sooner or later. 

He insisted you’d spend the day at his house, “I won’t bother ya much, darlin. I got some work calls I gotta make, run down to the station as well.”

You fell asleep after breakfast, Beau tucked you in and left another glass of water waiting for you and a trash can alongside the bed. Just before you fell back into your dreams, a gentle pair of lips pressed against your forehead, whispering sweet nothings before a “click” from the door. You don’t remember much before the unconscious takes back over. 

By the time it was noon the skies were clear as you basked in the sun; you were just in a big shirt but it was his shirt. Draped over you like a smock, droplets fell from a popsicle you found in his freezer. Cherry flavored, painting your lips like sticky lip gloss. Beau’s truck pulled into the driveway while you sat on his porch. He made his way out of the car, piles of paperwork in one hand and keys in the other. Your eyes lit up and you crossed your legs, he didn’t mind that you wore his shirt. Not at all.

“Feelin’ any better, doll?” He takes a seat next to you on the porch swing. 

“Much,” you gleam and take another lick of the popsicle. He licks his lips, watching the movement, knowing exactly what you’re doing. “You had these hidden away, why don’t you grab one?” Your lips pop and make an “o” shape while waving the popsicle around his face. 

Beau’s brows furrow, ignoring your playful banter, fiddling with the papers in his hands. “What’s that?” You asked, curiously.

Beau sighed, rubbing his big hand across his face. “Suspsect reports, evidence reports needin’ approval, whole buncha’ work nonsense I don’t even understand most days.” He chuckles, glancing over to you. “You’re lucky, know that sweetheart?”

You shake your head, he leans back on the porch swing still keeping his gaze on you. “You ain’t gotta deal with the real world just yet,” he continued watching you bob the popsicle in and out of your mouth, “I envy that about you, your youth.”

You lightly punch his shoulder and give a glossy grin, pearlescent teeth stained with cherry juice. “I’m not a kid, Beau.” He rolls his eyes at the irony, peering down at your uneven white socks, lace fringe at your ankles. “I don’t want you to see me as one.”

He raises a brow. “Oh yeah?” His free hand inches its way down to your bare thigh. “How do you want me to see you, sweetheart?”

Your heart begins to race, an unusual feeling growing between your thighs. His eyes never left yours as he waited for you to make a move. Your free hand began to trace his aged face with the tips of your fingertips; the arch of his thick brows, the edge of his beard, the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t help but stare at the girl before him, an angel almost, who had come down from heaven to taunt him. His green eyes glowed when they met yours, you were so innocent and naive and all he wanted was to corrupt you, make you his own. But there might have been evil within him, he was nonetheless tamed by the ethereal beauty of an angel.

His phone started going off before you could answer; Beau’s hands escaped your body before he could go any further and pulled his phone out of his pocket, grunting to himself. 

“Sheriff Arlen,” he clears his throat and answers the phone. “Hey, buddy.” It’s probably Dad. No woman would wanna be greeted with “buddy” on the phone, especially when his hands were just on you. Beau stands up from the swing and starts to pace around his porch. 

“The impala’s good for sellin’? Always good to hear. Yeah she’s with me right now.” Beau turns on his heels to face you, now sprawled out on the porch swing still working on the popsicle. His eyes widened and rested his hand on his hip, “Of course, ‘fer how long, brother?” 

You zone out for the next minute or so, until Beau hangs up and curses under his breath. “Gotta take you back home, sweetheart.” You sit back up with a frown. 

“Is everything okay with my dad?”

Beau nodded with no sign of worry on his face when asked about that. “He’s takin’ the impala out west at sundown and says he’ll be away for the next few days. Damn buyer changed locations on your old man.”

“Oh.” Your lips made an “o” shape before taking another taste of your popsicle. 

“He doesn't want you to be on your own, so he told me to take you under my wing ‘till he’s back.”

