#beau x reader

You’d been late to Malone’s and when you arrived, he saw you walk in with your male classmate, talking about something. Garrett watched the guy touch your hair and got up, walking over, wrapping an arm around you.

“There you are, I was getting worried.” He pulled you close and looked at your friend. He held out his hand. “I’m Garrett, thank you for bringing my girlfriend here safely. Appreciate it.”

The guy shook his hand and waved goodbye as Garrett led you out to his black Jeep. He opened your door and closed it once you were settled. He hit in the driver’s seat and started his car with more force than necessary.

“Hey Garrett, you okay?” He relaxed slightly at your voice, sighing as he reached over and took your hand, squeezing it.

“I don’t like that guy around you.” He muttered and you smiled. You squeezed his hand and leaned closer, kissing his cheek. “He’s gay.”

Garrett felt stupid for getting jealous over someone who definitely wasn’t into his girlfriend. He drove for a little longer before parking down a side street. He gestured to the backseat before following you.

Soon enough he has his head buried in between your thighs as he worked his fingers inside you, curling them just right. His way of apologising for being jealous.

John Logan

You had heard from Jules that Logan had been jealous during a party. Jules even showed you photos where Logan was very obviously jealous and glaring at the guy talking to you.

After seeing the photos you went to find your boyfriend, of course find him practicing on the ice. You watched him for a few minutes before he noticed you. He skated over, taking off his helmet and gloves.

“You don’t have to be jealous. You know I love you.”

Logan relaxed at your words and smiled. He took your hand and kissed it before kissing your cheek. He practiced a bit more and all but dragged you to the locker room showers with him.

Clothes were thrown off and your soft giggles could be heard through running water. Dean, who forgot his phone in the locker room, heard the noises and went to investigate who it was.

“Oh Jesus! Sorry Logan!”

He rushed out immediately, grinning as he already planned on telling everyone. You and Logan watched him leave before bursting into laughter. Logan dove right back in to kiss you.

Dean Di Laurentis

The team was at Malone’s celebrating the big win against Eastwood and you were getting another round of beers for the guys. Some guy came up to you and started talking to you, openly flirting.

Dean, who always kept an eye on you, immediately saw the flirting and his eyes darkened, jaw clenching. He looked away and downed the rest of his beer before turning to a Puck Bunny, flirting with her. He knew its piss you off, but he was too jealous to care.

You turned and noticed him flirting. You bit the inside of your cheek and took the beer pitcher from Hannah. You said a cold goodbye to the guy and walked over to the table. Tucker took the pitcher with a happy thanks and you looked at Dean.

“Come on.” You grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the booth, towards the ‘out of order’ Photo Booth. You pushed him in and got in behind him. You pulled the curtain closed and grabbed his shirt, yanking him into a heated kiss.

“Jealous are we?” Dean smirked against your lips as you fumbled with his belt. He lowered his pants just enough and sat on the seat, helping you straddle him. You used your hand to stroke him a few times before sinking down on his hard dick.

“Fuck, that’s it baby.” He groans and grips your hips. You lean down and kiss him as you start moving your hips on him.

John Tucker

Tucker never usually lost his cool or got jealous easily, but when he saw his girlfriend getting hit on by some Eastwood player, he immediately got jealous. Not because he didn’t trust you, he trusted you with his deep fried turkey, he just didn’t trust that Eastwood guy.

He got and walked over, subtly stepping between you two.

“Hi, this is my girlfriend so with some respect, piss off.”

The guy didn’t immediately, but scoffed and left, flipping you both off in the process. Tucker turned to you and held your face, eyes checking you for any sign of being uncomfortable.

Once he was sure you were okay, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. He pulled back and took your hand, leading you to the kitchen, already searching for ingredients to make you a snack.

“Creamy Carbonara Pasta sound good?” He got the ingredients and started cooking. He stopped for a moment and walked back to you, lifting you to sit on the counter so you were close as he cooked.

He snuck quick kisses and gave you little bites.

Justin Kohl

“Sinking into your…Yellow Yellow Haze!”

Justin looked out at the crowd as he sung the song he wrote with Hannah. The crowd loved it, screaming and cheering. But his eyes were searching for one person, you. The minute his eyes landed on you, he saw you chatting with the worker at Malone’s. His jaw clenched as he kept singing.

He finishes the set and got off stage, barely keeping his jealousy in check as he walked over to you and pulled you into a hot kiss, ring covered fingers holding your waist. He pulled away as the guy finally walked away.

“I only want your eyes on me Sweetheart. Don’t ever look away.”

You nodded and pulled him into a kiss again, loving the way he got jealous. It always meant hot sex when you got back to his. The kind that left you shaking for hours.

Beau Maxwell

Beau wasn’t the overly jealous type, he was more of a subtlety jealous guy. He hid the fact he was jealous about you talking to some guy at his and Dean’s birthday party.

But when he came over, grip a little too tight on his cup, you took notice instantly. You held his hand and introduced him as your boyfriend to the guy you were talking to.

The guy immediately backed up after recognising who Beau was, apologising before leaving the area. Beau smirked before leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Hey sweetheart.”

You smiled up at him and leaned against him as you both watched Dean yearn over Allie who was dancing to ‘On the floor’.

Beau Arlen Tag List:

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@alwaystiredandconfused @my-stories-vault @beautyvaliant @siampie

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@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@ozwriterchick @lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91 @ladysparkles78 @illicithallways

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70

@mrlonelycat @kaleldobrev @angelbabyyy99 @just-levyy @hobby27

@supernotnatural2005 @writtenbyhollywood @flawlesslyspellbound @lori19

@jollyhunter @castielscaplan @winchestergirl2 @a-lil-pr1ncess @megara0224

Game Day — Beau x Di Laurentis!Reader

Author's Note: Just some fluff to cleanse the palate. AKA, a small break from the Angst because Beau deserves to be happy.

I had never cared much about football before Beau.

Not that I disliked it. I just didn't understand it well enough to be invested. Hockey made sense to me. I knew the rules, knew what Dean was doing when he was on the ice, and could at least pretend to understand whatever argument he was having with his teammates afterward.

Football was different.

There was a lot of running. A lot of stopping. A lot of men in helmets throwing themselves at each other.

But Beau played quarterback, and suddenly I was very interested in football.

I was sitting between my brother and Allie in the stands, wearing Beau's hoodie over black leggings with his number painted across my cheek.

Dean looked at me, then at the hoodie.

"You know hockey is a superior sport, right?"

I didn't even look away from the field. "You're only saying that because you're a hockey player."

"No. I'm saying it because it's objectively true."

