warnings: mentions of blood, a small argument, cursing, kissing, slight jealously. straight fluff, pet names, reader has a fear of blood
a/n: i love beau so much. like thats my baby. a quick blurb xx
wc: ~0.9k
“Beau.”
Silence aside from the hum of gossip leaving the T.V of some random reality show you left on when you were eating pizza.
You roll his eyes at his dramatics.
“Beau,” You repeated. “It was just a follow request.”
He lets out some pathetic noise, some sort of grumble mixed with a huff. You raise an eyebrow as your eyes catch the faint shape of pouted lips from his turned head.
A few beats of silence pass by and it was quiet enough that you could hear Dean upstairs on the phone with Allie, someone in the bathroom and outside.
You finally speak.
“Are you seriously pouting?” You comment bluntly.
“No.”
You snort, “So now he speaks.”
He whirls his head towards you, eyes narrowed. “I could always speak.”
You hum, leaning away and settling into the couch.
“You could’ve fooled me,” You murmur, fingers mindlessly fidgeting with a piece of your hair. “My boyfriend, star Quarter-back, not answering me.. Ignoring me..”
“I wasn’t.”
You continue on playfully, “Ignoring me all because some guy followed me on Instagram.”
He goes quiet again.
You smirk, throwing a pillow at him. “See? I was right, babe.”
You expect him to answer but you get the response of him grabbing his phone and leaving the couch. Leaving the off-campus house in general.
You sit up, blinking. “Hey! You can’t just leave! You’re the one that invited me here!”
You got zero verbal answers.
With a huff, you lean back on the couch and increase the volume of the show.
“Whatever, you do whatever you want to do. Not my problem,” You mutter to yourself, too annoyed with the whole situation to notice the footsteps heading in your direction.
“Not my problem at all. I’m not in the wrong, tell yourself that,” You continue, “I—“
A loud clang and a scream of pain.
“What the fuck, Tucker!” You shout, your hand shooting out instantly to the back of your head.
Tucker gasps, dropping the metal frying pan. “Oh my god, I am sorry! I thought— Oh my god, there’s blood. Don’t move—Garrett! Call Beau— Or Hannah!— Oh my god, I’m a murderer.”
You squint your eyes. “Blood? I’m bleeding?—“ You slur out, blinking as your vision swims. “Tucker, I swear if I have a concussion..”
He smiles sheepishly, guiding you so you lay on the couch again. “You don’t! I’ll make you some pasta, yeah? Just—“
The scent of iron hits your nose.
Yup.
That’s blood.
And you hate blood.
Growing queasy, you swallow as you feel yourself tune out. “Tuck, I’m going to pass out. Call—“
But then you’re out.
Tucker curses as Garrett finally arrives downstairs and blinks.
“I’ll call Beau.” He states matter-of-factly.
-
When you gain consciousness, you feel a pair of lips against your face. You groan, moving away. “Get off..”
“No.”
You groan again, finally moving away. “Yes. I’m annoyed at you.”
He rolls his eyes, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I think it’s the other way around, baby.”
You feel a cool sensation on the back of your head and you remember the frying pan.
“Is Tucker dead yet?”
In the background, you hear him chuckle nervously.
“Nope. He’s still standing.” Beau points out before sitting up. “You okay though?”
You hum, shifting. “I guess.”
He cocks an eyebrow at you. “You guess?”
“Well, considering my boyfriend got up and left without a reason, I have every right to be ‘okay’ after being hit by a pan.”
“That was in the spur of a moment thing.”
“For not a big deal.”
“It was.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It was?”
“Wasn’t,” You sing song. “And for your information, I declined the request.”
Beau instantly melts. “You did?” He looks up at you expectantly.
You smirk. “I was lying.”
He whines, falling back and flopping around.
You giggle, reaching over to grab his jaw. “I’m joking, Beau-Peep.”
“You’re going to kill me one day, girl.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Since you called me a ‘girl’, maybe you shouldn’t get a kiss.”
Oh, he’s quick to react to that.
“What? No. I’m sorry, baby. Gotta give me a kiss after the day I had.”
“Did you get hit by a pan by a hockey player?”
He looks sheepish.
“No.. But my girlfriend almost got stolen from me.”