“Oh.”

tags🏷️ :

Top Beau Arlen, beau arlen - Freeform, Fluff, Smut, dbf, beau arlen dbf, age gap, Bodyguard, Forbidden Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, dom beau arlen, midwest gothic, gothic coastal small town vibe where something doesn't feel right, PIV, Protective Beau Arlen, Jealous Beau Arlen, Older Man/Younger Woman, No Pregnancy, i have tokophobia im sorry, small town, Cunnilingus, summertime, Gloomy Weather, Cock Warming, Reader-Insert, No Use of y/n for reader-Insert, maybe catholic guilt, talking you through it, Fluff and Angst, Southern Gothic, Praise Kink, Angst and Porn, Yearning, a man who yearns is a man who earns, older beau arlen, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Probably Accidental Voyeurism, Sneaking Around, calls you sweeheart, definitely talks you through it, Thigh Riding, Slow Burn, Dirty Talk, coastal gothic, hope you can swim, if not now you can

Chapter 03: Flimsy Limbs

You didn’t go downstairs again that night, you decided it was best to avoid Beau after what had happened last night. I licked his face, who does that? Your fingers run through your hair and sigh at your desk. 

You couldn’t help but listen for Beau’s laughter, filling your living room with clanking beers with Dad. He had come home an hour or so after Beau barged in, invited him to stay for dinner, “we always order more than we can eat” Dad says. Beau smiled at your father’s offer, most likely wondering why you’re hiding out in your room.

Part of it is to look for summer jobs, maybe pick up an internship – you needed something to do. There was only a year left until graduation, then onto grad school for another few years. Dad wasn’t pleased to hear your ideas of becoming a forensic psychologist, working in a correctional unit with criminals wasn’t usually a father’s first choice for a career. Realistically, college wasn’t on the table at the beginning; while your grades throughout high school were phenomenal and even now, dean’s list each semester–deep down inside he wanted nothing more for you to stay in town. 

“Maybe you’ll meet a nice boy, give him a family and settle down,” your father’s words danced around what he really wanted to say: that you’re better off as a housewife. 

You scoff at the thought. A housewife, yeah right. You’d just turned the legal drinking age a few months back, there was simply no rush to settle down and hitch within six months. Some of the girls from the high school were already having “baby sprinkles” with their blue collared men, meanwhile you were staring at a blank page ripped from your journal. Most of the sentences you drafted were scribbled out. 

Dear Beau,

I’m sorry for-A thick line crossed in the middle. 

I don’t want you to think-The pen pushed down harder this time. 

What exactly were you trying to say? Why would you apologize for how he makes you feel? For wanting to kiss him, feel his scruffy beard brush across your legs and up your thighs? You wanna tell Beau how wrong it is, to feel insanity from the desire you never felt before? The way his southern accent gets softer when he looks down at you, it makes you infuriated. He infuriated you by heart and he knew it, he had to! Calling you “kid,” ruffling your hair, licking his lips wishing they were yours. 

You didn’t look at him differently until last year when you were a teenager. He didn’t start to hug you differently until then, as well. Growing up, he’d always give you a bear hug, rocking from side to side. When you’d cry about boys to him in high school, his fingers would comb through your hair during the embrace, whispering how you deserve better. Was he better? Is that what he’d meant? Surely not, you were younger back then, not that you aren’t now, but with a few more years of experience. 

You didn’t have time to write a letter to Beau, not when you needed a summer job. You left your desk and hopped on your bed to grab your laptop, scrolling the town’s web in hopes of anyone hiring.

Gino’s bar down the road was looking for a server, but you knew the dirty patrons too well. Grease monkeys who still live with their mother, frat brothers with fake IDs, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from your dad. There was always the summer camp at the elementary school, but dealing with kids all summer was your personal nightmare. 

Maybe the library needed an assistant, you made a mental note to call them tomorrow morning. For now, you close the laptop and slide it under your bed before shutting the lights off. 

You scroll through the town’s social page on your phone; looking through the events to come this summer, see what friends are home for break, you find Beau’s account and click on it. There’s not much about his personal life, not that you didn’t know him well, but more so just updates to the police station. He kept his profile as sheriff as neighborly as possible; while he and your dad were close knit, Beau was overall loved by the town. Plenty of girls your age would make eyes as he’d walk down the street, asking what it was like for him to sleep across the hall from you, having him over on Sundays to grill during the summer, shirtless, nonetheless. You’d brush them off as the Arlen fan club, like you weren’t thinking about his head between your thighs instead of your fingers.