Allie laughed. "You have absolutely no proof of that."

"I don't need proof."

I finally glanced at him. "Could you even play football?"

Dean scoffed. "I could play football in my sleep."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I have standards."

I laughed. "You play hockey."

"Exactly."

Allie shook her head.

I turned back toward the field, just in time to see Beau take the snap.

And everything else faded away.

I'd watched him practice before. I'd watched him throw around a football with his teammates. I'd heard people talk about how good he was.

None of that prepared me for watching him actually play.

He was incredible.

There was something almost unfair about how easy he made it look. He stood behind the line, calm and composed while the defense rushed toward him, then moved at exactly the right moment. He dodged a tackle, planted his feet, and sent the ball flying downfield like he'd done it a thousand times.

Which, admittedly, he probably had.

The receiver caught it.

Touchdown.

The stadium exploded.

I was on my feet before I even realized it.

"Let's go, Beau!"

Dean looked at me.

"Oh, God."

I glanced over. "What?"

"You're one of those girlfriends now."

"I'm supporting my boyfriend."

"You're screaming."

"Yes."

"You're wearing his number."

"Yes."

"You're wearing his hoodie."

"Yes."

Dean shook his head, but he was smiling.

"This is adorable."

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't ruin it."

"I'm not ruining anything. I'm just saying I've never seen you care this much about football."

"That's because you never played quarterback."

Allie burst out laughing.

Dean pointed at me. "Okay, that's fair."

I turned back toward the field, still smiling.

Beau was jogging back toward his teammates, and even from this far away, I could see the grin on his face.

I couldn't stop smiling either.

He was so damn good.

And watching him play—watching him light up when everything went right—was strangely mesmerizing.

By the time the final whistle blew, Briar had won.

The entire stadium erupted.

I barely had time to register that Beau was already looking toward the stands before he started running straight toward me.

My heart jumped.

I hurried down toward the field, and the second he reached me, I threw my arms around him.

He caught me without hesitation, laughing as he lifted me slightly off the ground.

"You did so good!" I exclaimed.

He grinned against my hair.

"I did?"

"So good."

"Just so good?"

I pulled back and looked at him.

"You want me to stroke your ego?"

"Always."

I laughed. "You were amazing."

"That's better."

"I'm serious. You were incredible."

He gave me that smug little smile that made it very difficult to remember I was supposed to have self-control.

"You know," he said, leaning closer, "I think you might've been watching me a little too closely."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"You're kind of fun to watch."

His eyebrows lifted.

"Kind of?"

I laughed. "Don't push it."

"I think you're flirting with me."

"I'm congratulating you."

"Same thing."

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling too hard for it to have any effect.

"I'm proud of you."

That changed his expression.

The cocky grin softened, just a little.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead.

"Thanks, baby."

"Aww."

We both looked over.

Allie was standing there with her phone already out.

"I need a picture."

Beau groaned.

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you two are disgustingly cute and I need photographic evidence."

Dean came up behind her, grinning.

"She's right. Get a picture."

I looked at my brother. "You're encouraging this?"

"Absolutely."

Beau looked at him. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"Of course I am. My best friend is dating my sister, and somehow you actually managed to get her to wear your jersey."

"His hoodie," I corrected.

Dean nodded. "Even better."

Beau wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me against him.

"Like this?"

"Perfect," Allie said.

She snapped the picture.

Then another.

"Okay, one where you're looking at each other."

Beau turned toward me.

I looked up at him.

His smile softened.

Mine did too.

Click.

Allie lowered her phone.

"Okay, that one's my favorite."

Dean leaned over to look.

"Yeah. That's a good one."

Beau glanced at him. "You gonna frame it?"

"Probably."

I laughed.

"You guys are ridiculous."

Dean slung an arm around Beau's shoulders.

"Come on, superstar. Let's go celebrate before your ego gets any bigger."

Beau grinned. "Too late."

"Malone's?" Allie asked.

Dean nodded. "I'll get us a table."

He looked at me.

"You coming?"

"I'll ride with Beau."

Dean gave me an exaggerated look.

"Yeah, yeah. I figured."

Beau laughed.

"I'll meet you guys there."

Dean nodded, then clapped Beau on the shoulder.

"Good game, man."

"Thanks."

And just like that, Dean and Allie headed off toward Malone's while Beau disappeared into the locker room to change.

I waited outside, leaning against the wall and scrolling through my phone.

A few minutes later, the locker room door opened.

I looked up.

Beau walked out in jeans and a clean sweatshirt, his hair still damp from his shower.

The second he saw me, his face lit up.

He came straight toward me.

Without saying a word, he took my hand and spun me around.

I laughed as he caught me again.

"You look better in that hoodie than I do."

I looked down at myself.

"I know."

He laughed.

"Wow. Humble."

"I'm just being honest."

"You're stealing it, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

"I knew it."

"You gave it to me."

"I didn't realize that meant permanent ownership."

"It does now."

He looked me over, his eyes lingering on the number painted on my cheek.

"You even painted my number on your face."

"Of course."

He reached up, brushing his thumb lightly near the paint.

"You're pretty cute."

"So I've been told."

"By who?"

"You."

"Smart girl."

I smiled.

He took my hand again, threading our fingers together.

"Ready to go?"

"Ready."

We started walking toward the parking lot, and he swung our joined hands between us.

"You know what my favorite part of today was?"

"The touchdown?"

"Nope."

"The win?"

"Nope."

I looked up at him.

"What, then?"

He smiled.

"Seeing you in the stands wearing my hoodie and screaming my name."

I laughed.

"You liked that?"

"Liked it?"

He squeezed my hand.

"Pretty sure I'm going to need you at every game now."

"Good. Because I was planning on coming anyway."

"Perfect."

He leaned over and kissed my temple.

I smiled, squeezing his hand.

I knew Dean was waiting for us at Malone's. I knew Allie was probably already sending the pictures she'd taken to our group chat. I knew we'd spend the rest of the night celebrating a Briar win, teasing each other, and listening to Beau inevitably tell the same story about one of his plays at least three times.

And honestly?

I couldn't wait.

You shook your head. “No. I just woke up here. And…” you paused, studying his face trying to remember.  “I don’t know you either,” you said shyly. “I don’t remember you, I mean,” you tried to correct yourself. “But you… you seem so familiar.”

He just stared at you for a moment, stunned. He cleared his throat and shifted on the bed, your eyes dropping to his badge on his belt. 

A sheriff. That’s good. Maybe he’s trustworthy. He definitely seems to think we’re together. He knows my name. Why can’t I remember him??