You smile softly, leaning in. He does at the same time, your lips locking gently. It was always so gentle and sweet with him.
“I love you, Beau.” You murmur softly against his lips, brushing your fingers along the back of his neck. You try to get up.
Beau murmurs a tired “Love you more” back to you. He makes a soft noise, already latching his arms around you. “No. Don’t leave me.”
Attempting to prank your incredibly patient boyfriend
- I can’t stop writing for this man
- Also in this specific writing Beau drives a truck
- For reference where I live diesel pumps are either green or yellow, so I don’t know if it’s different in other locations but just for reference if y’all get confused.
———————————————————————————
HEADS CAROLINA, TAILS CALIFORNIA ~ JO DEE MESSINA
It all started with some innocent TikTok’s on your FYP. You kept seeing girlfriends pranking their boyfriends by pretending to use diesel instead of gas. It inspired you to attempt in on Beau. In some of the videos the boyfriends got actually really upset on their girlfriends. So you thought maybe you could get your constantly patient and kind boyfriend to have some sort of reaction. You just had to wait for the perfect moment to prank him. The tricky part would be gassing up, Beau always gassed up no matter what.
The opportunity quickly came, Beau wanted to just go for a nice evening drive in his blue Chevy. You and Beau frequently went for evening drives, it was honestly one your favourite things to do with him.
It was where the world stopped and it was just you and Beau. You had been driving around for a bit and you asked Beau if he could stop somewhere for snacks as you saw that he had a half a tank so it would be somewhat realistic that you were going to fill up his tank.
“Do you want your pink red bull, or the classic Diet Coke?”
Beau asked as he hopped in to grab the snacks you wanted, he knew exactly what snacks you liked so he never had to ask but you always switched up your drinks. So without fail he would always ask you to make sure you got the one you were in the mood for.
Even though Beau would always ask that question you all the time, it still made your heart flutter. It showed how much Beau cared and that he listened. The care in his eyes made you almost want to back out of the prank. Key word though, was almost.
“Just a Diet Coke, thanks, love.”
You responded, with a smile as he slipped out of his truck.
As soon as his back was turned you acted. You quickly gassed up with actual gas, and then when you heard Beau leaving the store you quickly switched to the diesel pump. Beau rounding the corner just as you were pretending to put the diesel pump back.
He stopped dead in his tracks. He almost dropped all the snacks he had gotten you out of shock.
“Y/N!”
“Wh- what di- did you just do?”
He asked stress evident in his words. The thing you noticed right away was that even though he was stressed and anxiety filled his body language. He was not angry at you one bit.
“Beau!!!, I saw that your truck needed some more gas, so I decided to get you some.”
To really sell you decided to act really stupid.
“Doesn’t green mean like environmentally friendly or something?”
You asked with while still holding the pump, while still playing dumb.
He just looked down at the ground, running his hands through his hair he lets out a big sigh.
“Baby.”
“Your car takes gas doesn’t it?”
“Have you ever, and I mean ever used the green pump?”
He softly asked the question as he got closer and closer to you. Even though he was understandably upset at the situation he was still making sure you knew and wasn’t treating you like you were dumb.
Which honestly amazed you, the entire situation honestly just proved how sweet Beau truly was.
“You know you can really damage things when you use the wrong fuel.”
He looked down at you while grabbing the pump and putting it back for you.
“Oh Beau, I am really sorry.”
You exclaimed with remorse in your voice. You were trying your best to keep up the prank to maybe get any other reaction from him. It was not working.
“Darling, it’s alright, but now I am going ti have to call Dean and he’s is going to eat this shit up, unfortunately.”
Your eyes went wide.
“No, don’t call him.”
“This is a prank.”
You folded under no pressure at all.
“Thank fucking God.”
He let out a sign of relief and tension lifted visibly off of his shoulders.
“Did you really think I am that dumb?”
“Baby, I didn’t even call you dumb, I figured you just made a mistake, they happen all the time.”
How could a man be so perfect, like there wasn’t a single mean bone in this guys body.
“Oh Beau, how on earth are you so patient with me?”
You looked up at him with soft eyes.
“ I don’t know y/n, maybe it’s because I love you.”
The words slip out of Beau before he can even realize what he’s saying. Beau had never said I love you before, that was the first time.