This was one of the first nights you started to touch yourself, the tips of your fingertips racing up and down your legs while your thoughts consumed his lagoon green eyes. 

The thought of them peaking up between your legs before his lips pressed back down on your core… 

He had you wrapped around his finger and had no idea of it. 

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

It was four in the morning when Beau decided to get out of bed, he hadn’t slept since hitting the pillow hours before. The black TV screen across from him mickied his silhouette, tossed sheets with the smoke of his cigarette butt dancing up into the air. 

He’d decided a cold shower, below freezing if possible, would be his last resort. His mirrored cabinet caught his figure, aged muscles that had been touched by many hands – all but the ones he wanted.

The cold water fell onto his steamy body, head dropped with one hand hovering over his shaft. He’d been hard since the drive home, almost pulled over to the side of the road to release himself and call out your name, but a good man wouldn’t do that. A good man’s priority would be to monitor the town, catch the nutjobs on the run. A good man wouldn’t be up all night with his hand against his cheek, in hopes of any trace of the saliva from your tongue. A good man wouldn't think of you while his hand wrapped around his bulge.

Beau Arlen was a good man for the first forty or so years of his life, but for just a few minutes, he would let himself break free.

  His hand began to pump, pacing himself before warming the water up. His cock thickened of the thought of you, propped up on his truck in that small little bikini of yours. Beau had refused to think in such a subjective manner before, but seeing you propped up on the bed, walking around in your panties…

He’d imagined you bent over the counter top in nothing but your underwear, hands tracing up to your core, whispering the terrible things he’d do to you. 

“Jesus, baby,” Beau muttered, a subtle moan escaping his mouth. The panties, they were all he could think about during the drive. Were you always in cheeky, laced panties when no one was home? He bit his tongue, hips jerked as he continued to thrust his cock in his fingers. The water burned his back, wet hair matting down across his head when he felt a heavy weight in his balls. Already? He hadn’t finished this quickly in so long, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be that way for you. 

Beau would ridicule himself for his taboo fantasies of you later, his grip tightened around his shaft as his legs began to shake. 

“Baby, please,” he begged to himself, each thrust faster. What position would he have you in first? Beau wouldn’t treat you like one of the women he’d bring home from the bar, no, he’d take his precious time with you. He’d start with pulling your socks off with your legs propped against his shoulders, kissing up your legs and slowly make his way up to your thighs. Palm your butt with his calloused hands and squeeze until you’d yelp. He’d worship you, if you let him. 

Beau knew he was a sick man, he used to think of you as his own daughter, but you grew older. The curves around your ribs perfected your figure, your breasts that had never felt a man’s lips before. God forbid, your father had ever found out–

“Come ‘fer me,” he cries breathfully, “please, darlin.’” He could almost hear your own whimpers as his heart thudded, he’d make you orgasm for hours, leave your legs shaking from him. Beau’s hands gripping your hair as you’d take his thick–

Beau came hard and long, heart pounding as he cursed under his breath. His vision tunneled watching his milky cum circle drain, still hard and aching for you even after release. It fixed nothing, giving him no choice but to make you his own – soon or later. His knees buckled and lowered himself into the tub. Goddammit, kid. 

He was convinced you were put here to torment him, you're a treasured little lamb, and he has no plans for being gentle.

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

“Just an hour, then if the vibe’s off we can go home.” Shayla’s words echoed in your head, it’d been three hours since you showed up to the dingy apartment space. Some guy she’d been seeing on the side told you both about the party and begged your friend to come. And of course, she needed an alibi. 

“... But yeah, I think Summer was the problem in the movie,” the voice continued. 

Your grasp on the solo cup tightened as the loser across from you gushed about his cinephile takes. His name was along the lines of Rodney or Richie, you didn’t seem to care either way. The boy waited for you to respond, not expecting you to excuse yourself downstairs. 

Parties at college were just like this; guys your age talkin’ everyone’s ear off as they nurse their warm beers. You tended to avoid them, hide in the corner and observe from afar. 