“Well, I guess there’s a little more goin’ on than us just waking up in a strange place,” he said, voice still calm and soothing. “I’m Beau. We’ve been together for about three years,” he said, trying and failing to hide the fact that you not remembering him has shaken him to his core. 

You nodded. “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t remember. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said, voice smaller than you meant it to be. 

“It’s okay, darlin’. We’ll figure this out,” he said with a genuine smile, his eyes soft. “I’m going to go run you a bath and after that we can try and start piecing together the rest. How does that sound?”

You gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Beau. That sounds good.” Beau walked down the hall and you heard the water start.

Just then he walked back into the bedroom just as you had stood up. He’d only been gone for a minute or two but he’d changed clothes. He was now wearing a green suit that looked like a halloween costume for some type of superhero. As you watched him stride across the room towards you, you noticed that the way he walked was different too. It wasn’t slow and casual; it was purposeful and almost arrogant. 

“There you are, doll,” he said. His voice was deeper and definitely carried a confidence that was noticeable. “Where the fuck are we?” he asked, followed by your name. You blinked at him. He didn’t give you a chance to respond. He pulled you into his arms, hand dropping to your ass and squeezing as he crashed his lips down on yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. He shoved his tongue down your throat passionately. You made a small startled sound, which he swallowed, and pressed your hands to his chest and pushed him off of you. 

Your head was spinning. 

How can this possibly be the same man from a moment ago?! Does he have multiple personalities or am I losing my damn mind??

He looked down at you with a surprised look scrawled across his features. His green eyes weren’t soft, they were sharp as they studied your face. “What the hell was that for?”  he asked, clearly offended. 

“I-I just need a minute, okay? Just, uh, wait here,” you said as you turned and left the room. You hurried down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Coffee. You needed coffee. It might help you get your head straight. Maybe you were still dreaming. 

As you turned the corner, you ran almost head first into another man. He had the same face as Beau but shorter hair that was spiked up in the front and those same piercing green eyes. He was wearing a flannel and jeans. He said your name questioningly.  

He also didn’t hesitate to throw his arms around you. “Sweetheart,” he breathed out. “Thank god you’re here too.” 

You stared at him confused. “But you’re…” you trailed off, pointing towards the stairs. “Did you cut your hair?” 

“Well, someone is still sleepy,” he teased before he pulled you into his chest and kissed you deeply. His tongue wasn’t as possessive as the last kiss but it was still familiar and still passionate. 

At that exact moment Beau walked into the kitchen. His eyes fell upon Dean kissing you. He was too stunned to speak. Ben walked up behind him and saw the kiss as well. He wasn’t. 

“Get your fucking hands off of her!” he growled, barrelling towards you and Dean. 

You pulled back, your eyes darting between the three of them. 

Three. There are three identical men. Not one. I must be dreaming. 

“Would everyone stop kissing me and tell me what the hell is going on?!” you practically shouted. 

All three of them froze as they took each other’s appearances in. It didn’t last. 

Dean reached for the demon knife on his belt. The doppelgangers must be shapeshifters or maybe demons. The latter might explain how the two of you ended up here. Maybe. 

Ben strode towards Dean ready to give him a shield to the face. No one looked like him and no one touched what was his, much less shoved his tongue down his girl’s throat. 

Beau’s shock cleared quick enough for his sheriff instincts to kick in. He grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the way, then tried to step in between his two look-a-likes. “Fellas, wait a minute! Let’s figure this out before we go killing each other,” he said, trying to be the voice of reason. 

Both of them ignored him, Dean moving forward with the knife raised and Ben’s murderous glare locked on him, shield ready. He lowered his arm and shoved the shield straight into Dean’s chest, sending him flying across the kitchen and into the pantry door with a loud thud.

Dean shook his head out and climbed to his feet in an instant. “Son of a bitch!” He held the knife out again, glaring at Ben, as he began to move towards him, eyes furious and locked on Ben’s. Ben just smirked—although his eyes still held a storm in them— and planted his feet, waiting for Dean’s attack. Beau stood between you and the other two men, gun now drawn but not pointed at anyone specifically yet. 

“WAIT! STOP!” you cried out. Again, all three men froze. 

You backed up until your back hit the edge of the kitchen counter, your pulse hammering in your throat. Three men. Three identical, jaw-dropping men with the exact same broad shoulders, the exact same green eyes, and three wildly different ways of holding a weapon.

“Nobody moves,” you breathed, raising your hands to keep space between them. “Nobody shoots, nobody stabs, nobody... shields anybody.”

Dean lowered the demon blade an inch, his eyes darting between Ben’s shield and Beau’s gun and sheriff badge. His jaw worked as he tried to process the math. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t know what kind of mojo we’re dealing with here, but those two are either Shapeshifters, Leviathans, or some hyper-specific hell-spawn designed to drive me insane.”

“I don’t know what the fuck a Leviathan is,” Ben growled, his deep voice vibrating through the small kitchen as he adjusted his grip on the heavy shield, “but if you point that pig-sticker at me again, I’m gonna carve my name into your chest with it. I’m the only one of me. Vought made sure of that.”

“Vought?” Beau repeated, his southern drawl thick with utter bewilderment. He kept one hand firmly on the leather of his holster where he had returned his gun, positioning his body just slightly further in front of you. “Son, I don’t know what kind of fancy stunt-suit you’re wearing, but you’re in a private residence, threatening a high-ranking officer of the law and a civilian.”

“High-ranking officer?” Dean snorted, letting out a dark, breathless laugh as he looked at Beau. “You’re a small-town sheriff, pal. And who’re you calling son? You’ve got my face!”

“I’ve got my face,” Beau corrected sternly, though the strain in his voice showed he was hanging onto his sanity by a thread. He turned his head just a fraction to glance back at you, his soft green eyes melting with concern. “Darlin’... do you know either of these men?”

All three pairs of green eyes snapped back to you. The weight of their gaze was suffocating.

“I...” You swallowed hard, pressing back further against the counter. “I woke up ten minutes ago. I don’t know any of you! I don’t know what state we’re in. I don’t even know how I got into that bed upstairs.” You looked from Beau’s anxious, protective face, to Ben’s hard, possessive glare, to Dean’s intense, calculating stare. “All I know is that all three of you walked into my space, called me by name, and kissed me like you’ve known me for years.”

A heavy, dangerous silence fell over the kitchen.

“Both of them kissed you?” Beau asked, his voice quieter now, but his face still stern.

Dean’s expression softened first, the cynical edge giving way to genuine, panicked concern. “You... you don’t remember me? You don’t remember the Impala? The hunts?”