You liked at him, deer in the head light type of look.
“Beau, can you say that again?”
You had to be sure you weren’t dreaming.
“Well I said I love you.”
He starts to lose his confidence, worried he pushed boundaries.
“I love you to, babe.”
You smile at home and jump up into his arms, going on for a kiss. He holds you up while he melts into your touch.
“This was supposed to be a funny prank and instead you just got way more attractive to me.”
“Part of the charm, baby.”
“Well it better not stop.”
“It never will, not for you y/n.”
“Now let’s get out of here.”
“Got it, captain.”
You smile as you run to the passenger seat while Baeu hops into the drivers seat.
He starts up his truck, and turns on the radio.
And like a cheesy country music a classic tune fills the truck.
“Forever and Ever, Amen ~ Randy Travis.”
Both Of you just then and smile at one another while Beau rips out of the parking lot.
Pairings: Garrett x fem!reader, Logan x fem!reader, Dean x fem!reader, Tucker x fem!reader, Justin x fem!reader & Beau x fem!reader
Warnings: Some smut, public s3x, p in v, the good stuff.
Masterlist
Garrett Graham
He never needed to openly admit with his was angry or jealous, it showed in his face and in the way he spoke in three or two word sentences. He knew he had no reason to be jealous when it came to you, but he couldn’t help it. He was naturally protective and possessive of you.
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’.
Ok but dateables who finally experience the soft moments with you for the first time :(((( second route au, but can be separated
According to Skylar, the dateables can experience emotions like hope, excitement, and even love— mimicking what a human feels. However. This also means they can experience anxiety, anger, fear… and heartbreak.
When the og!homeowner discovered the dateviators, they acted normal. Then something flipped. Their words became sharp as staggers. Actions becoming rough and aggressive, resulting in a few dateables being damaged. The og!homeowner toyed with them, only to discard their feelings and leave in the end.
Nevertheless, you moved in as the new homeowner. The dateables expected the same from you. Instead, they’re met with soft touches and gentle murmurs against their skin. It didn’t take long to realize you’re nothing like the og!homeowner.
Rainey isn’t dancing alone anymore. Her broken record has driven many people away. Now her usual empty hands are intertwined with yours, as the both of you spin around the kitchen. You giggle. Rainey laughs. She wonders if human hands are always this warm.
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,”
Turning, she flushes at the realization on why you’re so quiet. It’s because your attention is all on her. So when you tilt your head, asking her to continue, Beau tears her gaze away from you. She tries her best to continue… through stuttering.
Summary: You didn’t expect your sister’s dinner party to bring you face-to-face with Beau, the sheriff and the man you can’t forget. One night together wasn’t enough, but risking it all for another might just change everything.
Pairing: Beau Arlen x Reader
Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language
Word Count: 4124
DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.
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.
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.
Summary: When Beau had the bright idea of going undercover to observe a pair of questionable Alphas at a casino, he never expected to meet you, caught in the crossfire of a perilous operation.
Based on this @jacklesversebingo prompt: “If I win this fight, your Omegas are mine.”
Author's Note: Ready for some more of our angsty, lovable sheriff — with an Alpha twist?
Series Tags & Warnings: (18+) | Omegaverse, angst, kidnapping, references to human trafficking and non-con (non-graphic, but read with caution), and death. But also the road to healing, recovery, emotional support, hurt/comfort, romance, protective Beau, love triangle, A/B/O dynamics, true mates, and smut | + other chapter-specific tags
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⏾˚ Chapters:
𖤓 Part 1: Sting
𖤓 Part 2: Magnetism
𖤓 Part 3: Trust
𖤓 Part 4: Catharsis
𖤓 Part 5: Truth
𖤓 Part 6: Heat
𖤓 Part 7: Belonging
𖤓 Part 8: Conviction
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⊹ 𝐈𝐓❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄. ── ⦂ minors are not allowed to interact.
ִ ⟡ 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 ˖ beau arlen ⅋ f!reader. ❜ ࿐ ⊹ ׂ
🖊️ ❛ 𓂃 after a fight about wanting a baby, he fucks you in an abandoned barn to shut you up & finally give you what you want. content ♥︎ warnings. barn sex, dubious content, breeding kink, angry fucking, hair pulling, degrading, no aftercare, established relationship. semi-public sex.
the words still hang in the dusty air of the old barn, sharp and ugly. your voice, raw from screaming at him, and his, a low, frustrated growl that cut you deeper than any yell ever could.