It was better that way, you weren’t one for love in the first place. Your first boyfriend was supposed to be “the one,” everyone said so, you told yourself he was. You told yourself you’d awaken one day and let yourself think he was the one. You were it for him, but it wasn’t right, it wasn’t love.

A love, a blend of icy poison and ambrosial nectar, existed between one another; it was a divine haven for him, yet an infernal torment for you.

You glance down at your phone when making your way down the steps, wishing you hadn’t texted the last resort. It’s almost one in the morning and Shayla’s probably going to third base in a closet, Dad’s fast asleep and would be furious knowing you’re out at a party. 

Another house was broken into the other day! 

A young woman just about your age was kidnapped going out at night!

Shouldn’t be dressin’ so provocative. 

He was overprotective of his only daughter, with every right to be, of course. He lost his wife, your mother, only so many years ago and refuses to lose another one of his girls. Yet his words are still carved into your head, you didn’t dress provocatively.

Your black boots squeaked as you made your way to the front door, pushing past the drunk kids you were in kindergarten with. Usually you didn’t try hard for house party attire, tonight was just a simple babydoll dress and high socks and your mother’s old boots. She used to walk around the town with you as a young girl, sooner or later you’ll be older than her.

Your phone buzzed. I’m outside, the text read, you swallowed heavily. His headlights beamed down the street in front when you made your way out to his truck. He’d always come to the rescue, he said. This was just him sticking to his word, that’s what you told yourself, but the three shots wanted to tell him things that would get you shoved in a confessional booth. 

You stumbled your way to his truck, fiddling with the door handle before a “click” popped the door open. There across from the passenger seat was Beau, in a wrinkled T-shirt wrapped with a leather jacket, and his starchy jeans, eyes meeting yours after scanning your attire. 

No words were exchanged when you hopped in his truck, you didn’t pick any of the CDs to play, and you didn’t mention anything when he passed the turn to your house. 

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Beau starts, breaking the silence after what felt like an eternity. 

He looks over at you, keeping one hand steady on the wheel and his other hand on his pant thigh. What would you tell him? My friend–who kinda sucks–deserted me at a party to feel like “Michael in the Bathroom?” That she tried setting you up with a guy who thinks women shouldn’t vote, and almost started drinking from the bottle to get through the conversation? Or that I wish it was just the tequila making me want to kiss your stupid face? 

“My social battery died,” is all you could mutter out. 

Beau chuckled. “I’m gonna need more than that, sweetheart.” 

“My friend went home with someone, my arm is floppy. Like a puppet.” 

He accelerates on the gas before signaling a left turn, you continue to move your arms like snakes, they’re tingling. Whatever cheap tequila you took at the party was starting to catch up to you. 

“Your dad’s gon’ kill me,” Beau grunts. He turns down a gravel path, making his way to his house. His house? “You ain’t goin’ home like this, sweetheart.” 

You bobbed your head up and down, attempting to gain clarity of this situation. One minute Beau was pulling his truck in reverse, palming the steering wheel–the next he was carrying you up the stairs like newlyweds. 

Your gaze met his, and his hands and beautiful eyes never left your figure. For a moment you thought to yourself, if you were brave enough, you’d tell him. So that he would know, and it would be out in the open. There wouldn’t be any chance of taking it back, and that made you feel like you weren’t brave enough to be honest. But with how his eyes peered down at yours, full of such care and worry, you thought in the slightest chance that maybe he knew. 

Beau sat you on his bed, unzipping your boots and throwing them across the floor. He left the room shortly after tucking you under his sheets, his natural, sandalwood musk flooded your senses. 

He returned to the bedroom with a glass of water and a handful of motrin, yet when he walked over to his nightstand quiet snores escaped from you. Beau snickered to himself, carefully studying your hair falling across your face. Your skin illuminated in the moonlight, lips parted as you slept peacefully. Beau couldn’t help but graze his hand across your cheek to remove any loose strands. 

“Has anyone taken care of you?” He whispered. 

Of course, there was no response, but it didn’t stop him from confessing.