“She doesn’t remember you because she doesn’t know you, dumbass,” Ben barked, taking a heavy step forward. The sheer physical presence of him made the floorboards creak. He looked directly down at you, his tone possessive, borderline offended. “Doll. Tell me you didn’t let this fake-ass pussy trying to be me touch you on purpose.”

“Hey! Back off!” Beau stepped directly into Ben’s path, placing a hand flat on the superhero’s chest plate.

Big mistake.

Ben didn't even flinch. He just looked down at Beau’s hand on his chest like a bug had landed on him, his eyes narrowing into something lethal. “Take your hand off me before I rip it off and feed it to you.”

“Alright, both of you shut the hell up!” Dean snapped, shoving his knife back into his belt and grabbing a glass off the drying rack. He marched over to the sink, shoved past Ben, and turned the tap on high.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ben asked, glaring at him.

Dean didn't answer. He filled the glass half way and muttered a quick, low phrase under his breath, and suddenly whipped around, splashing the water directly into Ben’s and Beau’s faces. You let out a gasp.

Beau flinched, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, looking like he was dealing with an escaped mental patient. “What in the world—?”

Ben didn't burn. He didn't smoke. He just stood there, dripping wet, looking like he was about to murder Dean with his bare hands. “Did you just throw fucking water on me?”

“Not a demon,” Dean muttered, dragging a hand over his stubble, looking genuinely baffled now. He grabbed a shaker of table salt off the counter, popped the cap off, and poured a heavy white line across the kitchen doorway. He grabbed Beau's forearm and dragged him across it. “Alright. Not shapeshifters, not demons, not skinwalkers...”

“Are you done playing with the condiments?” Ben spat, taking a threatening step towards Dean.

“Stop!” you yelled again, your head pounding as you rubbed your temples. “All of you! Sit down!”

Surprisingly, the sheer authority in your voice stopped them mid-stride. Beau looked at you with soft, apologetic eyes and immediately pulled out a wooden kitchen chair. Ben scoffed, rolling his shoulders, but crossed his arms and leaned heavily against the doorway, effectively blocking the exit. Dean leaned against the counter opposite him, his arms crossed, his eyes never leaving the other two men.

“Okay,” you said, taking a slow, deep breath to steady your breathing. “If we’re going to figure out why three identical men are standing in front of me, claiming to be my boyfriend or husband or whatever... we need to lay down some facts.”

You looked straight at Beau. “You said your name is Beau. What year is it, and where do you think we are?”

Beau gestured vaguely outside the window. “It’s 2026. We were supposed to be in East Texas. I was fixin’ to take you out for dinner tonight.”

Dean said, “Yeah, same, 2026. I’m Dean and we were in Lebanon, Kansas last night before I passed out.”

Ben gave a cruel, mocking laugh from the doorway. “Kansas? Texas? You two are completely out of your minds. The year is 2026. And she was with me in New York before everything went dark.”

“What’s your name?” you asked, all eyes trained on Ben. 

“I’m Ben to you, doll. But these jackasses would know me as Soldier Boy,” he said gruffly. 

Dean and Beau looked at each other, unamused. They both looked back to Ben and shook their heads. 

Ben scoffed. “Everyone on the planet knows Soldier Boy!”

Dean let out a humorless laugh. “Not in the U.S. Besides, I think I’d remember a famous guy dressed like that wearing my face.”

Beau agreed. “Yeah, not from where I’m from either. Never heard of you.”

Ben’s jaw clenched, his ego reeling from blow after blow. “Fucking idiots,” he muttered to himself. 

You let out a frustrated huff. “What do we do now?” you said, moving a little closer to Beau. He noticed and wanted to reach for you but he saw the other two staring at him. Dean looked wounded and Ben looked like he was about to snap his neck. 

“Darlin’, it will be okay. We will all figure this out. There has to be a logical explanation,” he said, eyes now on you. 

“I don’t know about logical but there’s an explanation alright,” Dean muttered under his breath. 

“What kind of explanation?” Beau asked, his sheriff tone sharpening as he turned his attention to Dean. “You sound like you’ve seen this kind of circus before.”

“I’ve seen a lot of circuses, pal,” Dean said, pushing off the counter and pacing the length of the kitchen. He gestured between himself, Ben, and Beau with two fingers. “Look, if we’re all in the exact same year, but one of us is a Texas sheriff, one of us is a famous caped dickhead from New York, and I’m a guy who fights shit you wouldn’t believe in from Kansas... there’s only one answer.”

Ben scoffed, crossing his heavy arms over his chest plate. “Enlighten us, smartass.”

“Alternate universes,” Dean said simply, stopping mid-stride to point at them. “Multiverse. Parallel worlds. Whatever you want to call it. My world doesn’t have a ‘Soldier Boy’ or Vought. His world—” he pointed to Beau “—probably doesn’t have monsters crawling out of the woods. And whoever’s world she came from...”

Dean’s voice softened as his green eyes shifted back to you, a heavy mixture of guilt and longing in his expression. “...might be one of ours. Or none of ours.”

The room went quiet as the weight of Dean’s words settled over everyone.

“Multiverse?” Beau muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to process it. He looked down at you, his eyes gentle and searching. “Darlin’, does any of that sound familiar to you? Any piece of it?”

You slowly shook your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. “No. None of it. I just... I remember waking up in that bed upstairs, and then Beau walked in. And then...” You glanced at Ben, who was still glaring holes through the floorboards, before looking over at Dean. “And then the rest of you showed up.”

“So, what?” Ben spat, taking a step forward, his shield metallic and heavy at his side. “We’re all just stuck here in this world until someone figures out how to flip the switch back?”

“Pretty much,” Dean agreed, pulling out a chair opposite you and sitting down, leaning his forearms on the table. He kept his posture relaxed, but his eyes were sharp. “Which means we’re stuck with each other. And until we figure out whose girl she actually is... nobody makes a move.”

Ben let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “You think you can set rules for me, boy?”

“I’m setting rules for all of us,” Dean shot back, matching Ben’s glare without flinching an inch. “Because if we start tearing each other apart, we’re never gonna get her memory back—or figure out how to get home.”

Beau looked between the two of them, then reached out, gently placing a hand near yours on the wooden table—close enough to offer comfort, but respectful enough not to push. “For once, I agree with the monster hunter,” Beau said quietly, his soft eyes locked on yours. “Your safety comes first. We do this together, or we don't do it at all.”

“Okay. I’m in,” you said softly. You looked up at Ben as he was the only one who hadn’t agreed yet. “Ben?”

He started to open his mouth to argue that Dean wasn’t going to tell him what he can and can’t do with his own woman until he saw your face. It was soft and almost pleading. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. 

