music: harry styles, sabrina carpenter, taylor swift, joshua bassett, gracie abrams, olivia rodrigo, niall horan
other celebs: david corenswet, daisy edgar-jones, timothee chalamet, monica barbaro, glen powell, tom welling (young), drew starkey, trevor zegras
tv & film: outer banks, superman, twisters, smallville, little women, harry potter, top gun: maverick, off campus
characters: hermione granger, scott miller, clark kent, tyler owens, kate carter, dean dilaurentis, daisy jones, beau maxwell
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liz speaks!
i really want to start writing on here but i really don’t know how to work this, so any and all tips are welcome. feel free to leave me some requests, i would love to write what you want to read <3 i'm going to be cross posting my wattpad fics on here, so be on the lookout for them
You hear the blaring music from houses away, guiding you in the right direction. Some frat is throwing a killer party tonight, all your friends are there, and you’re not one to miss out on a good time with your friends.
Alpha Sigma something or other has an overflowing front lawn, full of partygoers: people making out, playing cornhole, and just enjoying themselves. You recognize faces; a lot of the same people come to these parties. But you’re not one to judge; you never miss a Briar party.
As you enter the house, you immediately know where to go. Towards the back of the house, there’s a sun porch with a nasty brown couch. This spot is unspokenly reserved for the football jocks and their adjacents: cheerleaders, friends, and girlfriends.
You fall into the “friend” category.
You’re not sporty, nor do you want to be, but you can appreciate the art that is Briar University's sports department. It’s a common misconception that Briar is just a hockey school. Not only do they have almost every sport that is not hockey, but our other teams do damn well, too.
Football is you favorite Briar sport, but you’re a bit biased due to your friendship with their ever-so-awesome quarterback. Beau Maxwell has been your best friend for as long as you can remember. You grew up together in a small town outside of the Boston area. You, along with Beau’s older sister, Joanna, were inseparable as kids.
You looked up to Joanna in a way that you would an older sister, and she really filled that role for you.
Beau likes to joke that you followed him to Briar, when in reality, your obsession with Briar as a teen is the reason he committed here. And your obsession with Briar was because Joanna committed here.
Needless to say, the Maxwell siblings mean a whole lot to you.
Following the sound of his laughter, you find Beau sitting on the disgusting couch surrounded by his football and hockey friends.
“Y/N!” he cheers when he sees you, and you find my spot on the couch next to him.
“Hi Beau-beau,” you smile.
He’s got a backwards hat on and has a Briar U football hoodie tied over his shoulders like a cape. His smile is beaming in the most contagious way. You’re always smiling when you’re around Beau.
Despite being in the sunroom, it’s actually a little chilly. Fall is in full effect all across campus, and the air today is just as crisp as it was yesterday. And of course, you’re only wearing a t-shirt.
Goosebumps cover your arms, and you instinctively rub them to try to warm my body up a bit. Friction, and all that. Beau notices, you see it out of the corner of my eye. He unties his sweatshirt and hands it to you.
“Here,” he flashes you that smile, the one that’s so familiar to you in the best way. “You look a little cold.”
You pull the sweatshirt over you head, pausing briefly for an unnoticed second to take in the comforting smell that is him. It reminds you of home, of childhood, of comfort, of safety. Because that’s what Beau is for you, all of the above.
“Thanks,” you smile at him, meeting his eyes.
One of Beau’s football friends returns with a red Solo cup filled with some sort of alcohol concoction. He hands it to Beau, and he takes a large swig of it, only to curl his face up in disgust.
“This is gross,” he exclaims, “Y/N, you have to try it.”
“Ew,” you jolt, “if it’s gross, why do you want me to have it?”
“Oh, come on.” He flashes you that smile, the one that makes butterflies appear in your stomach.
You roll your eyes, “Fine.”
He hands you the cup, and you take a sip, only to immediately want to vomit. Not only does alcohol have that effect on you, the instant “yuck” vibes, but whatever combination of drinks in this cup is not working.
“I don’t know what you mixed,” you tell the maker of the drink, “but this tastes like shit.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Beau adds.
“Yo, Beau,” Brennan, one of the football guys, calls out, “Holly’s looking for you.”
Beau shrugs, “She’s always looking for me.”
“It’s not like he cares,” another friend, Tyler, adds, “Beau and Y/N are basically married.”
You roll your eyes, letting out a laugh. “Stop it, Tyler.”
Beau says the same thing. At the same time.
You bring your palm to your face in mock distress, and the roar of laughter from your friend group grows.
“Point proven,” Tyler smiles, and Beau flashes him the middle finger.
After a few hours and many rounds of beer pong, the party began to die down.
“I’m going to head out,” you tell everyone, getting up from the couch.
Protests fly from your friends’ mouths, but you don’t listen.
Beau stands beside you, “I’ll walk you home.”
You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I got you,” Beau tells me.
He bids your friends goodbye and leads you out of the house.
Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your way down the walkway of the house. Beau dances around you to walk on my left side, like he always does, creating a barrier between you and the road.