🏷️

Top Beau Arlen, beau arlen - Freeform, Fluff, Smut, dbf, beau arlen dbf, age gap, Bodyguard, Forbidden Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, dom beau arlen, midwest gothic, gothic coastal small town vibe where something doesn't feel right, PIV, Protective Beau Arlen, Jealous Beau Arlen, Older Man/Younger Woman, No Pregnancy, i have tokophobia im sorry, small town, Cunnilingus, summertime, Gloomy Weather, Cock Warming, Reader-Insert, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, maybe catholic guilt, talking you through it, Fluff and Angst, Southern Gothic, Praise Kink, Angst and Porn, Yearning, a man who yearns is a man who earns, older beau arlen, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Probably Accidental Voyeurism, Sneaking Around, calls you sweeheart, definitely talks you through it, Thigh Riding, Slow Burn, Dirty Talk, coastal gothic, hope you can swim, if not now you can

wc: 1.6k

Chapter 02: Laundry Day

Beau wasn’t joking when he told you he’d come to the rescue, you just weren’t expecting his eyes to follow you all over town.

At the breakfast table the morning after, Dad mentioned how he wanted Beau to look after you for the summer.

“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, pumpkin,” he almost burned his lips on his hot coffee, then added, “it’s just with the recent invasions down the street–” Dad winces, a flash of your mother crosses his mind. “-It’s not safe for you to be always out on your own.”

You knew where he was coming from; after losing Mom nearly a decade ago, he’d become very protective of you, it didn’t help he knew the entire police academy, either. He refused to bring her up to you a few months after her death, kept his feelings to himself and let him whisper his guilt in each cold beer that met his lips.

You didn’t want to fight with him, not during the first week of summer break. You just nodded, and accepted that Beau would always be one step behind you.

“He’s a good man, ain’t he?” Dad asked.

You nodded. “How’s the Impala?” You’d do anything to avoid thinking of Beau, his calloused hands, his southern drawl, the lagoon green specks in his eyes…

“Damn brake pads need replacin,’ I gotta go to the hardware store soon. Should be ready for sellin’ by next week. You wanna come with me?”

You shrug, then shake your head no. “I’ve got some laundry I gotta do, pick me up a shake on the way

home?”

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

Beau knew your father wasn’t home. He’d ran into him at the hardware store when Beau was picking up his breakfast across the street. He knew he’d be driving past your house within a few lights, and one wrong turn would lead him down your gravel driveway. But he doesn’t know what changed in him, in you.

He doesn’t know when this… infatuation, with you started, he was afraid to admit it himself. Beau knew it was wrong, felt ashamed for even lying to himself about it. He knew it began some time after your first year of college. He noticed your figure first; how quickly one could change within less than a year. Your slender face, sharp cheekbones, your lips… Beau couldn’t sleep the night you came home, his obsessive and borderline taboo thoughts kept him up for almost two days in a row.

His hand traced his face and bushed his lips, sweat droplets ran down his head. The humidity’s gettin’ to me, he said to himself. And that was it.

You were a simple girl, young, and he was a complicated old man lighting your stolen Marlboros.

Well, older.

When the smoke filled in his throat and down to his lungs, he imagined how your plump lips would wrap around the filter. Slowly inhaling the tobacco, soft breaths releasing. If he’d ever see you with another cigarette, he’d pull it out of your mouth and kiss the nicotine out from your lips, in hopes of you returning his desires.

“Christ,” Beau mutters under his breath at the thought. There was at least twenty years between the two of you, not to mention how wrong it would be. How wrong it would be to slide my hand between her thighs…

“Dammit.” He ran through a red light before turning right, and began the gravel path. Beau didn’t know why he wanted to see you, what he would even say, but his boot pressed harder on the pedal. Her father wouldn’t be home for another few hours, he mentioned wanting to stop at the junkyard. Beau knew nothing would happen, he had enough restraint to keep himself from doing the wrong thing. He was the sheriff after all!

The spurs on his boots reflected as he went through the sliding door, whistlin’ an old tune his old man used to play when he was a young man. Beau took his cowboy hat off and left it on the kitchen table, calling your name up the staircase.