“Okay,” Dean said. “I guess maybe we try and jog her memory as a first step.”

“I’m first,” Ben demanded. Beau looked at Dean who just rolled his eyes and lifted a hand like he wasn’t surprised at all.

Ben walked over and set his shield down against the wall. He stepped right in front of you and pulled another chair over loudly, sitting to face you. He laid his hand on your knee without thinking but didn’t move it when he got a narrowed eyed look from Beau. 

“Doll,” he started, voice lowering into something more intimate just for you but still keeping the edge as the others could hear him and he wouldn’t sound weak in front of them. “Do you remember the Vought Tower in New York? The penthouse, where we live? It has lots of marble and the best view of the city?”

You stared at his face, willing yourself to remember; trying to picture it. “No, I’m sorry,” you said, brows pulled together. Ben was close now and the smell of leather and something metallic overtook your senses. It was so familiar but you remember the other two men smelling that way too when they had kissed you. They also all smelled faintly of gun powder. Ben, however, had an expensive smelling cologne but you couldn't place it. 

“Okay,” Ben said, the frustration obvious in his voice and across his features. “What about our favorite pizza place down on 4th or the cabin we sometimes go to upstate in between my missions?”

“A cabin with a lake?” you asked, your eyes lightening a little. 

“Yes, baby. There’s a lake,” he said, a big smile crossing his lips.

Dean raised a hand, his pointer finger up, “We have a cabin at a lake we go to too.”

Beau cleared his throat, “We do too.”

Ben scowled. “Fuckin’ Christ.”

Your face fell again. 

“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean that towards you,” Ben said quickly. 

“I’m trying,” you said, quieter than you meant. 

“I know you are, baby,” Ben said, his hand coming up to cup your face. You leaned into his touch without even realizing it. 

“Okay, your turn’s up,” Dean snapped, eyes trained on Ben’s hand on your face and the other on your knee.

Ben glared at him but stood up and walked back over to lean against the doorframe. 

Beau spoke up, “I’m next,” he said assertively, not letting Dean jump in the empty seat in front of you. 

Dean narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. 

“Darlin’,” Beau started. “Just think about the warm summer nights in Texas. Grilling out on the patio. You have that little sundress that you wear that you know drives me…” he caught himself, glancing from Dean to Ben who both shot him a warning look. “Anyway. Do you remember me teaching you how to shoot? Or weekends at our lakehouse?” he asked, eyes soft and hopeful. 

You didn’t reply for a moment. You looked at Beau, his features so open and hopeful. You tried to picture the things he was talking about but your mind was completely blank. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got nothing.”

He nodded, his face falling just slightly. “It’s okay, darlin’. It may just take some time.”

He sighed and stood up, making room for Dean. 

Dean slowly sat down in front of you. He lifted his hand as if to reach for you and then caught himself, lowering it back down to rest on his own knee. “I know you don’t remember the Impala but we took a million road trips in her. We hunted together side by side. And aside from the trips to Jody’s cabin on the lake we also spent time driving out of the way when we were kinda close to sites you wanted to see while on the road. Like the time we detoured three hours to go see a little traveling circus and Sammy about had a coronary. You moved into the bunker about two years ago. Any of this ringing a bell, sweetheart?” he asked, intense eyes locked on yours, searching. 

Again, you willed your brain to remember the things he was talking about. To remember anything. Nothing. Nada. Blank. 

“No, I’m sorry, Dean,” you said, meeting his eyes. 

“Do you remember anything besides your name?” he asked. 

You thought for a moment. “I kind of remember a fuzzy childhood but it’s not clear. I don’t remember where I grew up or who my parents were. Just flashes of things. Toys, parks, swimming pools, an ice cream shop. Nothing helpful.”

Dean lowered his voice, his gaze softening. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“Nothing about this is fucking okay,” Ben muttered.  

“You’re not exactly helping,” Beau muttered back. 

Ben scoffed, pushing off the doorframe with a heavy sigh. “Great. So we’re trapped in some fuckin’ alternate reality.” He walked straight toward you, ignoring the way Beau subtly shifted to block him. Ben reached out, his thick fingers gently catching your chin and tilting your face up so you were forced to look him dead in the eye. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone—a gesture that felt shockingly tender coming from someone who looked so lethal.

“Doesn’t change a damn thing,” Ben murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver straight down your spine. “I know my girl. I know the way you look at me. I know every inch of you, doll.” His eyes flicked to Dean and Beau, cold and sharp. “I don't care what weird ass dimension you two crawled out of. She’s mine.”

“Hey! Hands off!” Dean snapped, stepping up immediately.

Beau reached out, firmly clapping a hand on Ben’s wrist to pull him away from you. “That’s enough. She told you she doesn't remember. Back off and give her some air.”

Ben didn't pull away immediately. He just stared down at Beau’s hand on his wrist, a dark, dangerous smirk spreading across his lips. “You’ve got a lot of nerve for a guy without body armor, Sheriff. Not that it would help much.”

“Guys, stop!” you pleaded, pulling back from Ben’s touch entirely and pressing yourself against the back of the chair. Your heart was pounding against your ribs. “If... if our worlds crossed over... then how did we get here? Where even are we?”

The question hung heavy in the air for a moment. No one answered. No one moved. 

Part 2

You arrived at Jenny’s place with a pie you didn’t bake and a smile you didn’t mean. You took a deep breath before you stepped into the living room. And when you saw him standing there hatless and relaxed, like trouble you had already learned the shape of, your throat closed.

Beau Arlen. Sheriff. Last-call mistake. Last-call comfort.

His gaze found you. And so did Jenny´s. “Hey”, Jenny said, sweeping in and kissing your cheek. “Finally. I thought you’d bailed”.

You held up the pie. “I braved the bakery war zone”.

“Hero”. She turned, already motioning toward him. “Oh—this is the sheriff I work with, since I’ve told you a thousand stories. Beau, this is my little sister”. You felt the word little land like an elbow. Beau’s mouth twitched. He extended his hand. You took it because there was no other choice.

“Nice to meet you”, he said, and his voice did that warm deep thing. Not a flicker to suggest he’d once pressed that same mouth to yours in a empty parking lot while the radio hummed something sad.

“Nice to meet you”, you echoed steady. You slipped free before your pulse could say more.

Jenny herded you to the kitchen. People crowded around the island. Beau hung back, talking to a deputy, listening more than speaking. He lifted a beer and you remembered the last time he did that. A rough day for him, a cheating ex for you, two strangers dissolving into the same empty night. You remembered the press of his palm against your bare spine and the way he’d said, You okay, darlin’? like maybe he wanted you to be.