“it’s not that simple!” he’d roared, his hands fisted at his sides. “i have a daughter, a teenager. i’ve done this already!”
“and you did a great job!” you’d sobbed back, tears streaming down your face, hot and angry. “why is it so terrifying to think about doing it with me, beau? am i not enough? is what we have not real enough for you?”
the argument had spiraled from there, ending with you storming out of the truck and finding refuge in this derelict barn, a place you’d both noted on your drive. he’d followed you, of course. he always followed.
now you’re backed against a large, round bale of hay, the scratchy stalks poking uncomfortably through your graphic baby tee. he’s stalking towards you, his handsome face a thunderous mask of anger and something else, something darker that makes your stomach clench. the fading light from the broken slats in the wall casts long shadows, making him look bigger, more menacing.
“you wanna know why?” he says, his voice dangerously low as he finally reaches you, bracketing you in with his arms, his hands slamming into the hay on either side of your body. the bale trembles from the force. “because this is what i want to do to you. i don’t want to share you. not with a job, not with your friends, and sure as hell not with a fucking baby.”
your breath hitches, a fresh wave of tears blurring your vision. “that’s not fair.”
“fair?” he scoffs, a bitter, humorless sound. he leans in closer, his heat washing over you, his scent filling your nose, all leather and cologne. he was a furious man right now. “you wanna talk about fair? you want a baby so bad?” he grabs your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh there, and yanks you forward, grinding his already hard cock against your stomach through your jeans. “fine. i’ll give you my fucking baby.”
the words are a punch to the gut, but your body, your traitorous, needy body, responds instantly. a slick wetness pools between your legs. before you can protest, he’s spinning you around, shoving you forward so you’re bent over the hay bale. he doesn’t waste time with buttons. you hear the sound of the button on your jeans ripping as he tears them open, shoving them and your panties down your thighs in one rough, impatient motion.
the cool, dusty air hits your exposed skin, and you shiver, a blubbering, pathetic mess of tears and arousal. you’re crying from the hurt of his words, from the frustration of the fight, but you’re also arching your back, pushing your ass out for him.
he spits on his hand, the sound vulgar in the quiet barn, and coats his thick, hot length. he doesn’t give you any warning. he just grabs your hips and shoves himself inside you.
you moan loudly, the sound swallowed by the hay you’re pressed against. he’s so big, so thick, and he’s not being gentle. of course, he isn’t. he’s fucking you with all the anger and frustration from your fight, each thrust a jarring, deep slam that feels like it’s rearranging your insides. the hay scratches your cheek, your arms, but all you can feel is him, filling you, stretching you to accommodate his size. as if you hadn’t already done so countless times before.
“this is what you wanted, right?” he growls in your ear, his voice a ragged pant. he pulls your hair, yanking your head back. “you want to be bred? i’ll breed you, darlin’. i’ll fill y’so full of my cum y’won’t be able to walk straight.”
you sob, a broken, keening sound, as he pounds into you. he’s not just having sex with you for fun, no. he’s branding you, and you’re willingly taking all of it because you wanted this.
just when you think you can’t take any more, he pulls out, leaving you hollow and aching. you whimper, but he just lifts you, pushing you down onto your side on the hay bale. you’re a mess, snot and tears and slick covering you. he doesn’t seem to care.
he throws your top leg over his shoulder, hooking his arm under your thigh to hold you in place. it tilts your hips up, giving him deeper, more complete access. his beautiful green eyes are blown wide with lust, dark and feral as he looks down at you, at the way your pussy weeps for him.
he enters you again, and this time you can feel the difference. the anger is gone, burned away and replaced by a raw, consuming need. it’s slower, deeper, each thrust deliberate. he watches your face as he fucks you, watches the tears stream down to your temple and into your hair. he watches your ass jiggle every time he slams into you. you can feel his balls, heavy and swollen, slapping against you with each powerful thrust. the whole barn now smells like dust and sex and him.