No response.

Once again, he calls up to you. “You there, kid?”

When he doesn’t hear you, Beau makes his way up the creaky stairs of the house and glances in each room. Not in your dad’s room, not in the guest room either. Your door is closed, he can tell it's your door by all the stickers decorated on it. When you were younger it was full of princesses and butterflies, but as the years went on you changed it around. He observed the quotes on each door, all from different authors. A quote from A Farewell to Arms, Annabel Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird. He recognized them all from his days in school, sure he slept through most of English but Beau would probably learn more from you. He at least helped you with your history homework and math.

Before he could reach for the handle, the door swung open. Your eyes went wide as one hand was on the doorknob, and the other held a hamper.

Beau’s widened gaze met your eyes, before they lowered down to–

He let out a low whistle. “Darlin’ I’m so sorry, I should’ve–” He’s at a loss for words. It’s not like he didn’t call up to you. It didn’t help that his gaze didn’t leave your bottom half; cropped tee showing the peek of your belly and ivory laced panties.

You cover yourself with the hamper and slam the door on his face, too flushed to grasp words to say. What is wrong with me? Other than the thought of your head, the silence in your room grew before a knock at the other side came.

“It’s alright, kid.” Beau muffles through the door. “‘Yer alright in ‘ere?”

You didn’t respond. You grabbed a pair of shorts from your clean pile before opening the door again, in a more “decent” presentation. Beau’s eyes look back down on yours, giving you a smile. You hate that, the way he sucks his tongue between his teeth when he smiles.

“I’m sorry,” you say, flustered. “It’s laundry day and I was…” You trail off. You can’t help it when he tilts his head when you get like this.

“It’s alright, kid, nothin’ a man ain’t seen before.” Beau chuckles.

You shrug it off when he calls you kid, both of you know you’re not a kid. You’re a grown woman, who still sleeps with her stuffed animals at night.

The vinyl on your record player stops spinning, and before you can object, Beau’s already in your room looking at your vinyls and CDs.

“I didn’t know you still kept these,” he says, sorting through your collection. Some of them were passed down from your extended family, some were from Shayla and Elliot, but your favorites were all from him.

He’s bent down on one knee with his back facing you, looking for AC/DC albums. His flannel almost looks too tight wrapped around his torso, ashy brown hair soft to the touch. You pushed your knees together and sat down on your bed, taking your eyes to your hands. The clouds outside the window began to form dark waves in the sky.

“My favorite’s the Smashing Pumpkins album you gave me,” you finally break.

“Mellon Collie?” Beau asks and you nodded. “I remember hearin’ it for the first time, musta’ been sometime in ‘95.” He looks up to see what must be running through your head when he tells you that. That he’s been alive much longer than you, that he’s probably seen and done things you couldn’t imagine. Not necessarily dirty experiences, per se, but what he was like before becoming the caretaker of the town, of you.

His knees almost crack as he stands back up, gaze landing back on you. You could’ve sworn his beard was longer, more rugged. When did you start noticing him in a different light? When did Beau Arlen, Sheriff Beau Arlen, start to give you a spark between your thighs, in your head? I wish these shorts needed to be washed, they might as well be by the time he leaves.

“Any updates on the suspects?" You asked out of curiosity.

Beau’s arms crossed as he leaned on the collaged wall, hiding any old photos of boy bands with his back. “You know that’s confidential business, kid.”

You roll your eyes and lean on the bead, feet kicked up in the air. “You know I’m not a little girl anymore, right?”

He raises a brow.

“You keep calling me kid, I’m not a little girl, Beau. I’m a grown woman”

He chuckles and walks closer to the bed. “You’re barely grown, kid.” His hands grip on the edge of your bed, his aged veins pumping throughout the back of his hands.

You bite your lip and raise your head to meet him.

“Is that so bad?”

“I beg ‘yer pardon?”

“Am I too young?”

He covers his flushed face, breaking eye contact before he sees you move in his peripheral vision. When Beau’s gaze returns, you’re sitting on your legs, closer to the edge of the bed. Closer to Beau.