Jenny nudged you with a hip. “He’s better than his reputation. Looks like every trouble you ever had, but isn’t”.

“Wow”, you said. “What a review”.

She grinned and flicked your ponytail. “Don’t be a menace tonight. You look like a menace”.

“I’m carrying a pie”, you said, but your face felt hot.

Dinner happened. You laughed where you should, ate a slice of lasagna far too big, and pretended to forget the way his eyes checked in, quick and apologetic, then slid away.

When Jenny got pulled into a phone call in the hall, the kitchen thinned out. Dishes clinked. Someone stepped outside for a smoke. You stood at the sink, rinsing plates, buying yourself a task you could hide inside.

“You missed a spot”, Beau said, easy, not too close. His reflection hovered beside yours in the stainless-steel sink. You kept your eyes on a stubborn smear of sauce. “Thanks for the expert commentary, Sheriff”.

He huffed a laugh. “Name’s Beau. You can use it. I figure you’d earned that much”.

You set the plate in the drying rack. “Didn’t realize names come with restrictions”.

He leaned a hip against the counter, careful hands tucked into his pockets. “Didn’t realize I was meeting Jenny’s little sister that night”.

“You didn’t ask”. You meant it to land lightly. It didn’t.

He took that in, a flicker of something that might have been guilt or care. “You’re right. That’s on me”.

You felt the weird gravity of the moment pull tight. At twenty, you were tired of people deciding things for you. At twenty, you felt older than your driver’s license by about a hundred lonely nights. “You don’t have to apologize”, you said quieter. “We were both grown enough to know better”.

“Sometimes knowing better doesn’t win”, he said, and you hated that he sounded like a lesson you wanted to learn twice. Silence settled, companionable enough to make you brave. You shut off the tap. “Jenny can’t know”. He nodded. “She won’t. I’m not in the habit of sharing… personal missteps”.

Your mouth folded around a smile before you could stop it. “Misstep?”.

His eyes warmed. “That’s not the word I wanted”.

“So what’s the word?”. You kept it a tease, ultra casual, while your heart sprinted in place.

He looked down, thumb rubbing a slow line along the rim of an empty bottle, then back to you. “Kindness. Bad timing. Both”.

The screen door squeaked. You startled, then relaxed when it was only the cat weaving around your ankles like you were trustworthy. Beau watched you crouch to scratch behind its ears. “Jenny says you’re smart”, he said. “Says you see angles of things other folks don’t”.

You straightened. “She also says I’m dramatic and my music taste is suspicious”.

“I can’t speak to the music yet”. He tilted his head. “But I can confirm the dramatic”.

You bumped his shoulder as you passed, just enough to remind both of you the world still had edges. “Says the man who stared down a lasagna like it owed him money”.

“That lasagna started it”, he said, dead serious, and you laughed, a bright, ridiculous sound that shook a bit of the night out of you.

-

After dessert, most people left. Jenny leaned in the doorway, shoulders relaxed. “You staying, kid?”, she asked you. “We could watch that dumb movie you like”.

You glanced at the clock and the hour felt like an open question. “Maybe a little”.

“Do it”, she said. “Beau’s gonna head out soon anyway”. She shot him a look that carried a dozen unspoken case notes. “We’re wheels up early”.

He tipped an imaginary hat. “Yes, ma’am”.

Jenny disappeared to grab blankets. The room went quiet around the edges. Beau’s attention came back like tide. “You okay?”, he asked. It was gentler than you felt ready for.

“Getting there”, you said. It was the most honest thing you’d said all night.

He seemed to weigh something, then nodded once. “That night—”, he began, and you shook your head. “Don’t”, you said. “If we talk about it, it becomes something we have to manage. Right now it’s just… a chapter break”.

His smile went crooked. “You’re a writer now?”.

“Only when it suits me”.

He studied you for a heartbeat. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, folded note. He scribbled down a number. “Here”, he said, sliding it across the counter. Your name wasn’t on it. Neither was his. Just a number and: If you need.

You looked at it but didn’t touch it. “That’s not subtle”.

“I’m not a subtle man”. His voice softened. “But I can be careful”.

Jenny’s footsteps padded down the hall, blankets under her arm, a grin already forming for some joke you’d missed. You slipped the note beneath the pie box with one quick move, then lifted your chin like nothing had changed. “Goodnight, Sheriff”, you said, easy.

“ ‘Night”, he said, meeting your eyes only long enough to say the rest without words. He stepped past Jenny with a nod and a thank-you, left his bottle in the sink, and went out into the Helena dark like he belonged to it.

You exhaled. Jenny tossed you a blanket and flopped onto the couch. “You good?”, she asked, not looking, already fighting with the remote. “You look weird”.

“I’m fine”, you said, settling in.

-

That night, back in your bed, you told yourself not to think about it. Not to reach for the memory with greedy hands. But it didn’t matter. The minute your room went quiet and your body stilled, the past came roaring back. You stared at the ceiling, the blanket bunched around your waist, and remembered the way the inside of Beau’s truck had felt like the whole world. That tiny, private space. The dome light off. Country radio whispering some slow heartbreak song you’d never heard before and never wanted to hear again.

You remembered your knees straddling his hips, the heat of his hands braced on your thighs. The way your hair kept falling in your face and he’d brush it back, rough thumb catching your jaw, his mouth against your shoulder and then your collarbone, and then everywhere. The windows fogged, the air sharp with Montana cold and the burn of whisky on your breath. No room for shame. No reason to care if anyone saw, because it had felt, for one fierce, wild hour, like you’d found a place where nothing hurt.

He’d let you take what you needed. You remembered the rasp of his stubble against your skin, the sound he made when you rolled your hips, the way his hands gripped your waist like he couldn’t bear to let go. You remembered his voice, low and hoarse, breaking your name in half. You’d pressed your forehead to his, both of you a little too desperate, a little too lost, and you’d let yourself come undone right there, in the dark, with his heartbeat thudding wild against your chest.

It had been messy. Hot. The kind of mistake that felt like a secret you could tuck under your tongue and taste for days.

You should have felt guilty. You should have felt dirty and cheap. But wrapped up in your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling, all you felt was hungry again for that feeling of someone’s hands wanting you, no questions, no second-guessing. Just that: two people trying to survive a bad night the only way they knew how.

You rolled over, pressing your face into the pillow, the ghost of his hands skating along your skin. Part of you wished you could call him, right then, just to hear that warm, deep voice. Part of you knew you wouldn’t. But you fell asleep with the memory burning behind your eyelids, the note still tucked in your bag.

-

It went like this for days.