Your arms brush slightly as you walk, your weak attempt at gossip filling the air.
“Stevens was crying in the kitchen,” Beau tells you. “Did you notice?”
“No!” you gasp, “Why was he crying about?”
“No idea,” he says, “Something about mozzarella sticks?”
Beau lets out a loud laugh. It’s real and authentic, not something he would have forced when around some of his buddies, not to hurt their feelings when a joke didn’t land.
It’s you turn to throw out some gossip, “Did you hear the music they were playing?”
“Yeah, it sucked!” Beau laughs again, and my heart warms.
“I’m so happy your frat actually has good music selections.”
“That’s because I practically let you make the playlist.”
He’s not wrong. You complained once that the music at his frat sucked, and the next day, he sent you a Spotify link to collaborate on his playlist.
Beau sighs, gently changing the topic, “Everyone thinks that we’re dating.”
“Yeah,” you admit, a blush spreading to you cheeks, “You know half the hockey house thinks we’re secretly married.”
“Only half?” Beau smirks. “Don’t worry about them, they’re idiots.”
“Seriously, though,” you say, “It’s getting worse.”
He reaches over and tugs at the sleeve of his sweatshirt on my body, “Maybe it’s because you steal my clothes like you pay rent in them.”
“Hey,” you whine, “They’re more comfortable than mine.”
Youwalk a few more feet in silence before you speak again, “Do you ever think about how weird it’s gonna be after graduation?”
“I don’t really think past next season,” he admits.
“That’s terrifying,” you laugh.
“Nah.” He bumps your shoulder lightly. “You’ll tell me what I’m doing.”
“We’ll go back home, I think,” you tell him. “I’ll live with Joanna, and you’ll always be over, bugging Joanna and hanging out with me. But we’ll go into the city every other weekend because Dean will beckon you and you’ll make me come with you.”
“What if it’s not like that?” Beau somberly asks.
‘There’s quite literally no possibility that that’s not how it goes.”
He just hums in response.
“Oh! I forgot to tell you,” you burst out, “Miller asked for my number.”
“When?” He immediately fires out.
“When you went to the bathroom,” you answered.
“Did you give it to him?”
“Maybe.”
“Tragic,” he says, looking straight ahead, his expression unreadable.
You laugh, but something shifts.
You thought we could go back to our little gossip sesh, especially after you went deep on him. But you fear you made a mistake by mentioning Miller.
You come to a stop outside the duplex you share with my roommate.
“This is me,” you tell him, even though he already knows. “Thanks for walking with me.”
“It was my pleasure,” he bows, and you laugh.
“Get home safe, okay? Let me know when you make it back to your place.”
He doesn’t live too far from here, about a street or two away. You’re not very far from campus either, making this little neighborhood the perfect place for college kids. And trust, the area is overrun. The hockey house, home to Garrett Graham, John Logan, Dean Di Laurentis, and John Tucker, isn’t too far from here either. That’s another place where you frequently party, as Beau and Dean are practically as inseparable as Beau and you are.
If he weren’t such a good guy, outside of his womanizing tendencies, Dean and you would be rivals, vying for Beau. But it isn’t like that at all. Dean could never replace you, you could never replace him, and no one could ever replace Beau.
“You don’t have to worry, Y/N,” Beau tells me, “Dean’s waiting for me to drive me back to the apartment.”
That's when you notice the sleek Porsche waiting at the curb, Dean Di Laurentis behind the wheel. He raises four fingers at you off the steering wheel and nods in your direction. You toss him a gentle wave before turning back to Beau.
“Good night, I guess?” you tell him.
He laughs, “Good night.”
You turn to walk up the path, but you stop. “Oh! Your hoodie!”
“Keep it!” He says.
“Are you sure?”
“Y/N, all you wear are my clothes. Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay,” you smile, “Good night. For real this time.”
“Good night, Mariah.”
You walk up the path to the porch, marching up the front steps and entering the door code. Your interaction feels incomplete, like it’s missing something. If Beau were literally any other guy, you would have expected him to kiss you when you said good night. But that’s not the type of relationship Beau and you have.
It’s only ever been platonic, and yes, there have been times when you wished it weren’t, but Beau has never indicated that he felt anything for you other than being the annoying little sister he doesn’t have.
You don’t look back as you open the door, out of fear that he’d see your red cheeks, but you know Beau is still standing there, watching you.
“Did Beau walk you home again?” your roommate, Breana, asks me as you kick your shoes off.
You smile, “You know he did.” He always does.
Bre pulls back the blinds and looks outside, “He’s still out there.”
“I know,” you tell her, “He always waits until my bedroom light comes on to leave. That’s how he knows I made it in okay.”
“He’s in love with you, you know,” Breana calls from the living room.
You open your bedroom door and flip on the light switch. The fluorescent light fills the room. “He is not!”
You glance through the curtains before pulling them shut.
Beau was still standing there.
liz speaks!
first chapter!! i apologize if there's any mistakes with the tenses and such, i tried my best to catch them all.
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