You can smell his cologne and burnt tobacco on his flannel, a mix of sandalwood with his natural musk made you feel intoxicated. And Beau Arlen was not someone you could quit.

You licked his cheek before hopping off the bed and back to your hamper, you weren’t going to break; if he thought you were a “kid” still, you might as well still act like one.

His head dropped to his shoulders as you walked out of the room with the hamper, and ran down the stairs to realize what you’d just gotten yourself into.

total word count (so far): 8,551

Read me on Ao3! ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

⋆˚࿔ Find all the Parts Here 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

Summary:

"Persephone, I wasn't lying when I said I would burn the world for you."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

—Hades and Persephone, Unknown

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

He was everywhere you went; Gino's pub on Friday nights when you went line dancing with your friends, your favorite spot at the lake, you can't escape him when he's always in your house taking the last beer. It doesn't make it better when his duty-as sheriff and your father's best friend-is to monitor your every move.

After a series of robberies and break-ins, it's only fitting your father would assign Sheriff Arlen to be your unofficial body guard until further notice. A few years ago, it would've been different; because a few years ago YOU were different, but college changes people. Maybe you don't see it, but he does.

He notices the stolen glances you share with one another, the way your heart races when he calls you "sweetheart," and even if he knows it's wrong, he can't help himself most nights.

He's older than you, by at least twenty years, he's off limits, he practically grew up with your father, and there's no getting away from it.

tags🏷️ :

Top Beau Arlen, beau arlen - Freeform, Fluff, Smut, dbf, beau arlen dbf, age gap, Bodyguard, Forbidden Love, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, dom beau arlen, midwest gothic, gothic coastal small town vibe where something doesn't feel right, PIV, Protective Beau Arlen, Jealous Beau Arlen, Older Man/Younger Woman, No Pregnancy, i have tokophobia im sorry, small town, Cunnilingus, summertime, Gloomy Weather, Cock Warming, Reader-Insert, No Use of y/n for reader-Insert, maybe catholic guilt, talking you through it, Fluff and Angst, Southern Gothic, Praise Kink, Angst and Porn, Yearning, a man who yearns is a man who earns, older beau arlen, Dom/sub Undertones, Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Probably Accidental Voyeurism, Sneaking Around, calls you sweeheart, definitely talks you through it, Thigh Riding, Slow Burn, Dirty Talk, coastal gothic, hope you can swim, if not now you can

Chapter 01: His Favorite Girl

read on Ao3

wc: 1.2k

The tire swing was still hanging from the oak tree, just as you remember it being there. So many summers spent at the lake with your friends, your dad finally let you go out on your own when you began high school. High school, God, it feels like such a distant memory, you’d only graduated, what? Three years ago this June? Your friends should be coming home this weekend, Shayla mentioned she had finals all this week and with the five hour drive… Truthfully, you were lonely at college; your roommates weren’t the greatest, not many interesting classmates, you often just kept to yourself.

You inhaled your cigarette, feeling the dopamine rush as it hit the back of your throat. You missed this. The fog, cicadas and bats leaving their respective trees. After reading The Raft you knew better than to swim alone in the lake, even if you knew it like the back of your hand. Blame Shayla for gushing over his books. The sun had set a little over an hour ago behind the trees when you decided to take your old bike out of the garage and take yourself back here. Dad mentioned trying to sell it during a yard sale in the spring but decided against it, he knew you’d still use it for nights like these.

Unfortunately, this is the one occasion in which he asked for you to be home before sundown, he’s obsessed with the news and thinks you’ll get mugged. You wouldn’t, you carried pepper spray all around your college campus and even kept it in your bag now along with the golds. Another thing Dad would disapprove of, picking up another one of his habits.

Headlights flashed over the lake, you turned and covered your eyes from the blinding truck lights. Fuck. You took a quick drag from your cigarette before putting it out in the grass, covering it with some leaves. The truck lights turned off and one boot stomped on the ground after another. You noticed his starchy jeans first, then his flashy belt buckle, slowly making your way up to a sighing sheriff.

You give a cheesy smile, giving a salute. “Evening, Sheriff. Lovely weather we’re having this evening, no?”