Every night, you tried to bury the memory. Every morning, you woke up with the taste of it still in your mouth. The way he’d said your name. The way your body had moved over his, your skin sliding against his flannel shirt and rough hands.

You tried to keep busy, helping Jenny, working your shifts, filling your days with noise and light so the silence couldn’t creep back in. But Beau lingered everywhere. You’d catch yourself glancing at every truck that passed on Main, hoping it was his, hoping it wasn’t. You’d hear his voice in the way Jenny laughed when she talked about work. You told yourself you were strong enough to let it go. But some nights, lying awake, you’d feel your body ache with wanting.

Finally, on a night when the wind howled hard against your window and loneliness pressed so tight you could barely breathe, you gave in. You dug out your phone, heart beating wild as you tapped in the number you’d memorized days ago.

You typed, erased, retyped. Settled on: "You up?".

It felt reckless. Stupid. The kind of thing people wrote in movies when they knew what would come next. You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, then hit send before you could talk yourself out of it. Minutes ticked by. Too many and not enough. Then your phone buzzed.

Beau: "Always, for you. Want me to come by?".

You swallowed, fingers trembling: "Yeah".

He replied almost instantly: "Be there in twenty".

You set your phone down and sat on the edge of your bed, heart racing, adrenaline washing through you like you were about to do something dangerous and wonderful at the same time.

You spent most of those twenty minutes standing in front of your mirror, pretending you were cool about this. You were not cool about this. You’d started with pajamas, but the longer you looked at yourself, the more you wanted, no, needed, to feel like someone worth being wanted. So you dug through your dresser for something different. Something he hadn’t seen. Something that would make you forget you were only twenty and nervous and halfway in love with the feeling of his hands on you. But you settled on a black tank and your shortest pair of shorts. Then you smoothed your hair and put on a little lip gloss. And while you checked your phone every two seconds, you tried not to wonder what he’d think, how he’d look at you, if he’d let his hands wander right away or if he’d just stand in your doorway like he was about to say something he shouldn’t.

Meanwhile, Beau was driving through the dark with his hands tight on the wheel. He hadn’t even tried to fight it, not really. Not when he’d spent every night since that first one in the truck reliving how it felt. The taste of your skin, the wild way you’d moved against him, the way you’d made him forget every bad thing a man could carry. He hadn’t planned on you. Hadn’t expected to want anyone this much. It wasn’t just sex, it was you. The way you let go, the way you gave as good as you got, the way you made him feel like a man he could stand to be.

He should’ve called it off the minute he found out who you were, how young you were. But instead, he’d let himself replay it on lonely nights, thinking of you on top of him, not caring who saw, not caring about the mess or the rules or the risk. He’d never felt anything that good before, not with anyone. It was a truth he didn’t want to admit, not even to himself.

Eventually, he parked a block away, because he knew how small this town was. He took a minute to check his reflection, ran a hand through his hair and told himself this was just a visit. Just two adults. Nothing more.

You answered the door in your new outfit, trying to look casual, but his eyes went wide the second he saw you. He didn’t say anything for a long beat, just let his gaze travel down and back up, drinking you in like you were the only thing that could quench a thirst.

“Hey”, you said, almost shy.

He smiled the kind of smile that made you feel naked before he even touched you. “Hey yourself”.

You stepped back as the door latched. The air felt thicker already. Beau stood there, taller than you, his broad shoulders filling the space, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach twist in the best way. He didn’t rush, because that was Beau, always careful, even when you could see the hunger flickering behind his easy smile. His gaze dropped again, tracing the curve of your tank top where it hugged your chest, the way your shorts rode up just enough to show the smooth length of your thighs. You saw his jaw tighten, a subtle flex that betrayed how much he wanted this, wanted you. “C´mere”, he murmured not in a command, but close enough to make your pulse jump.

You closed the distance without thinking. And the moment you were within reach, his hands found your waist, fingers splaying wide and possessive, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the hard plane of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palms as they slid up his arms, gripping the flannel.

His mouth crashed down on yours, desperate, like he’d been starving for this since the last time. His lips were rough from the wind, tasting of mint. You kissed him back with everything you had.

Beau’s hands roamed, one sliding up your back under the tank top, his calloused palm rough against your soft skin, tracing the dip of your spine with a reverence that made you shiver. The other hand gripped your hip, fingers digging in as he backed you toward the bedroom, never breaking the kiss. You stumbled a little, laughing breathlessly into his mouth, and he steadied you without missing a beat.

The bedroom door bumped open behind you and he guided you inside. He broke the kiss long enough to peel off his jacket, tossing it aside, his eyes never leaving you. They darkened as he took in your flushed cheeks, the way your chest rose and fell with quick breaths, your body young and eager, responding to him like it was made for this.

You could see the desperation in him, the way his gaze lingered on the curve of your breasts, the smooth expanse of your stomach, like he couldn’t get enough of how alive and unscarred you felt under his touch.

You reached for him, yanking at his shirt buttons with impatient fingers, and he let you, his own hands working your tank top up and over your head. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling it, but his mouth was there in an instant, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone. His stubble scraped deliciously, leaving a tingling burn in its wake and you arched into it, your hands fisting in his hair as his lips found the swell of your breast. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking over sensitive skin, drawing a gasp from you that made his grip on your waist tighten, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh.

“God, darlin’”, he breathed against you, the words muffled. He didn’t say more. His actions spoke louder: the way he lifted you effortlessly onto the bed, his body following, covering yours with his weight. The mattress dipped under him.

Your shorts were gone in a blur, his jeans following. His skin was so hot, slightly damp from outside. The muscles in his arms flexing as he braced himself over you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard length of him press against you through the thin barrier of his boxers. He groaned again, deeper this time, his forehead dropping to yours as he rocked once, slow, the friction sending waves of heat pooling low in your belly.

He captured your mouth again, kissing you like he was drowning, his hand sliding between your thighs, fingers finding you wet already. He didn’t rush this part either, taking his time to explore, to feel how you responded to every stroke and every press. His breath came in ragged bursts against your ear, his free hand tangling in your hair, holding you steady as you writhed under him.

When he finally eased back, just enough to give you both a moment to breathe, his eyes met yours. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, mirroring your own.

You watched as he reached over the edge of the bed, fumbling for a second in the pocket of his discarded jeans, pulling out the small foil packet he’d tucked there earlier. The crinkle of it in his fingers sent a fresh wave of anticipation coiling tight in your belly. He tore it open with his teeth, unhurried, even as you could see the slight tremble in his hands

You propped yourself up on your elbows, unable to look away as he rolled the condom on with steady fingers. The way his muscles shifted under his skin, the veins standing out on his forearms, the hard length of him now sheathed, it was mesmerizing, intimate and making heat flood your cheeks even as you felt yourself ache for him more.

He caught your stare, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips, warm despite the hunger in his eyes. “Easy, darlin’”, he murmured as he leaned back over you, one hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His thumb lingered on your cheek, tracing the flush there before he was settling between your thighs.

He guided himself to you slowly, his free hand gripping your hip as he pressed in, inch by deliberate inch. The stretch was fuller this time, more intense without the blur of drinks, every ridge and slide sending sparks racing through you. You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting into the firm muscle as your body adjusted, welcoming him with a rush of heat and tightness that made him groan low in his chest, his forehead pressing to yours.

He paused once fully seated, giving you that beat to breathe, to feel him completely. His breath fanned hot against your lips, his hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, holding you close. Then he started to move. The room filled with the sounds of it. Skin meeting skin in a steady slap, your mingled moans, the creak of the bedframe protesting under his measured power.

His stubble rasped against your jaw as he buried his face in your neck, inhaling you like you were his air, his hips snapping harder now, driven by that desperate edge you could feel in the way his fingers bruised your skin just a little, possessive without words. You gave back everything. Scratching down his back, nipping at his throat, pulling groans from him that vibrated through you.

He shifted his angle just right, hitting that spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. Your breath hitching in sharp and needy pants. He felt it too, his pace quickening, less careful now and more urgent while his hand slipping between you again to circle where you needed it most. You arched away from the bed, your back bowing off the sheets. “Beau, please”, you whined.

He lifted his head from your neck, eyes locking onto yours. A low rumble escaped his chest, not quite a laugh but something deeper, appreciative, as if your plea was the sweetest thing he’d heard all night. His hand on your hip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft curve there, holding you steady as he absorbed the way your body trembled beneath him, so responsive. “Anything for you, darlin’”, he rasped

His thrusts deepened, harder now, the slap of skin echoing louder in the small room. His free hand stayed between you, fingers circling faster, calluses grazing just right, building that coil tighter until you were gasping, your nails raking down his back in red trails that made him hiss, his breath hot and uneven against your ear.

He watched you the whole time, his gaze roaming over your flushed skin, the bounce of your breasts with each thrust, the way your lips parted in silent cries, drinking in how alive and unrestrained you were, that youthful fire stoking his own until he was lost in it, moving with a raw, possessive rhythm that bordered on frantic.

Your legs trembled around him, heels digging into his back, urging him on, and he gave it, harder and deeper. And when the peak hit you with a force that had you crying out, your body clenched tight around him in pulsing waves that pulled him over the edge too. He buried himself deep one final time, a guttural sound muffled against your shoulder as he shuddered, spilling with you.

In the quiet that followed, the room seemed to hold its breath with you. Beau’s chest was rising and falling against yours, skin sticky where you pressed together. A few seconds ticked by in that hazy limbo, and then a quiet, breathless laugh bubbled up from your chest, unbidden and light, breaking the spell. You shifted your hips experimentally, feeling the subtle change, the way he was softening inside you, still connected. Beau winced softly at the movement, a sharp intake of breath against your skin, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he kept trailing those slow, reverent kisses along your jaw, down the column of your neck.

“Mmm”, you mumbled, voice muffled against his shoulder, the words tumbling out half-formed and teasing, laced with that post-bliss haze. “Don’t wanna know how you’d fuck someone you love… if this is how good you do it with someone you barely know”.

He paused, his mouth hovering just below your ear and you felt the low vibration of his chuckle. His hand, still splayed across your lower back, gave a gentle squeeze. “Darlin’”, he drawled, “you got no idea”.

He didn’t elaborate, just pressed another kiss to the corner of your mouth, careful as ever, letting the moment stretch without pushing it further. You nestled closer, your leg hooked over his hip, content for now in the tangle of limbs and the quiet that followed.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Part 2

-

Volt was hard to crack. He can tell you knew of his facade from the start, but couldn’t pinpoint where the trust issues stem from. He was content with that. But he’s so tired. So when Volt sits next to you in the Breaker Box, spilling sensitive information— secrets that only he and his other half are aware of— everything clicked into place. The man hears you clear your throat.

“Maybe Eddie doesn’t need protector,”

Volt can feel the static in the air growing, his skin beginning to burn a neon blue. He scoffs.

“Maybe he just needs Volt.”

He pauses. You look at him, not in irritation nor fear of his inhumane form. One that… he can’t read. Instead, he watches as you wordlessly tuck a loose strand of electric hair behind his ear, softly smiling. When you leave, Volt feels like crumbling. Why can’t you just hate him…?

Betty is usually the one who comforts others. It’s quite literally in her nature. Yet here she is, head resting peacefully in your lap after your insistence. The feeling is… odd. You stroke her cheek with such gentleness. She hopeless to resist nuzzling into your hand, releasing a sigh. Oh how you send her heart racing.

Amir is well known for his passion, and most importantly, seeing beauty in what’s reflected. He’s not one to shy away easily. Even so, mirrors shatter with enough effort. You seemed to take it as a challenge though, bringing his spark back over a… familiar method: compliments.

“I love the way you pay attention to others.”

“Your smile is so contagious.”

“You’re beautiful. Truly.”

Adding a kiss to his cheek every compliment too? You have him swooning. Amir may have shyed away a few times. Just a little, of course.

Eddie serves all kinds of drinks in the Breaker Box. Wine, shots, etc. He noticed you always order a Whiskey Sour every time, but only once. No refills. He refuses to admit his brewing curiosity. Until you answer it without even knowing, waving off his mandatory second round of drinks. As he eyes your empty glass, you realize, and reassure him it tasted good. However, he sees the way you lick your lips, almost trying to rid of the flavor. The man calls you out on it, and you blink.

“Huh? Oh, I guess yeah. I’m not the biggest fan of whiskey.”

Eddie further asks why you drink it then, a self-deprecating joke on the tip of his tongue.

“Because you like it.”

You said, a hint of confusion in your face. Like your answer was an obvious fact. Even as the Breaker Box shuts down for the night, he allows himself to wonder if you’ve done the same to other objects. Doing something only because the another likes it. Eddie swallows. The thought shouldn’t shake him this much.

Beau didn’t expect you to be so interested in her adventures. She gets a little too excited, high on energy. Paired with your curiosity and enthusiasm, the woman practically vibrates in her place, exploring dark spaces and caverns alongside you. In the middle of a quick break, which consisted of the two of you sitting down, she yaps about the thrill of this escapade— you giggle. She pauses, suddenly self-conscious of her words.

“What a treasure you are,”