“beau,” you gasp, your fingers digging into the rough hay. you’re close, so close, your whole body trembling on the edge of a precipice.
“i know, sweetheart,” he grunts, his control starting to fray. he picks up the pace, his hips slamming into yours with a wet, slapping sound that echoes off the wooden walls. he’s fucking you into the hay now, his eyes never leaving yours. “you’re gonna take it all for me. every last drop.”
at that your orgasm hits, a violent, all consuming wave that makes you scream his name. your vision whites out, your body convulsing around his cock. your climax sends him over the edge. with a guttural growl, he drives into you one last time, his hips bucking as he floods your womb with his hot, thick seed. he holds your leg tight, keeping you pinned as he empties himself completely inside you, groaning your name like a prayer and a curse.
he collapses on you, his weight pressing you into the scratchy hay, his ragged breaths hot against your bicep. still inside you, his cock throbbing softly. the argument isn’t over. nothing is solved. but as you lie there, a blubbering, sated mess in a dusty old barn, filled to the brim with him, you know one thing for sure.
he gave you what you wanted and you felt satisfied. because deep down? you know beau will do as you say, even if you piss him off like you did tonight.
𝓫efore 𝔂ou 𝓰o . . . potential comeback to my jackles era? teehee 🤭 who knows! + i know this was short, i’ve just been super duper busy & so much has happened in my personal life recently (good things!), so i havent really been in the writing mood <3
Pairing: Beau x Reader // Established relationship
Summary: Being with the town’s sheriff comes with its perks—steady hands, sharp instincts, and a habit of looking out for you a little more than necessary. Not that you’re complaining.
A/N: Thank you sm for the love you continue to show every day to my fics, I see it all and it means so much! I’m not fully back yet, just had to write this one. Hope you like it! 🫶
The late afternoon sun painted the Montana sky in soft oranges and pinks as you stepped out onto the porch of Beau’s cabin. Your boots made the old wood creak, and almost immediately you heard the familiar low rumble of his chuckle from the driveway.
“Well, look at you,” Beau called, wiping his hands on a rag as he straightened up from where he’d been tinkering under the hood of his truck. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, hair a little mussed from the breeze, and that easy smile of his lit up his whole face when his eyes landed on you. “My favorite girl, lookin’ even prettier than the sunset. Come here, darlin’.”
You walked straight into his open arms without hesitation. He smelled like motor oil, pine, and the faint trace of his cologne—the one you’d bought him for his birthday that he wore every day now. At forty-something, Beau Arlen carried his years like a well-worn leather jacket: comfortable, handsome, and full of quiet strength.
He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, then tilted your chin up with two fingers so he could meet your eyes. “You have a good day?” His voice was that low, warm drawl that always wrapped around you like a blanket.
“Yeah,” you murmured, melting a little when his thumb brushed your cheek. “Better now.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” He gave you one more soft squeeze before pulling back just enough to grab his keys. “C’mon. I made reservations at that little Italian place you like. The one with the tiramisu that makes you do that happy little dance when you take a bite. Figured we could take the scenic route, maybe stop and watch the stars come out after.”
You blinked, surprised. “Beau, you hate dressing up. And that place is fancy.”
He shrugged, that boyish grin spreading across his face as he offered you his arm like an old-fashioned gentleman. “For you? I’ll put on the nice boots and everything. Besides…” He leaned in, voice dropping playfully, “I like showin’ off my girl. Let the whole town see how lucky this old sheriff got.”
Your cheeks warmed. He wasn’t that old, not really, but he loved leaning into the “older boyfriend” thing in the sweetest ways: opening every door, carrying anything heavier than a grocery bag, texting you “drive safe, darlin’” when you left his place, and remembering little things like how you took your coffee or which blanket was your favorite on cold nights.
As you slid into the passenger seat, he closed the door behind you with care, then jogged around to his side. Once he was settled, he reached over and laced his fingers with yours, resting your joined hands on the console like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You know,” he said quietly as he started the engine, thumb tracing lazy circles over your knuckles, “I spent a lotta years chasin’ bad guys and bad luck. Never thought I’d get to come home to somebody who makes the quiet parts feel like home too.” He glanced over at you, green eyes soft in the golden light. “Thank you for lettin’ me be that guy for you.”
You squeezed his hand, heart full. “You’re the best kind of gentleman, Beau Arlen.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Only for you, sweetheart. Only for you.”
The truck rolled down the winding road, radio playing low country music, his hand never leaving yours.
The little Italian restaurant was cozy and dimly lit, the kind of place with checkered tablecloths and Sinatra playing softly in the background. Beau had kept his promise: nice boots, a crisp button-down that hugged his shoulders just right, and that easy smile he saved mostly for you. Dinner had been perfect—shared tiramisu, his hand resting on your thigh under the table, quiet laughter over stories from his day.
You were stepping outside afterward, the cool Montana evening wrapping around you, when it happened.
A group of younger guys was lingering near the entrance—probably tourists or locals in their mid-twenties. One of them, tall with a cocky grin and a backwards cap, did a double-take when he saw you.
“Whoa, hey,” he called out, stepping a little closer with that bold, effortless confidence only twenty-somethings seemed to have. “You look like you just walked out of a dream. You here alone, beautiful? ‘Cause I’d love to buy you a drink and see where the night goes.”
You blinked, caught off guard, a polite smile already forming on your lips. Before you could even respond, Beau’s arm slid around your waist, warm and solid, pulling you gently but unmistakably against his side.
The younger guy’s eyes flicked up to Beau—taking in the sheriff’s badge still clipped to his belt, the broad shoulders, and the calm, steady gaze that suddenly wasn’t so easygoing.
Beau’s voice came out low and warm, that signature drawl laced with steel. “She’s not alone, partner.” He gave the kid a small, polite nod, the kind that said I’m being nice, but don’t push it. “And she’s with me. Appreciate the compliment, though. She does look beautiful tonight.”
His thumb brushed slow circles against your hip, grounding and affectionate. You leaned into him, feeling the quiet rumble of his chuckle vibrate through his chest.
The guy raised his hands in surrender, laughing awkwardly. “No offense, man. Didn’t realize—”
“No harm done,” Beau said smoothly, already turning you toward the truck with that effortless grace. “Y’all have a good night now.”
As you walked away, Beau kept his arm around you, protective without being stifling. Once you reached the passenger door, he opened it for you like always, then paused, leaning in close. His green eyes softened as they met yours, a hint of that warmth mixing with just a touch of satisfied possessiveness.
“You okay, darlin’?” he asked quietly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “I know you can handle yourself, but I’ll be damned if I let some kid think he’s got a shot at my girl.”
You smiled, heart fluttering. “I’m perfect. Especially when you do that.”
He chuckled, low and fond, then cupped your face with one big, warm hand and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Good. ‘Cause you’re stuck with this old sheriff. Flirts and all.” He helped you into the truck, closed the door with care, and jogged around to his side.
Once he was settled, he reached over and laced your fingers together again, bringing the back of your hand to his lips for a quick kiss before starting the engine.
“Home?” he asked, voice softer now. “I’ve got that blanket you like, some hot cocoa, and a whole night of holdin’ you on the couch if you want it.”
You squeezed his hand, warmth spreading through your chest. “That sounds like heaven.”
Beau grinned, that boyish, heart-melting smile lighting up his face again. “Then let’s get you home, sweetheart. Where you belong.”
You reached over and gently cupped his cheek, your palm warm against the faint stubble there. Beau’s eyes softened instantly, surprise flickering across his face before melting into something deeper, warmer. He let you turn his head toward you without resistance, trusting you completely.
Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. It tasted like tiramisu and forever—sweet, unhurried, full of quiet affection. Beau hummed softly against your mouth, one big hand coming up to cover yours on his cheek, holding you there like the rest of the world could wait.
When you finally pulled back just a breath, foreheads still touching, he smiled against your lips.
“Well damn, darlin’,” he murmured, voice low and a little rough with affection. “You keep kissin’ me like that and I might forget how to drive altogether.”
You laughed softly, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Drive us home, Sheriff. I’ve got plans for that couch and that blanket… and you.”
Beau chuckled, warm and content, and pressed one last quick kiss to your palm before pulling back. He started the engine, but his hand found yours again almost immediately, lacing your fingers together as he pulled out onto the quiet Montana road.
The whole way home, his thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, and the radio played low country music like a gentle soundtrack to the night.