You’re busted and you look like an idiot trying to get yourself out of it. Beau’s rough hands rest on his hips, staring down at you, waiting for either one of you to break the silence.

After a moment, he asks, “Ain’t your daddy tell ‘ya you have to be home durin’ a time like this, sweetheart?” His voice sounds much different than when you last saw each other in the fall. There’s a touch of gray in his beard, his furrowed brows grew more wrinkles. He licked his lips waiting for you to answer.

“I was just on my way home,” You defy, trying to pick up your bag before Beau beats you to it.

He scoops it from the ground and holds it high above your head. “Ain’t anyone tell you smokin’s a dirty habit?” One hand reaches in and pulls out your Marlboros.

You rub the dirt off your knees before snatching your purse back before he can rummage through anything else.

“Pot, meet kettle,” you mutter loud enough to earn a chuckle from Beau. You go grab your bike to make your way back home before he stops you.

“You’re not ridin’ it.”

“What?” You turn back to him.

“The bike,” he says, walking towards you. “Your daddy won’t forgive me if I’d let ‘ya ride that thing home.” Beau meets your gaze, arms crossed around his chest. “I’ll put it in the bed, c’mon.”

The cigarette wasn’t laced, you just couldn’t figure out if his words were intentional or not.

The drive home in his truck was the same as every other time he’d driven you home. Sometimes he’d get calls from work and you’d stare out the window, other times he’d let you pick out which CDs to play, and on rare occasions it was awkward silence. It felt like being a teenager again; being picked up, drunk, at a party by your dad – except this time it was Beau giving you the disappointing silence.

“‘Yer gonna get hurt,” he starts, giving you subtle glances. “Goin’ out late on your own like that, ‘yer dad and I just want you to be safe.”

You roll your eyes and slump back into the seat. The radio’s playing some old Van Halen song Beau would usually hum along to, instead of this.

Last September he had a woman wrapped around his finger, but according to the town gossip it didn’t last long – not that it was any of your business. You just felt kind of awkward when hugging him goodbye, it didn’t feel like any ordinary hug.

“Come back real soon, Sweetheart,” he whispered in your ear. “I’ll miss you too much.” When you pulled away from the hug you could only give a smile, before taking the bus upstate to go back to school.

But you didn’t come back, not really. During Thanksgiving break most of the roads were flooded from a nasty storm, as for Christmas break you fell ill with the flu. You simply couldn’t find an excuse to not come home for spring break, knowing Beau would be at your house with open arms.

This wasn’t exactly how you wanted to face him after the last time you saw him.

What did he mean by that? “I’ll miss you too much.” Dad didn’t even tell you he’d miss you, then again, you spoke on the phone almost everyday. Beau was… Beau. Sheriff Arlon.

One hand was gripped, steadying the wheel with his other hand palming his thigh. He had a scar on his right hand, his veins pumped with blood. Beau caught your eyes on his palming hand and smiled to himself.

He was attractive, both of you knew that. Olive fair skin, his body aged like a fine moscato. Most men in their forties had let themselves go, but Beau was up before the sun, running through the town, glistening from sweat, probably–

“We’re here, darlin.’”

You look out of the passenger window and see the porch light on, the fog still taking over the visibility.

“Oh,” you say quietly. “Thank you.” You look back over to Beau, who quickly glances at his steering wheel.

After putting your bike in the garage, you walk him back to his truck in the quiet night, footsteps in the gravel giving percussion.

“‘Yer gonna need to be safer, sweetheart,” he tells you in a warm tone. “I don’t wanna see my favorite girl in any sort of trouble.”

“Your girl?” You glance up.

Beau clears his throat. “Me and ‘yer dad’s favorite girl.” His hands went back to his hips, his boots scuffed the pebbles. “I’ll always come to the rescue when it comes to you.”

He left you with that, before ruffing your damp hair up and stepping back into his truck. He drove off into the dark fog, continuing to make eye contact with you until leaving your street.

He would’ve been the greatest risk you’d ever take, yet the reward would be the sweetest drops of nectar.

A/N: