NOW, I'LL HUG YOU: She's been stuck on the same issue for hours, on the verge of stress, and taking out her frustration on Tucker and Dean. Logan returns home and immediately realizes that Y/n doesn't need another explanation about the subject, but rather a break.
AT HIS TABLE: A Thanksgiving dinner was the last thing Y/n and Garret wanted to share with their father. Knowing that she and her brother wouldn't be able to handle it alone, Logan is there to help them through it.
Eddie Munson
Beau Maxwell
UNTIL IT DISAPPEARS: After his death, the apartment that was once his home became a museum of memories. And when Beau's last fragrance fades from his favorite sweatshirt, Y/n is forced to confront the one thing she's never been able to escape: the certainty that time keeps passing, even without him.
SOMEONE LIKE YOU: After his death, Y/N receives a bunch of cassette tapes, letters and objects that Eddie left for her, lovingly stored in a little box filled with love.
NOW WITHOUT YOU: Y/n and Eddie fight side by side to fulfill a plan that could save Hawkins, but it may cost them the love of a lifetime.
AMIDST THE STORM: Y/n goes into labor in the middle of a storm. Unable to get home or to the hospital, the group helps baby Munson come into the world.
LOVE HURTS: When Y/n sneaks into Hawkins with the group's help to visit her boyfriend's grave.
IT WAS A PLAN: Trapped for hours in the Upside Down, Eddie and Y/n begin to talk about the future as if it were guaranteed, even without knowing if they will get out alive. Nancy, her sister, overhears everything and begins to change her mind about Eddie and no longer doubts their relationship.
DAD'S LIFE: Years after the traumas of Hawkins, Y/n and Eddie learned to live away from the noise and fear of the Upside Down and began to hear sounds of giggles and babbling around the house, which was like a permanent bandage.
MOM'S MEMORIES: After the fire in which Eddie lost the last things that were mementos of his mother, Y/n appears in the trailer with a package of gifts for him.
NOTHING BEHIND CLOSED DOORS: Y/n and Eddie just want to watch a movie in her room, but Steve keeps making excuses to come in every five minutes. The two try to remain patient.
TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART: Y/n, who now lives in Lenora, feels that time is running out and becomes increasingly distressed, fearing she won't experience everything she dreamed of with Eddie. One night, while he's visiting her, Y/n tells him everything she feels, and then the unexpected happens.
NIGHTMARES OF THE PAST: Eddie is having nightmares again about the events in Hawkins, but there are only two things that make him forget all the wounds of the past: his wife and that little pink room.
BONDS AND TRAUMAS: Holly starts seeking out Eddie whenever she's scared, using the excuse of playing with dolls. He becomes "the uncle who scares away monsters," and this breaks Eddie down inside in a good way, because no one besides Y/n has ever trusted him like that.
YOU CAN'T DO THAT: Eddie realizes that Y/n is suppressing her own dreams to fit into Hawkins' life, and tries to bring her back to what she truly loves.
SOUNDS LIKE A MEMORY: A night of laughter, music, banter, flirting, and guffaws from Y/n, Eddie, and the band at The Hideout on a Tuesday.
A SUMMER DREAM: Eddie is gone, but the memories and plans haunt Y/n every night in nightmares. Well, they're such sweet and not at all scary dreams, which is a thousand times worse.
LONELY DAY: Before facing Vecna, the group is preparing in that large grassy field while preparing some weapons, unlike Eddie and Y/n, who are experiencing a moment from their own little world.
HALLOWED BE THY NAME: Y/n Byers receives Vecna's curse in 1986, but after 18 months she wakes up from her coma and then realizes she has an irreversible consequence.
A NAME FOR THE BABY: They can't choose a name for the baby. Every suggestion seems to have some reason for not being used, But then it's Grandma Joyce who encourages the name.
Steve Harrington
SIX NUGGET: Steve can finally take that trip with the love of his life and their six long-awaited children.
NIGHTS IN WHITE SATIN: Trapped in Vecna's mind, Y/n struggles to return to life. However, the scenario changes when an army of demodogs appears at the hospital, the radio playing her favorite song malfunctions and Steve has her in his arms while fleeing from the monsters.
I ALMOST LOST YOU: When Steve falls from the tower and is saved by Jonathan. But nothing can get Y/n out of her head for the next few days, which causes her to distance herself from her boyfriend.
FIRST LOVE: One of the kids on the baseball team tells Steve that he/she has a crush on someone and doesn't know what to do. Steve asks Y/n for help that night, feeling a bit lost and laughing at himself. They end up gently recounting how they fell in love.
Edmund Pevensie
WE HAVE TO CHANGE BAKERS: In which Y/n prepares a picnic for her boyfriend and bakes a cake. But let's just say she's not good in the kitchen.
YOU CALLED ME LOVE: Where Y/n calls him by that nickname.
LIKE YOU'VE DONE BEFORE: In which Edmund becomes jealous of the friendship that Y/n has with Caspian and ends up saying nasty things. Which results in a much bigger problem.
WILL YOU MARRY ME?? AGAIN...: Even after spending years dating and getting married in Narnia in the golden age, Edmund makes an important request to Y/n, However, now here in your world.
WE WERE THREE: When the Pevensie brothers and Y/n return to the teacher's house, Ed and Y/n despair when they see that they left someone behind.
WE WERE THREE²: Y/n and the Pevensies return to Narnia, still missing their son, but something they find ends up bringing comfort to their lives. At least a little.
BACK TO ME: Y/n was in the prophecy too. She ruled Narnia together with the Pevensies, but Peter made her marry the prince of another country due to agreements. But what happens when she is in love with Edmund and he is in love with her?
Prince Caspian
I WILL STAY WITH YOU: To which Y/n decides to stay in Narnia the second time and ends up meeting up with her brothers in the Dawn Treader. (Pevensie!Reader).
I WILL STAIN WITH YOU²: The Pilgrim's adventure ends, and everyone has to say goodbye to Ed and Lucy, as they have to return to their real world. But what about Y/n's heart, knowing that he will never see his brothers again?? (Pevensie!Reader)
Jake Peralta
IT'S NOT OK, BUT I'M HERE: Where y/n gets sick at work, and leaves the entire squad worried about the information she says before fainting.
TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART: In which Jake and y/n make a bet on who can arrest the most criminals and S/n has to fulfill the agreement at the end of the shift.
GREAT FRIEND OF YOURS: Jake and y/n have been friends for as long as they can remember, but as the years go by their feelings begin to turn romantic.
I THOUGHT IT WAS YOU: In which, y/n goes on a mission alone, things go wrong and Jake thinks his "best friend" has been murdered.
LITTLE GENIUS: That night is Jake's day to take care of his daughter at home, the night goes well with cabanas, a parade and sweets before dinner, but before going to sleep, little Peralta asks a question that leaves her father no reaction.
SHE WILL COME BACK: In which Y/n is expelled from the police and goes on an undercover mission in the mafia. However, Jake will have to live six months in doubt, after declaring his love for his best friend and receiving no response.
SHE WILL COME BACK ²: Six months passed, Y/n gathered the information needed to arrest the biggest mafia family and return to the squad. Of course, having to settle things with Jake first.
ACTS OF GIFTS: They have always been those couples who give gifts for nothing, but it is always good to remind the other person how much you love them. That is, apart from gifts.
Sirius Black
THE GENERAL: In which Sirius arrives at the Potter's house injured after the fight with his mother and Y/n wants to take revenge. But can his girlfriend really beat Walburga? (Potter! Reader)
THE GENERAL²: Where Y/n wants revenge for Sirius, but can she really beat Walburga?! (Potter! Reader)
COME FIND YOUR HALF SOON: Y/n and Sirius had broken up. The boy with dark hair was going through difficult days with his family and this was the only way to protect his girlfriend. However, on a rainy holiday day In the summer he appears at the girl's cousin's house, just on the day she was there. What happens when his ex sees him all bruised and burned?
I CAME TO APOLOGIZE: Y/n and Sirius have been having an affair since Hogwarts, but this shouldn't continue anymore, as he is married.
I CAME TO APOLOGIZE²: After years without him and all the problems, someone knocks on Y/n's door, making her surprised. And after a lot of talking, she needs to introduce someone to him.
OUT OF EVERYTHING: Y/n has a busy week due to her work as head girl and her boyfriend gives her a little surprise to make her relax.
MEMORIES MAKE ME CRY: When Y/n's father gives her a box from her childhood, memories come rushing over her feelings.
YOU'RE THE ONE THAT I WANT: Lily and James get married. And in the middle of their waltz, Y/n has a great choreography idea for when she gets married. And of course Sirius wouldn't fail to make a wish later.
IT'S YOUR WOMAN: When Y/n gets a trail bike from her father and her boyfriend had no idea she rode it. (Potter!Reader)
77' PARTY: To which, Sirius and Y/n's personalities are the same and they love going out in matching couples' outfits.
SUNFLOWERS TO MY LOVE: Where Sirius spends the Christmas holiday at the Potter's house and brings a little gift to his girlfriend. (Potter!fem! Reader)
GERONIMO'S CADILLAC: By day, they're just members of the marauders and great old friends, but by night, she's the woman of his dreams.
I WANT ONE: Y/n and Sirius spend time playing with Harry, making them want a baby too.
BABY HARRY IS COMING: Sirius and Y/n are Harry's godparents, and he is coming into the world bringing joy.
Estarei postando uma fanfic do John Logan e uma personagem que eu criei, lá no meu Wattpad (ma_pavlikovsky) se quiserem acompanhar e ler. Ficarei feliz!!!🤍
Summary: After his death, the apartment that was once his home became a museum of memories. And when Beau's last fragrance fades from his favorite sweatshirt, Y/n is forced to confront the one thing she's never been able to escape: the certainty that time keeps passing, even without him.
Words: 4.6K+
Warnings: Mention of Beau's death, sadness and anguish, heartbreaking, Y/n still grieving, lots of crying and despair. Hannah and Allie are great and sweet friends. Sad and heartbreaking, that's all I have to say.
Author: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any typos, grammar, spelling, and slang errors that may appear in the story. I unfortunately like writing sad stories. 😭🇧🇷 (My profile is always open for requests.)
MASTERLIST
For Y/n, nothing made sense anymore.
Outsiders might think she was exaggerating, but those who were truly in her life knew how Beau's death completely and utterly affected her emotional, mental, and physical health.
Beau meant everything to her, no exaggeration.
They had been dating since elementary school, nurturing that sweet and innocent love of 13-year-olds. Over the years, as the world changed around them, the two matured together, transforming their youthful passion into an unbreakable and deeply rooted connection.
When the time came for them to go to university together, Beau made sure to ask her parents for their blessing so they could live together on campus, almost like a marriage, because he really took their relationship seriously.
To an outsider, this gesture of asking permission to share a university roof might seem petty, but when it came to being respectful, protective, and loving towards Y/n, Beau would do anything to achieve perfection.
Every detail mattered to him, as long as she felt safe and valued.
The first three years at Briar U were simply wonderful and incredible. Beau had earned a scholarship to be the captain of the football team, shining on the field, while Y/n had secured a top spot as the leading student in her course.
It was a beautiful, routine, and deliciously sweet life.
Each gray morning became welcoming simply because they woke up under the same roof.
But everything fell apart overnight.
It was like taking candy away from a happy child. Like a bucket of cold water in the dead of winter or a violent and unexpected physical collision in American football.
That morning he was in her arms, warm and full of life, and the next day he was in a cold wooden coffin.
The apartment ceased to be a place to live and came to exist only to preserve what it once was.
His sneakers remained exactly where they had been left, near the front door. In the freezer, the tub of his favorite ice cream always occupied the same space; when it expired, it was replaced by an identical one, which also ended up expiring intact. The mug Beau used every morning remained on the dish rack, clean, dry, and untouched. His charger remained plugged in beside the bed. Some books remained open on the desk, exactly on the page where he had stopped reading. Even the television remote rested on the left side of the sofa, where it had always belonged to him.
It was a collection of small details that, viewed in isolation, seemed insignificant, but together they sustained the painful illusion that Beau was simply late coming home.
Y/n also never managed to reorganize her wardrobe.
His clothes remained hanging, folded, or forgotten on the shelves, exactly as before. And little by little, without even realizing it, Beau's sweatshirts ceased to be just memories and became a part of her.
She slept in them, studied wearing them, went shopping wearing another. On difficult days, she would change her sweatshirt two or three times, as if each piece of fabric carried a different part of the man she loved.
And when she was about to leave the house wearing one of her sweatshirts, she had developed a habit she never told anyone about: she would open Beau's perfume bottle and carefully spray it on the collar, cuffs, or chest of the sweatshirt she would be wearing that day. Just enough so that when she moved her head, she could feel that he was nearby.
The grief was already heavy enough, and yet life seemed to find new ways to hurt her.
That late afternoon, after much insistence, Y/n finally accepted Allie and the boys' invitation to have dinner at the hockey house. They didn't want her to spend another night alone, surrounded by the sepulchral silence of the apartment.
She opened the wardrobe without really thinking and, as she had done since Beau left, automatically reached for one of his sweatshirts. The soft fabric slid down her arms with the familiar feeling of comfort that only those clothes could still provide. For a moment, she closed her eyes, hoping that his scent would envelop her as it always did.
But there was almost nothing.
She inhaled again, more deeply. There was only a distant scent, so faint it seemed to exist only because her memory insisted on completing it.
Without thinking, she walked quickly to the small shelf where she kept her cosmetics, her fingers immediately searching for Beau's perfume bottle. She quickly lifted it, already preparing her index finger to press the spray nozzle.
Nothing.
Tried again.
Again.
Not a single drop. Not a single spray.
And then the memory hit her with the force of a wave in a rough sea.
Beau had bought that perfume during a trip to France. She perfectly remembered his excitement when explaining that it was a limited edition, produced for a short time and that it would probably never be manufactured again. At the time, she had just laughed at his enthusiasm, saying that a perfume was just a perfume. Now she understood the crushing weight of those words.
There was no other one to buy.
There was no replacement.
There was no way to get that smell back.
There was no way to bring Beau Maxwell back.
And for the first time since the funeral, Y/n realized that even the party favors had an expiration date.
The perfume faded. After it, the fabric would lose its scent. Then, her own memory would fail. And someday, she might no longer be able to remember exactly what Beau smelled like when he hugged her.
That thought destroyed her completely.
"No..." Her voice came out almost inaudible. She pressed the spray nozzle again, but nothing happened. "No... no, no, no!"
Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably as she shook the small glass bottle desperately.
"Please... please..."
Then, the glass slipped between her fingers, damp with cold sweat. For a brief second, she tried to catch it in mid-air, but failed. The bottle hit the floor with a dry crack, the sound of shattering glass echoing throughout the room, scattering small, glistening shards across the floor.
The last, invisible particles of the fragrance dissipated into the air before she could even reach them.
Y/n remained motionless for a moment, staring at the wreckage. Then, she took a step back, and another. Her legs completely gave way, causing her to fall back onto the edge of the bed.
Without even realizing it, he pulled Beau's sweatshirt against his chest and gripped it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He buried his face in the rough fabric in a desperate attempt to find any trace of that scent. Any memory.
But the fabric now carried only her own scent.
Tears began to fall before she could even breathe properly. They came fast, heavy, uncontrollable, soaking her sweatshirt as her shoulders trembled in silent, painful sobs.
She wasn't just crying over a broken bottle on the floor. She was crying because Beau's scent was fading, and with it, another piece of the man she had spent her whole life trying to keep was slipping away.
Y/n didn't realize how much time had passed since she started crying.
Outside, the city lights began to come on as the sun set, and Y/n was already more than two hours late for dinner.
At the hockey house, dinner should have finished on time. But before any of the boys could decide to go out looking for her, Allie and Hannah exchanged a discreet glance and left before everyone else.
Because Y/n was the type of person who would never fail to let them know if they weren't going to show up, this immediately raised a red flag in the hearts of the two friends.
A few minutes later, the two were already crossing the lobby of the building where Y/n lived. The elevator would take much longer than they were willing to wait, so they climbed the flights of stairs almost without noticing.
Hannah slowed her pace as she approached the familiar door and cast an uneasy glance at Allie, who merely returned the same worried expression.
"Is she home?" Hannah raised her hand and patted gently.
Allie frowned slightly, noticing a detail, and discreetly pointed her chin toward the lock. "The door is unlocked, Hannah."
Hannah's eyes immediately went back to the doorknob and her stomach churned.
"Y/n..."
With extreme care, Hannah pushed the door, which opened smoothly without offering any resistance. The apartment was completely dark, immersed in a silent gloom, and she stood for a moment on the threshold, observing the room shrouded in cold shadows.
Allie came in right behind her and closed the door slowly, trying not to make a sound. "Y/n, honey... it's Allie and Hannah. Are you there?"
His sweet voice echoed through the empty apartment, sounding a little louder than usual in the hope of reaching her in some back room.
No answer came back. Hannah took a small step forward, ready to search for her friend in the darkness, and that's when they both heard: loud, broken, desperate sobs coming directly from the hallway leading to the room.
"Oh, damn it!" Allie didn't wait any longer, she ran down the hallway without even thinking about taking off her shoes, and Hannah followed right behind, driven by the same desperation.
The scene they encountered instantly took their breath away. Y/n was still sitting exactly where she had fallen hours before, and the room remained completely dark; the only light came from the streetlights filtering through the windowpane.
She was curled up at the edge of the bed, her fingers clenched so tightly around Beau's sweatshirt that they seemed stiff and unable to relax. The collar was completely damp, not only from the tears that were still falling at that moment, but from the countless others that had been shed during those two long hours of solitude.
Y/n then slowly raised her head, and her red, swollen eyes met Allie and Hannah standing in the doorway. There was so much despair in that look that no words in the world would be enough to describe it.
It looked like the gaze of someone silently begging to be saved from unbearable pain, as if desperately needing someone to heal a wound that everyone knew would take years to heal.
Allie bit her lower lip hard, fighting the lump that had formed in her throat to stop her own tears from escaping, but she couldn't say anything immediately; she just walked resolutely to her friend. Behind her, Hannah took a deep breath before reaching for the light switch, and the light flooded the room all at once, revealing the shards of glass scattered across the floor.
"Oh, my dear..." Allie's voice echoed through the room like a warm embrace.
Upon hearing it, Y/n seemed to finally allow some of that absurd tension to leave her body.
"He... he's leaving..." Her voice came out terribly broken between the sobs that insisted on choking her.
Y/n gripped Allie's shoulders tightly, as if that presence was her only chance of not sinking completely into an abyss, and Allie immediately hugged her back.
Without saying a word, Hannah sat down on the other side of Y/n and gently brushed away some strands of hair that had stuck to her tear-stained face.
Allie remained embracing Y/n for a few more seconds, letting her cry at her own pace, without rushing. One of her hands gently stroked her back, while the other rested firmly on her shoulders, as if silently saying that she would never again have to face that storm alone.
When the sobs finally subsided a little, Allie stepped back just enough to look directly into his bloodshot eyes.
"What happened, my dear?" The question came out softly and extremely delicately, conveying peace.
"I... I feel like he's leaving." Tears welled up in her eyes again as she spoke those words. "Everyone says that pain gets better with time... but I don't want it to get better if it means losing another piece of him." Y/n gripped the bluish sweatshirt even tighter between her trembling fingers. "I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and not remember exactly his voice... the way he laughed... the feeling when he hugged me... his smell... What if one day I forget? What if I start remembering only parts? What if... what if Beau becomes just someone who existed in my life, instead of being the love of my life?"
Y/n's breath hitched again, despair returning to take over her mind like weeds choking a beautiful field of flowers in spring.
"I don't want him to disappear. I need Beau forever!"
The room remained in reverent silence for a few moments, broken only by Y/n's uneven breathing. It was Hannah who took the initiative to speak first.
"Y/n... Beau will never be forgotten." She offered a tender smile through her own teary eyes. "Not by you... not by us."
Y/n slowly lowered her gaze and lifted Beau's sweatshirt a few inches, holding it against her chest as if it were the most precious jewel on Earth.
"But even his scent is fading... If even that's gone... then I'm forgetting him. I'm forgetting the love of my life!" Y/n looked with a piercing despair directly into Hannah's eyes.
Allie felt her own heart clench in her chest, and with extreme care and tenderness, she held her best friend's face between her soft hands.
"Look at me." Y/n obeyed the gentle command, looking at her. "Do you remember the first party at university?" Y/n sniffed softly, but nodded slightly. "You spent half the night looking for Beau because he had disappeared, and when you finally found him, he was sitting in the kitchen because a lost puppy had gotten into the house and he was feeding pieces of his own hamburger to the little animal."
A weak, involuntary laugh escaped Y/n through her tears as she recalled the scene, and Allie smiled broadly, noticing the reaction.
"You looked at him with that loving look only you can give... and he didn't even notice. He was too busy talking to the dog." Hannah chuckled softly, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. "And remember when you two showed up at the boys' house completely soaked because you decided to walk back in the rain?"
Y/n nodded once more, letting the memory comfort her.
"Beau seemed like the happiest man in the world. While everyone else was complaining about the rain, all he could say was that it had been the best trip of his life because you were laughing the whole way."
Tears were still streaming down Y/n's face, but now there was a different kind of calmness to them, a glimmer of peace that hadn't visited her in a long time.
Allie spoke again, maintaining her soft and welcoming tone.
"Do you really think a love like that can disappear because a perfume ran out? My dear... his scent might fade. Clothes will age. Photographs will fade. Some small memories might become harder to reach." She took a deep breath, looking at her best friend with all the truth she possessed. "But Beau didn't live inside that bottle. He lives in you. He lives in the way you still fold your sweatshirt sleeves because that's how he did it. He lives in the habit of leaving ice cream in the freezer. He lives in the care you take of this apartment. He lives in every story you tell without realizing it. And, above all, he lives in the strong and mature woman you became by his side."
Hannah held one of Y/n's hands affectionately, squeezing it tenderly. "And if some memory ever slips away... you can call any of us. Because we have hundreds of stories about the two of you."
Y/n flashed a genuine smile as a much calmer tear slowly rolled down her cheek.
"Thank you..." Y/n's voice came out almost in an emotional whisper.
Allie smiled, her eyes filled with affection. "That's what family is for."
For a few seconds, the three friends remained in a comfortable silence. Until Allie let out an unexpected giggle while looking at the floor, her mind probably wandering to some hilarious memory from the past.
Y/n pulled away slightly from the hug, though she still held Beau's sweatshirt tightly against her chest. "What?"
Allie shook her head negatively, amusing herself with her own thoughts. "Dean told me a story the other day. About how Beau decided to win you over when you were still in elementary school."
Y/n partially covered her face with the fabric of her sweatshirt, already accurately predicting what the story was about.
"No..."
Allie started laughing openly. "Yes!"
Hannah looked on with extreme curiosity. "Wait, I don't think I've ever heard this story."
Y/n let out a soft laugh for the first time that night. "Because there are two versions."
"The romantic one and the one Dean saw!" Allie said, chuckling, while Hannah alternated her gaze between the two expectantly.
"So... who's going to tell the story?"
Allie playfully nudged her best friend's ribs. "Do you want to tell your romantic version or the completely disastrous version that Dean swore happened?"
Y/n shook her head from side to side, smiling with immense and sweet longing.
"I can tell you the romantic part." She discreetly wiped the corner of her eyes with the back of her free hand. "The part about Dean... I really don't know where he gets those stories from."
The three laughed together, breaking the heavy atmosphere of the room once and for all.
Allie spoke with a radiant smile. "Let's start with the funny part. According to Dean, Beau spent an entire week rehearsing how he was going to ask to sit next to Y/n in class. Dean told me Beau even practiced in front of the mirror at home."
"He wanted to seem confident. He was just a thirteen-year-old baby!" Y/n defended her boyfriend immediately, but couldn't contain her own laughter, which made the other two stare at her with silly smiles on their faces.
Allie continued the story. "But when he finally mustered the courage to go to her, he walked to the wallet so nervously that he tripped over his own shoelace. Dean said he fell to his knees right in front of her."
Hannah was already laughing hysterically at this point. "No..."
"Yes!" Y/n confirmed, laughing along. "Dean's right about that part, and I had to help him. And the funniest thing is that everyone in the room thought he was making a super elaborate declaration of love. The girls started 'aww' before they even understood what was actually happening. And according to Dean, Beau completely panicked, stood up so fast he dropped his own backpack and scattered all his notebooks on the floor..." Y/n laughed loudly, the image vivid in her mind from so many years ago. "Beau even asked me if he could sit at the desk next to me while he picked up his notebooks from the floor." She shook her head amidst the laughter, feeling her chest ache a little with nostalgia, but this time it was a pain accompanied by an extremely comforting warmth. "But he never told me about that part about practicing in front of the mirror."
"Of course he didn't tell." Allie smiled knowingly. "In his version, it was all perfectly planned and executed."
"And wasn't it?" Hannah asked, finding the story adorable.
Y/n looked at the sweatshirt in her hands with immeasurable fondness. "But it was even more beautiful precisely because everything went wrong."
Silence returned to fill the room softly. But this time, it was no longer a dense or suffocating silence. Sadness still lingered. An immense longing still existed. A profound emptiness still remained that could never be completely filled by anything else in the world.
But amidst all that inevitable pain, there also resided the vivid memories of a thirteen-year-old boy tripping over his own shoelace just to sit next to the girl he was hopelessly in love with. Of a college student with a huge heart who would interrupt any task to feed a stray puppy. Of a boyfriend who would cross the entire city in a downpour just because she was laughing beside him.
The darkest parts of Y/n's mind seemed to have received a small, bright sliver of light brought by Beau's golden memories.
Allie met Hannah's gaze in the dimly lit light, and the two exchanged a discreet, relieved smile. Not because Y/n's pain had miraculously vanished, but because for the first time that difficult night, she was no longer facing all that darkness alone.
Hannah was the first to break the silence with affection.
"See? You said you were forgetting Beau... but you just remembered the first time he spoke to you. I'm sure in your head, you remembered the exact outfit he was wearing, how embarrassed he felt at the time, the way he asked to sit next to you..." Hannah nodded, smiling broadly. "That's not forgetting someone. You know and cherish every little bit of him deep inside, Y/n."
Allie nodded and firmly held one of Y/n's hands.
"You know what his favorite ice cream was, what song he sang off-key while washing dishes in the kitchen, how he folded his sweatshirt sleeves, how he smirked when trying to hide that he'd done something wrong... Because you truly paid attention to him for years, and nobody forgets a love built with so much care."
Hannah smiled with the same sweetness as before. "And if one day homesickness makes you believe you're forgetting something... we'll remind you. Every day if necessary."
"And the two of us..." Allie glanced quickly at Hannah before focusing all her attention on Y/n. "...we'll keep remembering how he looked at you."
Y/n brought one hand to her face to wipe away a lone tear that was running down her cheek.
"He always looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the whole room..." Her voice came out low, heavy with longing, but incredibly sweet. "Even when I was wearing one of his old sweatshirts, with my hair all messy and complaining about my college subjects... And I never really understood how someone could love another person like that..."
Allie smiled, her eyes shining. "Because it was Beau."
Y/n took a deep breath, feeling the air enter her lungs more easily, and looked gratefully at her two friends who were there.
"Thank you... for not letting me go through this alone."
Hannah nodded almost immediately in affirmation. "We'll always be here! Today, tomorrow, and forever!"
Allie nodded with a wide smile, although biting her lip seemed to be the only thing stopping her from crying as well.
Without saying another word, Hannah and Allie simultaneously leaned in to hug Y/n. She ended up completely squeezed between the two of them, which made her let out a muffled giggle against their shoulders.
"You're trying to crush me."
"We are!" Allie replied without showing the slightest hint of remorse. "But it's therapeutic."
"Recommended by the best friends in the world," Hannah finished, making the three of them laugh together again amidst that tangle of affection.
When the hug finally ended, Allie got out of bed with energy, walked purposefully to Y/n's wardrobe, and placed her hand firmly on the door. Before actually opening it, she turned her face back, displaying a gentle smile.
"Can I open it?"
Y/n nodded with a small, silent movement of her head, and Allie opened the closet, finding Beau's row of sweatshirts neatly organized and folded on the shelves.
Then, with a dramatic flourish, Allie began to remove the sweatshirts one by one, throwing them all onto the bed without even looking back. Two of the sweatshirts ended up hitting Hannah and Y/n directly in the face consecutively, eliciting laughter from both of them.
However, both of them quickly frowned, not quite understanding the purpose of that sudden mess Allie had created.
"Allie... What are you doing?" Y/n asked, laughing.
Allie placed her hands on her hips with a firm posture, as if she had just devised the most foolproof plan of all time.
"The three of us are going to find out which one still smells most like Beau." She pointed with her chin to the colorful mountain of scattered sweatshirts. "And that sweatshirt will be the one you choose to wear to dinner with us at the boys' house."
Y/n blinked a few times, genuinely surprised by the proposal. "You... still want me to go?"
Allie made an exaggerated and funny face at her.
"Of course! Everyone's been eagerly waiting for you, sweetheart!" She smiled enthusiastically. "Tucker spent the whole afternoon in the kitchen preparing a lasagna that, in Dean's own words, is so good it's enough to spark a serious family argument."
Hannah quickly joined in on Allie's joke. "He swore up and down that it's the best lasagna on the whole planet."
"And nobody's going to let that bunch of hungry people eat a single bite before you get there."
Y/n felt her chest tighten again, but this time, the sensation came for a completely different reason.
She realized she wasn't alone in the world. Even while going through the most painful, gray, and difficult period of her entire life, she remained surrounded by incredible people who actively insisted on staying right there, by her side.
People who deeply respected the magnitude of her pain, but who refused to let her sink into it without a fight. People who perfectly understood that Beau could never be replaced in her story and who would never try to occupy the sacred space that belonged only to him.
That night, Y/n understood that there truly was no perfume in the world capable of physically bringing Beau back, no fabric or sweatshirt that could forever hold the physical essence of his scent, and no object large enough to contain the immensity of a lifetime of shared love.
But perhaps the memories shared and kept alive between friends were far more enduring than any limited-edition fragrance.
Perhaps Dean's funny stories, Hannah's protective sensitivity, Allie's tight and comforting hug, the lovingly prepared meals by the hockey boys, and the quiet love of everyone who ever knew and loved Beau were the true vessels capable of preserving what truly mattered forever.
Because as long as there was even one person willing to remember Beau with a genuine smile on their face, he would never completely disappear from the Earth.
And, for the first time since the day she lost the great love of her life, Y/n felt that perhaps it was possible to continue walking step by step. Not because the painful longing in her chest had diminished in size, but because she finally understood that she would never again have to carry it alone.
author's note: uhm, so i tried to go to sleep but i wrote this instead. hope you like it! i hate reading angst but i LOVE writing it so let me know what you think about this one! also, my deepest apologies to the person who requested for the friends to lovers fic with beau, i promise i will be getting that out soon!!
words: 2.6k+
summary: beau is the love of your life, he's all you could ask for. until tragedy strikes and he becomes the loss of your life
warnings: angst angst angst, hurt/no comfort, did i mention angst?, mentions of accidents/car crashes, crying, death, heavy angst, you have been warned, most likely will not be a part two to this, this was written very quickly so it's most likely not well written, very quick proofread, and inaccurate book errors because author has never read the books and got all of her information off the internet.
Beau was the love of your life. He was the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for. He lent you his clothes, let you put your cold feet underneath his legs, let you play with his hair while he was trying to sleep, the whole nine yards.
But the thing you loved most about Beau, is how much he loved you. And with him, he loved loud. Beau didn’t hide his feelings from other people, or from you. He showed you off in every situation you were in, publicly, or privately. The thing that got you the most was how he showed his love for you. Not how he would say it ten times a day, which he would, but how he showed his love.
He memorized your drink order at the local cafe, bought you something even though you only looked at it for not even two seconds, he looked for you first in every room, but most importantly to you, he cared for you. Beau cared for you so deeply that sometimes, you didn’t know what to do with all of it.
A message every day, asking how your class went that day, or a phone call at night to make sure that you fell asleep at a good enough time so you could wake up at a decent time the next morning. Beau never complained when you asked him to do something, you never heard from friends or other girls that he was talking bad about you. Because Beau never had anything bad to say about you. Everything that left his mouth that even remotely surrounded you, was a positive thing. Not once did anything remotely vicious come out of his mouth the whole entirety of your three year relationship.
Beau was everything you asked for and more.
When his grandmother’s birthday came up, you were invited to go with. Initially, you were excited to go, to meet some of his extended family, and spend some time with him in a domestic state. Both of you were cramped with classes and responsibilities, so it was perfect to get away from campus and be together. Surrounded by the warmth only each other could provide.
But, you had an event come up that you couldn’t miss. Something with your department, and it was a huge opportunity for you. You were a fashion merchandising major, and some of the biggest fashion designers in the area were going to be at this event. When you brought it up to Beau, there was nothing but understanding written on his face. He cupped your face with his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Do not throw this away. It’s so big for you.” He assured you as he was about to leave. He brought you into his chest, smoothing your hair down your back. You stood next to his dad’s car, arms wrapped around his waist as you hugged him.
“I’m gonna miss you.” His jacket muffles the words, but he hears them anyway. His grip around you tightens.
“I’ll miss you too.” He says as he rubs your back. “But I’ll be back before you know it.” You separate and he looks down at you. “I love you so much, baby.” A smile grows on your face as you look up at him.
“I love you so much, Beau.” He smiles as well, leaning down and capturing your lips in his.
You watched as he and his dad pulled out of the parking lot, waiting until you couldn’t see the car anymore to walk back into your dorm.
You didn’t know at that time, but that was the last time you would see the love of your life.
–
The event went extremely well, you had so many networking opportunities, and you even had the chance to talk to a designer about a job after graduation. She told you that once you graduate, to get in contact with her and where you’re going to start. The business card is still sitting in your purse as you sit on the bed a day later, trying to get into contact with Beau. The last text you got from him was yesterday, asking how the event went.
You replied telling him how it went so well, and you couldn’t wait to tell him all about it in person, but he hasn’t responded since. That wasn’t like him. As the call goes to voicemail for the third time, you get a call from his dad. You let out a breath of relief, answering quickly. “Hi, Mr. Maxwell! I’m so glad you called, I’ve been trying to get-”
“Honey, are you sitting down?” the tone of his voice causes your heart to drop.
“Y-yeah. Yeah. I am. Is everything okay?”
“Sweetheart, I need you to take a deep breath for me before I tell you this.” You do as told, mind racing with all of the horrible possibilities that could have happened. “Beau and I were in an accident late last night. On the way home from his grandma’s birthday.” You feel your heart stop beating, you feel your breath sharpening. Mr. Maxwell’s voice cracks through the phone. “Honey, I’m so sorry, he died on impact.” The sob that leaves your mouth wrecks the older man on the phone with you. He continues to explain the situation to you, but you don’t hear any of it, all you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears, and screaming. But you’re not sure where the screaming is coming from.
It’s not until your roommate, Poppy, comes running into the room you realize it’s coming from you. At this point, you’ve found your way to the floor, leaning against your bed. Your vision is blurry as Poppy takes the phone from you, talking to Mr. Maxwell as you heave and sob and scream on the floor, laying down and pulling your knees to your chest as you let out all the ugly sounds. “Yes, yes, yeah, I’ll take care of her.” You barely hear Poppy talk to him through the ringing in your ears, and you don’t even register knocking on the door.
Poppy tells you to take deep breaths before she leaves the room, walking into the main area and going to the front door. There, stands Dean DiLaurentis, freshly off his own shock and his face immediately crumples when he hears your screams. Poppy tells him to make his way into your room as she’s still on the phone with Beau’s dad.
Dean flies into your room, heart breaking for a second time that night as he catches sight of you crumpled on the floor, unintelligent babbles and cries coming from your mouth. Without hesitation, he sits next to you and forces you to sit up, before pulling you into his chest. This way, your cries and screams are muffled by his sweater, but the pain is still there. They’re quieter, but they’re still screams.
You feel it even deeper when you realize that the only person you wanted to talk to about Beau Maxwell’s death, was Beau Maxwell.
–
The next few days passed in a blur. Condolences sent through text messages and different social medias, emails sent to professors saying you couldn’t make it to classes, emails sent back telling you that you can take as much time as you need and not to worry too much about the assignments.
Eventually, Beau’s family arrived at Briar, going to his own off campus house shared with teammates to retrieve his things. When they asked you to come with, you forced yourself to come along, holding in your tears enough to sit in the back of the car with Joanna as you all rode to the house. The car ride was silent, no radio, no chatter, nothing. It was horrible. It was exactly what Beau wouldn’t have wanted.
When you all got there, his roommates were waiting on the porch outside. One of the guys, Mason, was the first to bring you into a bear hug. It was nice. It was needed. It took you ten minutes to stop crying in his arms. Each roommate took their turns hugging you and assuring you that if you needed anything, they were only one phone call away. You nodded, but didn’t really hear what they were saying as you walked up the steps to his room.
Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell was already putting things in boxes by the time you got there, and practically everything was already done. They looked at you and handed you an empty box. “Take whatever you want.” Mr. Maxwell told you and that leads you here, alone in his room and so far, the box is halfway full. Trinkets that you got him for his birthdays or Christmas, multiple sweatshirts that you decided were yours now, a pair of sweatpants, and one of his hats. You reach for a picture frame on the nightstand, smiling at the picture of the two of you from the previous summer.
One of your best hometown friends got married and you were a bridesmaid. When the bouquet toss happened, you were the one that caught it. Beau immediately ran to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest. And that’s the pose in the picture, him holding you up in the air, while you’re holding onto his shoulder with one hand and the bouquet you caught in the other. You’re both laughing your heads off, drunk off of each other.
A tear slips from your eye and lands on the glass, causing you to wipe it off and smile before putting the frame in the box. Your eyes lead you to the nightstand, and while you’re a little scared by what you might find in there, when you open it, it’s seemingly fine. Nothing too scary inside awaits you. You almost close it back up until you notice something in the back corner. Curiosity causes you to grab it, and you gasp when you feel your fingers touch velvet. Quickly pulling it out, the bright overhead light highlights the small box in your hands. Your breath hitches, and you hope that it’s not what you think it is.
Slowly, you open the box and when you see what’s inside, you feel your stomach drop and nausea hits you like a wave. Sobs leave your mouth as you lift your hand to cover it, but you’re too late, you hear footsteps rushing to the room. Your ears tune whoever it is out as you stare at the ring, it’s glinting in the light mocking you. It’s perfect. It’s everything you could’ve wanted and more. But it means nothing to you if it’s not Beau the one giving it to you.
Dean stands in the doorway, watching as you gawk at the ring. He was there when Beau bought it. Said man told him that it was the most perfect for the most perfect girl. At the time, Dean thought Beau was being delusional. You two have only been together for a year at that point, but Beau was for certain that you were it for him.
Before you can do anything else, Dean walks up and puts a hand on your shoulder. You turn slightly, looking up at him before closing the box, dropping it on the bed, and hiding yourself into his shoulder. Dean holds you as you cry into him, for what feels like the millionth time this week.
Hearing your sobs doesn’t get any easier, and Dean feels like a part of him had been ripped out when Beau died. But seeing the way you’ve been taking it, has made him feel ten times worse.
–
Before you knew it, a month had passed. You attended the service, stood in the line where people wished their condolences, gave Beau one last kiss on the forehead, stared at his face in the casket for what felt like forever, and then watched as they lowered into the ground later on that day.
You thought you could move on. You thought that everything would be alright. You were wrong.
You reached out to that fashion designer, and secured yourself a job for after graduation. You were to start right away. Speaking of graduation, it lingered in the air. The thought of doing it without Beau after three years of looking forward to it.
You think back to finding the ring in his room a month ago. Images of him proposing flash through your head. Before you know it, you’re thinking about what dress you would’ve worn to the wedding, what team he would’ve been drafted to, what type of house you would’ve lived in, what your kids would have looked like, and finally, images of you and Beau growing old together. It broke your heart, knowing that you would never get that with him. That he never got that at all. It all broke your heart.
You refused to go even near the football stadium. There was a memorial for him there, flowers, candles, balloons, pictures, the whole thing was set up. You heard there were some pictures of the two of you there, but it didn’t budge you to go. You kept to yourself and your inner circle, rarely making new friends like you usually would. Without Beau, it all felt meaningless.
One day, you got a call from Joanna, asking if you wanted to go get coffee. You agreed, and that’s where you find yourself now, a small coffee shop just off campus, sitting in a booth with the sister of your dead boyfriend, and neither of you know what to say.
It takes a full twenty minutes before either of you speak up. Joanna is the one to break the silence. “He loved you so much.” The words are whispered, and you feel yourself breaking even though it’s barely anything. “When he would come home for breaks, it’s all he would talk about. How much he loved you, how you changed him, how he knew you were it. How he knew you were gonna marry him.” Tears leave your eyes, and you're surprised at it, because you thought that you ran out of tears a long time ago. “You were it for him, y/n.” You look at her and she has her own tears in her eyes. “I wish I could say something that could take all of your heartbreak away, but I do want to say one thing;” She takes a deep breath before saying, “Beau wouldn’t want you to live the rest of your life with his shadow hanging over you. He would want you to live your life to the fullest. Whether that means moving across the country, travelling, or even falling in love again.” You scrunch your nose in disgust at the thought. You couldn’t imagine falling in love with anyone ever again. “Or not.” A small laugh falls from Joanna and you let yourself succumb to it as well. “Look, all I’m saying is that,” She pauses. “Beau wouldn’t want you to grieve him for the rest of your life. I know it’s only been a month, but I’m not sure when we’re gonna see each other again, so I wanted to get that out while I still could.” Before you could say anything, Joanna reached out and put her hand on top of yours. “The two of you may have never gotten married, but you have always been, and always will be, the little sister I’ve always wanted.” The words cause more tears to fall and Joanna is suddenly walking around the booth and settling next to you, wrapping her arms around you in a hug and letting you cry into her shoulder.
Beau Maxwell was the love of your life.
But he was also the loss of your life.
A loss that will always leave an imprint on your heart and soul.
thank you @strangergraphics for the borders, i love them!!
summary: you and beau fall deeper in love through all the quiet, ordinary ways you’ve learned to know and care for each other
established relationship
warnings: pure. fluff. soooooo sappy
word count: 2.8k
a/n: based on this request by @zoereyna ! i hope you like it<3
beau maxwell masterlist off campus masterlist
── ᵎᵎ ✦
you had been falling in love with beau for the past few months now, although you hadn’t realized quite how far you’d fallen until you found yourself sitting at his kitchen counter on an ordinary sunday morning, staring down at a runny egg yolk.
you had never told him how you liked them. at least, you were almost certain you hadn’t.
a few weeks after the two of you had started dating, beau had taken you to breakfast at della’s diner. you’d ordered your eggs over easy, but when the plate arrived, the yolks had been cooked completely through. it hadn’t mattered enough to complain about; you’d eaten everything else, picked at the egg whites, and left the chalky centers mostly untouched.
the entire thing had occupied perhaps thirty seconds of your life and you’d forgotten about it before the check arrived.
apparently, beau hadn’t.
months later, you woke in his bed to the faint smell of something burning. you lay still beneath the covers for a moment, listening. beau’s frat was quieter than usual, morning light slipping through the gap in the curtains and falling across the empty side of the bed. somewhere downstairs, a cupboard closed, followed by the unmistakable sound of something metal hitting the floor.
your mouth curved against the pillow at the sound of a muffled curse.
you stayed there for another minute before pulling yourself out of bed. beau’s sweatshirt was hanging over the back of his desk chair, and you tugged it over your head before leaving the room, pushing the sleeves over your hands as you made your way downstairs.
beau stood at the stove with his back to you, wearing gray sweatpants and an old t-shirt. his hair was still flattened on one side from sleep, and he was watching the pan with an intensity that was usually reserved for the final minutes of a close game.
you leaned against the doorway for a moment before he noticed you.
when he finally looked over his shoulder, his eyes moved from your face to the sweatshirt you were wearing. something pleased briefly softened his expression before his attention returned to the stove, “you’re supposed to be asleep.”
his tone wasn’t particularly serious. you could tell from the slight movement at the corner of his mouth, even with his back mostly turned toward you again.
you crossed the kitchen and stopped behind him, slipping your arms loosely around his waist. the warmth of his body seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt as you rested your cheek against his back, “something smelled dangerous.”
beau’s quiet laugh moved through him beneath your cheek. one of his hands settled briefly over yours before he returned his attention to breakfast, and you stayed wrapped around him until he needed to move.
you wandered over to the counter and climbed onto one of the stools instead.
from there, you watched him divide everything between two plates. the toast was slightly too dark, and the fruit had been cut into pieces so uneven that you suspected he’d done it with whatever knife he’d found first.
beau placed one of the plates in front of you before sitting opposite. you picked up your fork and cut into the egg, the yolk spilling slowly across the plate.
for a moment, you simply looked at it.
it was such a small thing that asking about it almost seemed silly. maybe it was a coincidence. maybe beau made all eggs that way.
when you looked up at him, he had already started eating, apparently unaware that he’d done anything worth noticing. when he eventually caught you staring, he paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, “what?”
you shook your head and looked back down at the plate. there was no point explaining it. you weren’t even sure you could explain why something so ordinary had settled warmly beneath your ribs.
instead, you tore off a corner of toast and dipped it into the yolk while beau started telling you about something your brother had done the previous evening.
you learned that beau hated being cold during your first winter together.
this would have been less ridiculous if he weren’t a football player. you had watched him spend entire games outside in weather that left you shivering beneath several layers of clothing, but somehow, according to beau, that was completely different from walking across campus without gloves.
you never received a convincing explanation for why.
still, you began noticing the little signs of it. he always started his car several minutes before the two of you left anywhere. his room was permanently warmer than yours, and he owned an unreasonable number of hoodies for someone who seemed to wear the same three on rotation.
when you slept beside him, he stole your warmth without shame. his hands found their way beneath your shirt whenever they were cold, usually pressing against your back without warning and making you flinch away from him. he always laughed. you always complained, though you never stopped him.
one evening, you waited for him in the stands after a home game.
the crowd had disappeared gradually until the stadium was almost empty. the noise that usually filled the place had faded, leaving only the occasional metallic clatter from somewhere below and the low voices of staff clearing equipment from the sidelines.
you were scrolling through your phone when movement near the bottom of the stands caught your attention.
beau appeared with his duffel hanging from one shoulder. his hair was still damp from his shower, and the cold had already turned the tips of his ears pink.
you stood, slipping your phone into your pocket as he climbed toward you. before he could reach you, you pulled his gloves from your coat pocket and held them out.
beau stopped on the step below yours and his eyes dropped to your hand. for several seconds, he only looked at them.
“you left them in my car,” you explained, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious beneath his attention, “i figured you’d want them.”
beau took the gloves from you, but his gaze stayed on your face for a moment longer than necessary.
you knew that expression. you had seen it the first time you brought food to the field because he’d mentioned, hours earlier, that he wouldn’t have time to eat before practice. you’d seen it when you replaced the phone charger he kept forgetting in your dorm and when you’d saved a movie because he’d said he wanted to watch it with you.
every time, beau looked faintly surprised. not dramatically, and it always lasted only for a second, before he covered it with a smile or some comment designed to make you roll your eyes.
you never understood the surprise; you thought about him when he wasn’t there. of course you did.
beau pulled the gloves on, flexing his fingers once before reaching for your hand. the warmth of his palm was already beginning to return as his fingers threaded through yours.
neither of you said anything about it as you started down the steps together. halfway to the bottom, beau lifted your joined hands and pressed a brief kiss against your knuckles.
you came from a family where silence was rare enough to be suspicious. growing up as a di laurentis meant learning how to hold a conversation while three others happened around you. your family loved loudly. arguments travelled between rooms, people shouted questions from different floors of the house, and nobody seemed capable of telling a story without at least one person interrupting to insist that something had happened differently.
you loved that about them, but you also occasionally needed the opposite.
beau hadn’t understood that at first. during the early months of your relationship, your quieter days had made him restless. you would catch him watching you from the corner of his eye, trying to work out whether something was wrong or if he’d unknowingly upset you.
the first few times, he’d asked. then he’d asked again ten minutes later, apparently unconvinced by your answer.
eventually, though, he learned the difference. he learned that when you were upset, your silence had edges. your shoulders stayed tense, your answers became shorter, and you pulled away without realizing it. when you were only tired, you moved closer.
after that, he stopped asking.
one afternoon, you arrived at his place after a day that had left you exhausted in a way that wasn’t interesting enough to explain. nothing terrible had happened. there was no story worth telling. you’d simply reached the point where every conversation felt like one too many.
beau opened the door just for you to kiss him briefly and stalk upstairs. by the time he came into his room several minutes later, you had changed into one of his shirts and climbed beneath the blankets. you weren’t asleep. you were simply lying on your side, staring absently toward the wall.
beau stopped near the bed while you waited for the question that would have irritated you despite knowing it came from concern.
it never came. he disappeared again, and when he returned, he had his laptop tucked beneath one arm and two bottles of water in his other hand. he placed one on your side of the bed before climbing in beside you.
that was all.
he found something to watch, lowered the volume, and let you settle against him when you were ready.
your head rested over his heart, one leg tangled between his. beau’s fingers moved slowly through your hair as the light from the laptop shifted across the darkening room.
you barely followed what was happening on the screen. the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was easier to focus on.
nearly an hour passed before you spoke, “thanks.”
beau’s fingers slowed briefly in your hair. you felt him look down at you, but he didn’t ask what you meant. his hand simply continued its path through your hair.
you closed your eyes. there was something strange about being known that way. you had always imagined it would be loud. someone remembering every story you’d ever told them, knowing all your favorite things, being able to answer questions about you without hesitation.
with beau, sometimes it was much quieter than that.
you knew beau’s orders at nearly every place the two of you visited regularly. not because you’d ever tried to memorize them. the information had simply accumulated.
you knew which toppings he’d pick off a pizza and which ones he claimed not to care about despite clearly preferring them. you knew he would insist he wasn’t hungry if you stopped somewhere late at night and then spend the drive home reaching into your bag for fries. you knew he always wanted the lime from your drink.
beau, meanwhile, had learned that dinner was never quite finished for you without something sweet afterward.
one night, the two of you were walking back toward campus after eating with friends when beau suddenly changed direction. you followed for several steps before realizing he was heading away from your dorm, “where are we going?”
beau nodded toward the small convenience store ahead. you frowned, thinking through whether either of you had mentioned needing something.
then you remembered the restaurant; everyone had been tired after dinner, and you’d left without ordering dessert.
you looked at him and beau caught the expression immediately, “what?”
“nothing.”
his eyes narrowed slightly, but he held the door open for you when you reached the store.
warm air met you as you stepped inside. you followed beau between the aisles, watching as he walked directly toward the candy without asking what you wanted. he reached for your favorite, held it up briefly in silent confirmation, and dropped it into the basket when you nodded.
the whole interaction took less than thirty seconds.
beau had already moved on, searching for something else, while you remained where you were.
you watched him from the end of the aisle.he was reading the back of a package now, eyebrows drawn together slightly in concentration, completely unaware of your attention.
there was no grand realization. you already knew you loved him. it was simply another quiet moment added to the others, another small piece of evidence that beau carried pieces of you around with him even when you weren’t thinking to ask.
he looked up and caught you watching, his eyebrows lifting in question. you simply shook your head in response and went to join him.
the first time beau told you he loved you, you hadn’t said it back. you’d wanted to. the words had risen immediately, pressing somewhere behind your ribs, but you couldn’t make yourself say them simply because the moment seemed to require an answer.
you loved him. even then, you had known that. you just hadn’t known how to say something so large without feeling as though you were making it smaller.
beau hadn’t made you feel guilty for the silence. he’d watched you for a moment, perhaps seeing some of the panic you were trying to hide, and then kissed you.
later, when you’d tried to apologize, he’d stopped you before you could get very far. he hadn’t needed you to say it because he had. you remembered that for weeks afterward.
the words finally came on an ordinary night.
you were lying together on the couch, half beneath a blanket that had gradually become tangled around your legs. the television was playing something neither of you was particularly interested in, and beau had been drifting toward sleep for the past twenty minutes.
your head rested against his chest. his fingers had been tracing slow circles over your back, but the movement had become increasingly lazy until his hand eventually went still.
you lifted your head slightly to find his eyes closed. his hair was messy from where you’d been running your fingers through it earlier, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the couch cushion. his shirt had ridden up slightly at his waist, and one of his feet was hanging off the end of the couch.
there was nothing cinematic about him. nothing about the moment suggested it should matter.
somewhere upstairs, something heavy hit the floor and beau’s eyes opened at the sound. after a moment of silence, he closed them again.
you smiled and the words came before you could reconsider them, “i love you.”
beau’s eyes immediately opened again. this time, he looked at you.
you felt suddenly exposed beneath his attention, but you forced yourself not to look away. for several seconds, neither of you moved.
something softened in his face. it was the same expression you’d seen over forgotten gloves and takeout containers, only quieter now. there was no surprise in it this time. only warmth.
beau’s hand moved from your back to your waist, pulling you slightly higher against him before leaning in to softly place his lips against yours. slowly, without turning the moment into anything bigger than it needed to be.
when he pulled away, you rested your forehead briefly against his. neither of you spoke for a moment and you were grateful for that. the words had always felt too small for everything you meant by them, and saying more would only make you aware of all the things you couldn’t explain.
how were you supposed to tell him that you loved him in a hundred places at once?
you loved him in badly cut fruit and perfectly cooked eggs. in the gloves tucked into your pocket before games and the bottle of water waiting on your side of his bed. in late-night trips to convenience stores and mornings when neither of you had anything interesting to say.
you loved the loud parts of him, the ones everyone knew, but you loved the quieter ones too.
the way his hand always found the small of your back in crowded rooms. the way he listened even when you thought he wasn’t. the look on his face when he found you wearing something of his, which he still seemed to think you hadn’t noticed.
you loved how ordinary it had become. falling in love with beau hadn’t felt like one enormous moment. there had been no clear point where everything before became different from everything after.
it had happened slowly, hidden inside dozens of unremarkable days.
beau’s thumb moved once against your waist, bringing your attention back to him. his eyes moved over your face for a moment, quiet and familiar, then he smiled.
it wasn’t the wide grin he wore after a win or the one that usually appeared before he said something designed to annoy you. this one was smaller, “i love you too.”
you settled against him again and he pulled the blanket higher over your shoulder before his arm returned to its place around your waist.
the television continued playing. the house remained noisy somewhere above you while you stayed where you were, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear and thinking that you could probably spend a lifetime learning all the small ways there were to love him.
Blurb: Beau wants your first time to feel special, even if that means fresh sheets, your favorite candle, and a suspiciously well-planned Spotify playlist.
You knew Beau had cleaned before you even stepped through his bedroom door.
The hallway outside looked exactly as it always did, a pair of sneakers abandoned near the wall and somebody’s sweatshirt draped over the banister downstairs, but his room was suspiciously untouched. The floor had been cleared, the clothes that usually collected across the chair were gone, and the comforter lay smooth over freshly changed sheets.
Then the scent reached you.
You stopped just inside the doorway, recognizing it before you found the candle flickering on his dresser. It was the same Bath & Body Works scent you stopped to smell whenever you wandered into the store, the one Beau had once claimed was indistinguishable from every other sweet candle lining the shelves.
He nearly walked into your back before realizing you had stopped.
“You bought my candle.”
Beau followed your gaze toward the three burning wicks. He had positioned the jar in the center of the dresser, the label facing outward, which made his attempt at looking indifferent considerably less convincing.
“You made me smell it every time we passed that store,” he said, moving around you to place his phone beside the speaker. “At some point, remembering became a survival instinct.”
You stepped farther into the room and lifted the candle, warmth gathering beneath the glass. The price sticker had been scraped from the bottom badly enough that part of it remained attached.
The thought of Beau standing inside Bath & Body Works, surrounded by walls of perfume and lotion while trying to remember the name of your favorite scent, made something tender settle beneath your ribs.
“You went in there alone?”
His attention became absorbed in adjusting the volume of the music. “I’m not discussing what happened in that store.”
A soft song drifted from the speaker, one you had sent him months ago after discovering it during a late-night study session. You set the candle down and glanced toward his phone. Spotify remained open, displaying a playlist titled just music in lowercase letters.
You picked it up before Beau could stop you.
His hand reached toward yours, but one look at your face made him reconsider whatever wrestling match he had been about to begin.
The playlist was nearly two hours long. There were songs you loved, slower ones you had heard playing from his car, and a few romantic tracks that you never would have guessed Beau knew existed. The order was too deliberate to be accidental. Each song flowed naturally into the next, the tempo shifting so gradually that he must have listened through the entire thing while arranging it.
“You planned transitions.”
Beau rubbed the back of his neck, already turning pink near the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t want some awful locker room song coming on and ruining everything.”
A laugh caught in your throat. “Beau, you made a sex playlist.”
“I made a playlist for tonight.”
The distinction seemed important to him, though you suspected it existed mostly because he could not bring himself to name a playlist after the reason you were in his bedroom.
You looked around again. Fresh sheets. Your favorite candle. Two bottles of water waiting on the nightstand. Even the lamp had been dimmed low enough to soften the room without leaving you in darkness.
All afternoon, you had been imagining Beau completely at ease while you struggled not to overthink every part of the night. It had never occurred to you that he might spend hours cleaning his room and rearranging songs because he was nervous too.
The realization loosened something inside you.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
His expression changed when he looked at you. The embarrassment remained, but something more earnest moved beneath it.
“I know.” Beau took the phone from your hand and set it down without turning off the music. “I wanted to.”
He said it simply, without turning the moment into something so serious that you would lose your nerve. That was one of the things you loved most about him. Beau could make something matter without making it feel heavy.
You moved toward him, slipping your hands beneath his open jacket. “The candle is a lot.”
“It was the biggest one they had.”
Your smile brushed his mouth before you kissed him.
Beau’s hands settled on your hips, drawing you closer until the front of your body met his. The kiss began softly, familiar enough to quiet the nervous flutter in your stomach. You knew the shape of his mouth and the warmth of his hands. You knew the small sound he made when you caught his bottom lip between yours and the way his fingers tightened whenever you pressed against him.
There was nothing unfamiliar about wanting him.
It was everything that came next that had occupied your thoughts since you told him you were ready.
Beau seemed to sense the moment your mind began racing. He pulled back only far enough to look at you, one hand rising to smooth your hair away from your face.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“I haven’t even said anything.”
“You get this little crease right here.” His thumb passed between your eyebrows, flattening the expression he had apparently learned to recognize. “It’s like your brain is trying to go into overtime.”
You laughed, lowering your forehead against his chest. “I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
He did not tell you there was no reason to be. There were reasons, even if none of them meant you had changed your mind. You had spent years hearing that your first time would be painful or awkward or disappointing. People spoke about virginity as something to lose, something another person took from you, and no matter how much you trusted Beau, part of you had started treating tonight like a test you had forgotten to study for.
His hand moved slowly along your back.
“We can keep kissing,” he said. “We can watch a movie and let the world’s most embarrassing playlist run in the background. You didn’t sign a contract when you came over.”
The offer did not come with disappointment hidden beneath it. Beau would genuinely let you change your mind, blow out the candle, and spend the rest of the evening arguing over what to watch.
That certainty was exactly why you had chosen tonight.
You lifted your head and kissed him again.
This time, you let your hands wander beneath his shirt. The muscles of his stomach tightened under your fingertips, and Beau exhaled against your mouth before helping you pull the fabric over his head. He tossed it somewhere behind him, apparently deciding that his clean floor no longer mattered.
Your jacket followed, then your shoes. Each piece of clothing made the room feel warmer, though you knew some of that heat came from the way Beau looked at you.
He had seen you in your underwear before. You had spent enough nights tangled together for him to know how your body reacted beneath his hands, but tonight made every touch feel newly charged. When he reached for the hem of your sweater, he paused long enough for you to lift your arms.
The fabric disappeared over your head.
Beau’s gaze moved over you without rushing, lingering where the cups of your bra held your breasts. There was no exaggerated praise or dramatic speech. His hand simply settled against your waist while he kissed the curve of your shoulder, and the warmth of his mouth told you everything he had not said.
You reached behind yourself to unfasten your bra, but Beau caught your wrist.
“Let me.”
The clasp opened beneath his fingers. He eased the straps down your arms, watching the fabric fall before bringing both hands to your breasts. His palms were warm, his thumbs brushing over your nipples until they tightened beneath his touch.
Your breath caught when his mouth closed around one.
Beau backed you toward the bed without lifting his head, his arm circling your waist when the backs of your knees met the mattress. You sat down, and he followed, settling between your thighs while his tongue moved slowly over your nipple.
Your fingers slid into his hair. The nerves had not vanished, but they were being replaced by something stronger. Every pull of his mouth and every stroke of his hand reminded your body that this was Beau. He already knew what made your back arch and what made your thighs squeeze around him. He had never rushed you before, and he was not about to begin now.
He kissed down your stomach, pausing at the waistband of your skirt.
His eyes lifted to yours as his fingers found the zipper.
You nodded, and Beau drew it down.
The skirt slipped over your hips with your help, leaving you in the underwear you had spent far too long choosing. They were prettier than anything you normally wore, a soft scrap of lace that had made you feel bold while standing in front of your mirror and extremely exposed now that Beau could see them.
The look on his face made the effort worthwhile.
“Those are new.”
You tried not to smile. “Maybe.”
His fingertips skimmed the lace along your hip. “You bought special underwear, but I’m the one getting judged for a candle?”
Beau leaned over you, pressing a kiss to your stomach before you could continue dismantling his defense. His laughter warmed your skin.
“You’re distracting yourself again.”
The words were softened by another kiss, then another, his mouth moving lower until it hovered above the waistband of your underwear.
Your teasing faded.
Beau curled his fingers beneath the lace and drew it down your legs. You lifted your hips, watching him remove the final piece of clothing before his hands moved along your thighs.
Being completely naked beneath him should have made you feel more nervous. Instead, Beau lowered himself between your legs with such familiar hunger that embarrassment barely had time to form.
He kissed the inside of your knee, then followed the path upward.
Your fingers tightened around the comforter when his mouth reached the crease of your thigh. His breath passed over your center, warm enough to make your hips shift toward him.
Beau glanced up at you.
There was affection in his expression, but there was desire too. He did not look at you as though tonight had turned you into something delicate. He looked at you the same way he always did when he wanted you, only more intensely, as though the trust you had placed in him had deepened every part of it.
His arm hooked beneath your thigh, opening you wider before his tongue slid through you.
Your head sank into the pillows.
The first stroke was broad and slow, gathering the wetness already beginning to collect before his tongue returned to your clit. Beau had eaten you out before, enough times to know exactly how much pressure made your breath catch and how quickly your body became sensitive.
Tonight, he took even more time.
He licked you until your thighs relaxed around his shoulders, alternating soft circles with slow passes that made warmth gather low in your stomach. Each time your hips began moving against his mouth, his hand pressed gently over your abdomen, not holding you still so much as grounding you against the bed.
The music continued somewhere beyond the rush of blood in your ears.
Beau’s fingers moved over the inside of your thigh, giving you enough time to register what he was doing before one pressed slowly into you.
The sensation was familiar. He had touched you this way before, but the purpose behind it made you more aware of every inch. His finger entered gradually while his tongue stayed against your clit, and your body opened around him with less resistance than you had feared.
He worked it deeper, curling it against the spot that made your legs tighten.
“Beau.”
He answered with a low sound against you, the vibration making your stomach clench.
Your fingers threaded through his hair as he began moving his hand. The pace remained unhurried, each stroke paired with the steady movement of his mouth. Pleasure built gradually until you stopped wondering whether you were relaxed enough or doing anything correctly.
There was only his tongue, his finger, and the tightening pressure that made you lift your hips from the mattress.
Beau waited until you were slick around him before easing a second finger alongside the first.
The stretch was noticeable. Your body tightened instinctively, and his hand stilled while his mouth softened against you. He did not retreat or force you to adjust faster. He kept licking slowly, letting pleasure work through the unfamiliar fullness until your grip loosened in his hair.
His fingers pressed deeper.
You exhaled shakily, the initial pressure fading as he began curling them inside you. The sensation was fuller than what you were accustomed to, but Beau’s tongue remained focused on your clit, keeping discomfort from becoming the center of your attention.
Soon, the stretch became part of the pleasure.
Your thighs trembled around his head. Beau moved his fingers with a steady rhythm, spreading them slightly each time he drew them back before pressing them into you again. He watched your face from between your legs, adjusting whenever your breathing changed.
The orgasm gathered faster than you expected.
You felt it in the tightening of your stomach and the way your body began chasing both his hand and his mouth. Beau knew it too. His fingers curled more firmly while his tongue flicked over your clit, refusing to let the pressure fade.
Your back arched.
The climax broke through you in a rush, your fingers gripping his hair as your thighs closed around his shoulders. Beau kept his mouth against you while you came, drawing out every pulse with slow movements of his fingers until the pleasure sharpened into sensitivity.
You tugged lightly at his hair.
He lifted his head, his mouth wet and his eyes dark.
The sight of him between your thighs sent another weak contraction through you.
Beau withdrew his fingers slowly, then kissed the inside of your leg before moving back up your body. He braced himself over you, and you barely had time to notice the shine on his mouth before he kissed you.
You tasted yourself on his tongue.
The kiss was deeper than the ones before, your hands moving over his bare back while his hips settled between your thighs. His jeans were still on, the hard length of him pressing against you through the denim.
You reached down and fumbled with his belt.
Beau’s mouth curved against yours. “Still nervous?”
“Yes,” you admitted, opening the buckle. “I also want you.”
The humor left his expression, replaced by something so warm and intent that you had to kiss him before you became overwhelmed by it.
He helped you with the button, then stood long enough to remove his jeans and boxers. Your gaze dropped despite yourself.
You had felt him through his clothes before. You had touched him with your hand, had even wrapped your lips around him once, but seeing him completely naked while knowing he was about to be inside you made the reality settle differently.
Beau was thick enough to make your stomach flutter.
He noticed where you were looking and climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself beside you rather than immediately settling between your legs.
“We’re not in a hurry.”
You nodded.
He opened the nightstand and removed a condom and a small bottle of lubricant. Of course he had both waiting. Beau had apparently planned the evening down to every possible detail, though you decided not to tease him when he squeezed some lubricant onto his fingers and touched you again.
The coolness made you flinch before his fingers warmed it against your entrance.
He worked one into you, followed by the second, moving them slowly while kissing you. Your body remained loose from the orgasm, taking him more easily now. Beau stretched you with patient strokes, his thumb brushing over your clit whenever your breath caught.
When he removed his hand, the emptiness left you aching.
Beau opened the condom and rolled it down his length. His movements were steady, but you saw the tension in his jaw and realized he was holding himself together more tightly than he wanted you to know.
He settled between your legs.
The head of his cock brushed against you, slick with lubricant. Your breath stopped as he dragged it slowly through your wetness before positioning himself at your entrance.
Beau leaned down, supporting himself on one arm while his other hand rested against your hip.
“Look at me.”
You met his gaze.
“If you want me to stop, I stop. It doesn’t matter how far we get.”
You nodded again, but Beau waited.
“I’ll tell you.”
He kissed you, slow and lingering, before beginning to press inside.
The first stretch was more intense than his fingers. Your body tightened around the broad head, and Beau stopped immediately, barely inside you.
Your hands gripped his shoulders.
He stayed close, kissing the corner of your mouth while his thumb moved along your hip. The pressure burned slightly, not unbearable but sharp enough that your instincts told you to tense against it.
“Breathe for me,” Beau murmured against your cheek.
You took a slow breath. Then another.
He did not move until your thighs loosened around him. When you shifted your hips experimentally, the pressure changed, becoming fuller rather than painful.
You pulled him closer.
Beau pushed forward another inch.
The stretch returned, but this time you were ready for it. He moved slowly, pausing whenever your expression tightened, letting your body adjust around each part of him before going deeper.
His arms trembled faintly from the effort of holding himself still.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” You slid your hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck. “Keep going.”
Beau pressed his forehead against yours as he eased farther inside.
The fullness seemed endless at first. Your body resisted, then gradually yielded, opening around him until his hips finally met yours. A quiet sound escaped him when he was fully seated, his eyes closing briefly as your walls tightened around his cock.
He stayed motionless.
You felt every part of him, the thick stretch and the weight of his body held above yours. The initial sting remained, but it was fading beneath the warmth of his skin and the slow circles his thumb traced against your hip.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered.
Beau opened his eyes. “I’m trying very hard not to ruin all my excellent preparation by losing my mind.”
The laugh that left you loosened the last of the tension in your body.
His expression shifted when he felt it.
“Can I move?”
You drew him down for a kiss. “Please.”
Beau pulled back slowly, leaving only the head inside you before pressing forward again.
The first thrust made you inhale sharply. It was not painful, but the drag of him against your walls was unfamiliar enough to overwhelm every other sensation. He repeated the movement with the same measured pace, giving you time to understand the fullness rather than bracing against it.
Your hands moved along his back.
Each thrust became easier. The stretch remained, but warmth began curling around it, pleasure gathering as your body adjusted to the rhythm. Beau watched you closely, his gaze moving between your face and the place where you were joined.
He changed the angle slightly.
The next stroke brushed something deeper inside you, making your hips lift to meet his.
Beau exhaled roughly. “There?”
You nodded, pulling him closer.
His thrusts grew more confident, still controlled but no longer hesitant. He pushed deeper each time, his pelvis pressing against your clit at the bottom of the movement. The room filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, the slide of his body against yours, and the playlist Beau had spent far too long arranging.
You wrapped one leg around his waist.
The change drew him deeper, and a moan slipped from you before you could soften it. Beau’s head lowered to your neck, his mouth opening against your skin as his composure began to fray.
He had been so focused on you that you almost forgot what this must feel like for him. The reminder came in the tension of his shoulders and the low sound he made each time you tightened around him.
Your nails dragged lightly down his back.
His hips snapped forward harder.
The sharper thrust sent pleasure through you, and Beau immediately slowed, lifting his head to read your expression.
“Again,” you whispered.
Something in his eyes darkened.
He gave you another deeper stroke, then another, finding a rhythm that pushed the discomfort entirely from your mind. Your body moved beneath his now, meeting each thrust instead of waiting for it.
The sweetness of the evening did not disappear. It changed shape.
Beau kissed you harder, his hand sliding beneath your thigh to hold it higher against his side. The new angle allowed him deeper, each thrust drawing a broken sound from your mouth. His restraint slipped piece by piece as you pulled him into you, until his breathing became rough and his hips moved with a desperation that made heat coil through your stomach again.
You were not sure you could come from the feeling of him alone, but Beau did not expect you to.
His hand moved between your bodies.
His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles while he continued thrusting into you. The combination made your walls tighten around him, and Beau’s pace faltered.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth.
Your second orgasm began building almost immediately, your body still sensitive from his tongue. Beau kept his thumb moving, matching the pressure to the rhythm of his hips until you could no longer separate one sensation from another.
The candlelight flickered behind him. Your favorite scent filled the room, sweet and warm, mixing with the heat of Beau’s body and the faint clean smell of his sheets.
You clung to him as the pressure tightened.
Beau felt it approaching. His mouth moved along your jaw, his voice low and strained near your ear.
“Let go.”
The orgasm broke through you with his next thrust.
Your body tightened around him in pulsing waves, your back lifting from the mattress as pleasure swept through you. Beau kept moving, his thumb circling your clit while you came around his cock, though the rhythm of his thrusts quickly became uneven.
He buried his face against your neck, a rough groan leaving him as your walls continued clenching around him.
His hips drove forward once, twice, then held deep inside you as he came in the condom, his entire body shuddering over yours.
Beau remained above you until his breathing steadied, his forehead resting against yours while the last tremors passed through both of you.
When he finally pulled out, he did it slowly. The movement left you tender enough to wince, and his hand immediately settled against your thigh.
“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your knee before taking care of the condom.
You expected him to return to bed, but Beau disappeared into the bathroom instead. He came back moments later with a warm washcloth and sat beside you, one hand gently parting your thighs.
The first pass made you tense. His gaze lifted to your face, but he did not turn it into a worried interrogation. He simply slowed down, cleaning the dampness from your skin with soft strokes.
A faint trace of pink marked the cloth.
Beau noticed it, though his expression never changed. His thumb moved soothingly over your knee as he finished, treating you with the same tenderness as before without making you feel embarrassed by it.
Once the washcloth was gone, he handed you one of the water bottles waiting on the nightstand and climbed beneath the covers. You barely managed a sip before he drew you against his chest.
His fingers drifted lazily along your back. The playlist continued softly, and your favorite candle still warmed the room with its familiar scent.
You tucked your face beneath his chin, suddenly too tired and full of emotion to overthink the words.
“I love you,” you mumbled against his chest.
Beau’s arms tightened around you. He kissed your hair, lingering there as he whispered, “I love you too.”
You smiled into his skin and let your eyes close, held safely against him while the music played on.
AN: the beau fic I have been working on foreverrrr. Okay so basically I needed an AU where Beau lives soooo…
Warnings: Medical Talk, Mentions of Blood, Car Accident
When Beau had invited you to his grandma’s birthday dinner you thought nothing of it. Of course you would be in attendance with your handsome boyfriend to celebrate Mimi Maxwell’s birthday. If there was one person Mimi Maxwell loved more than Dean Di Laurentis, it was Y/N Di Laurentis. Yes, how cliche, you were dating your older brother’s best friend. Though you use the term older lightly, Dean was barely 11 months older than you.
Dinner had gone well, Mimi was especially pleased to see her favorite grandson’s girlfriend. Beau’s dad had offered to drive you both back to campus. The two of you using the evening to relax and have a couple of drinks in honor of Mimi. Beau held the backdoor of his Dad’s SUV open for you. You giggle slightly.
“Why thank you kind sir.” You say in your best posh accent. Beau grins at you, you’re both a little tipsy, and you know exactly what kind of fun you’ll be getting into when you get back to campus. Most likely your dorm, considering you opted out of the roommate situation.
You expect Beau to get in the passenger seat next to his Dad, but he doesn’t. Instead he slides in next to you.
“Oh babe, you don’t have to sit back here with me. You can sit up front with your Dad.” You say.
“Nah, then you’ll be all alone back here.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You hardly have any leg room!” You laugh. Beau just smiles at you.
“I’m fine, really. I want to set back here with you.” He says. Beau’s dad climbs into the drivers seat.
“Feel like I need a chauffeur hat.” He says. You and Beau both laugh, settling into the backseat for the hour long drive back to campus.
Snow drifts lazily through the glow of the headlights, just enough to dust the road. The car is warm, and you can’t help but feel drowsy as you lay your head on Beau’s shoulder. His arm wraps around your shoulders as he chats with his Dad. He’s in the rear passenger seat and you’re in the middle, having migrated to snuggle into him.
“Told you she’d be asleep before we got home,” Beau says. His dad chuckles, glancing in the rearview mirror, his heart sweeping at the sight of his son so utterly in love.
Beau smiles without looking up.
“She’s had a long week.” Beau offers.
“School?” Beau’s father asks.
“Yeah.” He brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “She’s been studying like crazy, and tutoring other students.” His dad nods knowingly.
“She’s a keeper.” His dad says. Beau’s smile grows.
“I know.” He tells his father. You let out a sleepy sigh, unconsciously burrowing even closer into him. He chuckles under his breath before pressing a kiss against the top of your head. Outside, snow continues to fall. The highway is nearly empty. Until it’s not. All to quickly a deer sprints across the road, causing Beau’s father to hit the breaks. The car slides as it hits a patch of black ice. Your eyes flutter open at the movement.
“Beau?” You ask, voice still sleepy. His gaze snaps toward you, your head resting on his shoulder. And the lack of a seatbelt across your lap. You’d moved to the middle to snuggle up to him and forgone your seatbelt about 20 miles ago. The world outside the windows is spinning. Snow. Trees. The guardrail rushing toward them.
Beau’s stomach drops. You’re not buckled and things are about to be very bad. He doesn’t think. One arm hooks around your waist, hauling you flush against his side. His other hand cradles the back of your head, tucking your face in the crook of his neck. He curls around you as much as the cramped backseat allows. Every instinct he has screams the same thing. Protect her and hold on. The SUV spins across the highway before the car slams into the guardrail with a sickening crunch.The passenger side takes the brunt of the collision. Glass explodes inward.
You let out a startled cry, instinctively curling tighter against him. Metal shrieks. The SUV ricochets away from the barrier. It spins again, hitting more ice.
The oak tree fills the windshield. Beau tightens his hold. The front passenger corner takes the full force of the impact. The sound is deafening. Airbags erupt. The engine compartment folds inward. The violent force throws the cabin sideways.
Beau twists with it, wrapping himself around you as the passenger side caves in. Something in his right leg gives with a sickening crack. Pain explodes through him. His shoulder slams into the interior. His ribs scream. Even then his arms never loosen.
It’s late when Dean gets a call.
His phone buzzes across the kitchen island just as he and Allie are about to head upstairs for the night. Allie is curled up on the couch beside him, half-watching a movie, half-scrolling through her phone. He almost ignores the call.
Unknown Number.
He answers anyway.
“Hello?” He asks.
“Is this Dean Di Laurentis?” A professional female voice asks. His stomach tightens instantly a feeling of dread
“Uh, yeah.” He says, sitting up on the couch. Beside him Allie straightens reading her boyfriend’s body language.
“My name is Rachel. I’m a registered nurse at Briar Memorial Hospital. I’m calling because your name is listed as the emergency contact for Miss Y/N Heyward Di Laurentis…”
Dean goes completely still.
“and Mr. Beau Maxwell.” Dean’s face turns stoic.
Allie immediately looks up from the couch. She knows that expression.
“What happened?” Dean asks, already standing.
“There was a motor vehicle collision. EMS transported both patients to our emergency department a short time ago.” Dean’s face drains of color, the worst possible scenario going through his mind.
“Are they alive?” He asks.
“Yes, sir. They’re both alive.”
The breath Dean lets out is shaky.
“But they’re both being evaluated by our trauma team. We recommend you come to the hospital as soon as possible.” The nurse says.
“We’re leaving now.” Dean says, motioning to Allie. She grabs his keys and slips on her shoes.
The call ends.
“What happened?” Allie asks, already grabbing her purse before he can answer. Dean runs a hand through his hair.
“They were in a wreck.” He says, voice shaky. Allie’s eyes widen.
“Oh my God…” she breathes. He doesn’t wait another second, he takes his keys from her hands her one of his hoodies and ushers her out the front door.
“Come on.”
Neither of them says much during the drive. Dean’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel. Allie had tried to convince him to let her drive but he felt like he needed to be in control.
Allie reaches across the center console, quietly resting her hand over his.
“They’re alive,” she says softly. “That’s a good sign.”
Dean nods, his little sister, his best friend both hurt, possibly near death.
The emergency department is controlled chaos when they rush through the sliding doors. Paramedics weave between trauma rooms. Monitors beep incessantly. Nurses move with practiced urgency. Dean barely makes it to the desk before speaking, he’s practically shaking.
“My sister was brought in after a car accident, and her boyfriend.” He explains.The receptionist nods.
“They’re both still being evaluated. A physician will update you shortly.” She says curtly. Dean starts pacing immediately. Allie stays close beside him, watching every set of trauma doors that swings open.
Then voices carry from just down the hallway. Two EMS providers are giving report to another nurse outside one of the trauma bays. Neither Dean nor Allie means to listen. But once they hear Beau’s name…
Neither of them can look away.
“Single-vehicle MVC. Driver lost control after hitting black ice trying to avoid a deer.” One says.
“Driver?” The nurse asks.
“Just some minor abrasions.” A paramedic updates.
“And the passengers?” The nurse inquires.
“The male in the rear passenger seat…” the paramedic checks his notes. “Beau Maxwell.”
“What about him?” The nurse asks.
“He took the majority of the impact.”
Dean feels Allie’s fingers tighten around his arm.
“He instinctively wrapped himself around the female passenger before the collision.”
The nurse blinks. “He shielded her?”
“Pretty much.” The paramedic says.
“Rear passenger side hit the tree.” He pauses.
“If she’d taken that impact instead…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.
Another nurse quietly says, “She would’ve been crushed.” The paramedic nods.
“He kept her against him the whole time. She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.” Allie covers her mouth, tears pricking in her eyes.
“Oh my God…” she whispers.
“He likely prevented her from being ejected or taking the direct intrusion from the passenger side.” Dean stares at the floor, swallowing hard. The paramedic continues.
“He has an obvious right femur fracture, multiple rib fractures, shoulder injuries, probable concussion.”
“And her?” The nurse asks expecting the worst.
“Bruised up pretty badly. Some facial lacerations, cuts from broken glass, we’re ruling out internal injuries…”
He gives a tired smile.
“Honestly, she’s doing far better than we’d expect from that mechanism.”
“Because of him?” One of the nurses asks.
“I’d bet my paycheck on it.” The paramedic says.
Dean feels his chest tighten. Beau hadn’t just been hurt. He’d put himself between his sister and a tree.
A trauma physician steps into the hallway.
“Dean Di Laurentis?” He asks.
Dean and Allie are both on their feet instantly.
“I’m Dean.”
The doctor offers a reassuring smile.
“They’re both stable.” He says. Dean exhales so sharply his knees nearly buckle. Allie grips his arm to steady him.
“But Beau will need surgery tonight for a fractured femur.” He explains. “I’ve already spoken with his father, he has you both listed as emergency contacts.” The doctor explains.
“And my sister?” Dean asks immediately.
“She’s bruised, cut up, and has what appears to be a mild concussion, but all of her scans look reassuring so far.” The doctor pauses.
“Considering the severity of the crash…” He glances toward the trauma bays. “…she’s incredibly lucky.”
Dean looks through the narrow window in the door. He spots his little sister first. Bandages. Bruises already blooming across her face and arms. But alive. Then his eyes drift to the next bay. Beau. Blood is streaked across his forehead, his brown eyes wild. His right leg is immobilized. His shoulder splinted. Three nurses trying to keep him flat on the stretcher, but he’s frantic.
“Where is she?” Beau rasps. One of the nurses gently presses him back down on the bed.
“Mr. Maxwell, you need to stay still.” One of the nurses says calmly. The look he gives her is heartbreaking.
“I can’t. I need to find her.” He says voice cracking.
“Honey, you need to calm down, we need to help you.” Another nurse coaxes. Beau looks like a wild animal, trapped in the trauma room. He tries to get out of bed wincing in pain. He spots Dean, that only makes him more frantic, tears spilling down his cheeks. It’s the adrenaline and shock and pure fear for her life that has him acting out.
“Dean! Dean! Is she okay, oh God is she okay?” Beau cries. One of the male nurses enters the room helping to hold down Beau’s arm as a nurse preps some medication. No doubt something to calm him down.
“Somebody tell me something.” Beau begs.
“She’s alive.” The male nurse offers. “They’re trying to help her in the next room, just like we’re trying to help you buddy.” He says. The medication hits Beau almost instantly, his body going limp, eyes heavy. Beau squeezes his eyes shut trying to blink off the sedation.
“Can I… can I see her?” He mumbles.
“Not yet.” One of the female nurses says.
“Please…” Beau slurs, his eyes shutting. Dean has known Beau for years. He’s seen him after devastating losses. After brutal practices. After his childhood dog Sparky died unexpectedly. He’s never seen him look this terrified. Allie quietly wipes away her tears, she’s trying to be strong for Dean, but seeing her friends hurt is killing her. Dean simply stares through the glass. Realization hitting him square in the face. He’d never doubted Beau loved you, but this was different. This was the kind of love that overrode fear, reason, and even self preservation.
In the next room over, your sobs echo through the thin hospital curtain. Hot tears stream down your cheeks as a doctor carefully examines the deep gash along your hairline, gently parting the blood-matted strands of your hair to assess the wound.
The doctor glances up as Dean rushes into the room.
“I’m sorry, unless you’re immediate family, I’m going to have to ask you to step outside,” he says, his tone professional but kind.
“She’s my little sister,” Dean chokes out, his voice cracking.
Without another word, he crosses the room and takes your hand, wrapping both of his around yours. The doctor’s gaze flicks briefly toward Allie as she quietly slips into the chair in the corner, but he doesn’t object. She offers you a small, reassuring smile, though her eyes are glassy with tears.
The physician turns his attention back to your head.
“Based on the depth of this laceration, it definitely needs to be closed,” he explains. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, calm and composed. Under almost any other circumstance, you might have thought he was cute.
“I can give you a couple of options. I can suture it, but because of where it’s located, I’d need to shave a section of your scalp first. Or…” He lifts a small sterile stapler from the tray. “We can close it with staples and avoid shaving your hair.”
Your eyes widen at your options, neither sounding particularly pleasant.
“Shave my head?” you whisper before the words dissolve into another sob. Dean’s grip tightens around your hand.
“No.” His answer is immediate. He looks the doctor square in the eye. “Clean it out, staple it, do whatever you have to do—but you’re not shaving my twenty-one-year-old sister’s head.” The doctor gives a small nod.
“Fair enough,” he says. “Some patients get a little uneasy about the staples, so I like to offer both options.”
He opens a drawer and pulls out a sterile staple kit, setting it on the tray beside you.
“I’m also going to numb the area first,” he adds reassuringly. “You’ll feel a few pinches from the anesthetic, but after that you should only notice some pressure. We’ll have this closed up in just a few minutes.”
The doctor snaps on a pair of gloves. Your mind races into a jumbled ball of incoherent thoughts.
“Is Beau?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, you can’t finish the sentence. Dean looks up from where he’s been holding your hand, his heart sinking.
“What happened to Beau?” You ask.
He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Truthfully, he doesn’t know and as much as he wants to tell you everything is okay he doesn’t want to give false hope.
“I…” He glances toward the doorway. “I don’t know yet.”
Allie is already on her feet.
“I’ll go find out.” She says. Dean nods gratefully, never once letting go of your hand.
“Thank you.” He tells her, she nods, eyes full of love and empathy.
She slips quietly into the hallway, leaving the room just as the doctor begins preparing the local anesthetic.
“I’m going to numb the area first,” the physician says. “You’ll feel a few pinches.” You don’t respond. Your eyes remain fixed on the doorway, willing Allie to come back. Every second feels like an hour. Dean rubs slow circles across the back of your hand.
“He’s tough,” he says softly. “If anyone can pull through this, it’s Beau.”
A few minutes later, Allie returns. She steps inside, her expression enough to make your stomach twist. She walks over, stopping beside the bed.
“I talked to Beau’s dad.” She says softly. You hold your breath preparing for the worst.
“He’s alive.” She assures quickly. The words release a fraction of the panic squeezing your chest.
“But…” you whisper. Knowing that it couldn’t be that easy. Allie nods gently.
“But he’s pretty banged up, a broken femur, several broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder.” She pauses. “They also think he may have some internal bleeding.” Your fingers tighten around Dean’s, you try to stop the tears from spilling but they come anyway.
“So they’re taking him into surgery,” Allie finishes quietly. “Actually…” She glances toward the clock. “He’s already there.” The room goes silent.
“It-it can’t be that bad,” you whisper, shaking your head. “He was talking to me.” Dean’s thumb brushes across your knuckles.
“The adrenaline probably kept him going.” Dean says softly. Your eyes immediately fill with fresh tears.
“He wrapped himself around me.” You say. Neither Dean nor Allie says anything.
“He…” Your voice breaks. “He held onto me the whole time. I-I didn’t have my seatbelt on.” You say choking on your sobs. Dean looks down, swallowing hard. A sob tears from your chest.
“This is all my fault.” You say.
“I’m going to staple now, try to stay still for me.” The doctor instructs. You close your eyes flinching at the sound of your head being stapled shut.
“No, it’s no one’s fault. It was an accident.” Dean’s answer is immediate.
“If I hadn’t climbed into the middle and taken my seatbelt off…” you trail off.
“No.” His voice is firm now. “This is not your fault.”
“I want to see him.” You say, even though you know he’s in surgery. Allie gently shakes her head.
“Not yet.” Allie reminds. “As soon as he’s out and the doctors say visitors are okay,” she promises, “we’ll take you straight to him.” You nod weakly, another tear slipping down your cheek.
“I just need him to be okay.” You whisper. Dean leans over and kisses your forehead, careful to avoid the wound.
“He knows you’re alive,” he says. “And I guarantee the first thing he’s going to ask when he wakes up is where you are.” For the first time since the crash, you manage the smallest, tearful smile.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “That sounds like Beau.”
The room is quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor. You stop in the doorway. For a second, all you can do is stare at him. He’s pale, bruised, and wrapped in enough bandages to make your chest ache. His right leg is elevated in a bulky cast. His arm is secured in a sling. There are scrapes across his face and a small bandage near his hairline. But he’s here, and he’s alive, and he’s breathing, and he’s entirely yours. Dean gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“Go on.” He en courages. You walk to his bedside, carefully slipping your hand into his. His parents had stepped out, Dean assuring them that he’d look after you and Beau. Almost immediately, Beau’s eyelids flutter. He blinks staring at you. Then he blinks again. You’re afraid for a split second that something horrible has happened, that he doesn’t remember you or something. His eyes finally find yours. He stares.
“Well…” he trails off, voice scratchy. You laugh nervously giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Hi.” You whisper. Beau’s brown eyes assess you, another long stare.
“You’re really pretty.” He murmurs. You smile, heart beating erratically, maybe he didn’t remember you.
“You’ve said that before.” You tell him.
“I know.” He says nodding slightly.
“Worth saying again and again.” He tells you, his eyes shutting for a split second before he opens them again looking around the room. Dean snorts realizing that his best friend is absolutely zooted.
“He’s still on another planet.” Dean says. Beau barely seems to notice he’s in the room, his eyes drifting to his best friend for a half a second before fluttering back to you. He keeps looking at you.
“Did I die?” He asks seriously. You shake your head quickly.
“No, no baby.” You say reassuring him.
“You sure?” He asks you in disbelief.
“I’m positive.” You say with a slight laugh. He gestures weakly toward you, his hand just barely coming off of the bed, the oxygen sensor lighting his finger up red making him look like E.T.
“’Cause you look like an angel.” He tells you. Your eyes immediately sting, you can’t help but smile. Even high off his ass he’s sweet.
“Beau…” you say. He smiles lazily.
“Knew you’d come find me.” He mutters. Your heart squeezes in your chest. Then his eyes wander past you. He spots Dean. His face scrunches in confusion.
“How the hell did he get in here?” He asks looking back and forth between you and Dean. Dean raises an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?” Dean says feigning offense.
“I thought this was heaven.” Beau whispers to you. Your face scrunches in confusion.
“If this is heaven who the hell let him in? Someone’s getting fired.” Beau says seriously. Allie has to turn around because she’s laughing hysterically. Dean folds his arms.
“I’ve been sitting in this hospital for seven hours and these are the words you have to say to me? Wow, I’m hurt truly.” He says.
Beau looks genuinely confused.
“Dude I know the stuff you’ve done.” Beau says giving him a knowing look. Dean just shakes his head a smile on his face.
“I liked you better unconscious.” He says jokingly. Beau narrows his eyes weakly flipping him off. You laugh.
The nurse walks in with a warm smile, carrying another bag of fluid.
“Look who’s awake.” She says kindly. Beau looks over.
“Hi.” He says.
“How are you feeling?” She asks him. He thinks about it, pondering the question before he sighs.
“Not the best.” He admits. You laugh so do Dean and Allie. Even the nurse laughs.
“Any pain?” She asks.
“My whole body.” Beau replies. Your heart squeezes in sympathy. Your poor baby.
“We’ll fix that, I’ll bring you some pain medicine.” She says. She checks his IV before asking, “Need anything else before I go grab those meds?”
“Yeah.” He says.
“What is it?” She asks sweetly.
“I gotta pee.” Beau whispers. She smiles.
“You’re okay. You have a Foley catheter in. We’ll take it out tomorrow. But it’s peeing for you essentially.” She says. Beau nods.
“Cool.” He says. She checks something in the chart. Five seconds pass. He looks back at her.
“Hang on.” He says skeptically.
“Yes?” She asks.
“Take what out tomorrow?” He asks.
“The catheter.” She reiterates.
“Where is it?” He asks confusingly.
“It’s draining your bladder.” She explains. He nods slowly.
“Okay.” He says. His eyes suddenly get enormous.
“Oh.” He says realizing what that must mean. The room goes silent as he looks under the blanket, then back at the nurse.
“You mean to tell me…” he trails off. He points toward himself.
“There’s a tube in my penis?” He asks. The nurse nods calmly an amused smile on her lips, you can’t help tell she’s trying hard to stay professional.
“Yes.” She confirms. Beau stares at the ceiling contemplating his life.
“That is the worst news I’ve gotten all day.” He says with a sigh. Dean barks out a laugh.The nurse smiles sympathetically.
“We’ll take it out first thing tomorrow.” She assures. He looks at her.
“You’ve seen it?” He asks wide eyed. You bite back a laugh.
“I have.” She confirms.
“Man.” He says.
“It’s okay.” She assures him.
“I don’t really like people seeing it all…” He makes a vague motion with his hand.
“…noodley.” He says. Allie folds in half laughing. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Leaning forward you bury your face against Beau’s bed because you’re laughing too hard yourself. Dean has tears in his eyes.
“Noodley?” Dean asks through laughter.
“I don’t know, man.” He says. Beau shrugs.
“I wasn’t expecting company.” He says. The nurse pats his shoulder.
“Honey, I’ve seen more genitalia than a prostitute your is unremarkable.” She says. She starts toward the door signing out of the computer and sliding the glass door shut.
Beau stares at you.
“Well that doesn’t necessarily make me feel better.” He huffs. You bite back a laugh, running a hand through his hair gently.
“Baby, it’s very remarkable in my opinion.” You say.
“Did not need to hear that.” Dean mutters. Beside him Allie laughs.
“I’m gonna go get some coffee, you want anything?” Allie asks. You shake your head.
“I’ll go with you, you two behave. No funny business.” Dean says eyeing you down.
“Dude there’s a tube in my dick.” Beau says. You laugh covering your face with your hands. Allie and Dean walk out leaving you and Beau alone.
A moment passes before Beau glances down at his leg. He lifts the blanket an inch.
“Geez.” He huffs.
“What?” you ask.
“That’s my leg?” He asks.
“Unfortunately.” You say, grimacing at the sight of his poor leg. He stares at it.
“Fuck.” He mutters. “There goes the draft.” He says. You frown.
“Baby,” you begin, not sure what to say.
“Guess I’m just gonna have to be your trophy husband.” He says leaning his head back against the pillows.
“We’ll have to see what the doctor says baby, but you’re always welcome to be my trophy husband, NFL or not.” You say.
“Yeah…” Beau sighs dramatically.
“But now Mel Kiper’s gonna spend six months saying ‘if healthy’ every time he says my name.” He says. You laugh, he just survived a horrible wreck and of course these are the thoughts going through his head.
“And you will be healthy.” You say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.
“I swear I hate that guy.” He mutters. You laugh so hard your head starts to ache. Beau hears it and looks back at you.
“There it is.” He grins.
“What?” You ask.
“Your laugh.” He says softly. He smiles, eyes already drifting closed.
“Missed that.” He murmurs. You squeeze his hand.
“I missed you too.” You say eyes welling with tears.
He hums sleepily, his eyes fluttering shut. “Still think you’re the prettiest girl in the room.” He murmurs.
“Baby I’m the only girl in the room, but that’s very sweet.” You say.
Beau doesn’t even open his eyes. Thirty seconds later, he’s asleep again, still holding your hand.
“We’ll get through this Beau, you and me. Promise.” You murmur, pressing a kiss to his forehead. And you were right, the two of you would make it through as long as you were together.
Estarei postando uma fanfic do John Logan e uma personagem que eu criei, lá no meu Wattpad (ma_pavlikovsky) se quiserem acompanhar e ler. Ficarei feliz!!!🤍
Summary: A Thanksgiving dinner was the last thing Y/n and Garret wanted to share with their father. Knowing that she and her brother wouldn't be able to handle it alone, Logan is there to help them through it.
Words: 8.6K+
Warnings: Relationship established, Logan is Y/n's boyfriend, she and Garrett are portrayed as twins, Phil is always a scoundrel, based on the Thanksgiving episode, anguish, sadness, mentions of bruises and fights, panic attacks, mentions of the twins' past, mentions of their mother, no mentions of Hannah here, (because I wanted to stay focused on the couple and the twins' storyline), Garret and Logan are overprotective of Y/n, Logan is the boyfriend of their dreams, a comforting ending.
Author: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any typos, grammar, spelling, and slang errors that may appear in the story. I watch Off Campus and I can't get it out of my head.😭 (My order is open for orders!) 🇧🇷🩷
MASTERLIST
Phil Graham never called without a reason. And, in the twins' experience, it was rarely a good reason.
He emerged from under the sink without wasting any time, dropping the tool somewhere on the countertop before turning his full, worried attention back to it.
To be completely honest, it was never a good reason.
When their father's name appeared on the illuminated screen of their cell phone, both Y/n and Garret knew it immediately. It didn't matter where they were or what they were doing at that exact moment; that simple call was enough to make their stomachs clench in a tense knot.
The offer, at least to anyone looking from the outside, seemed completely harmless. An invitation to Thanksgiving dinner.
That's exactly how any outsider would see the situation, but Y/n and Garret knew their father perfectly well and were very aware of the suffocating feeling of returning home after seeing him, needing entire days just to emotionally recover from all the tension.
During the following days, they tried to think of every possible excuse.
Non-existent commitments. Last-minute invented trips. Urgent work. A rare disease that didn't even exist in medicine. Anything that would justify an acceptable absence. But in the end, reality remained exactly the same.
Logan was on the kitchen floor of the house he shared with Garret and the boys. Y/n entered the room without knocking, her hands deep in her trouser pockets, her shoulders visibly tense, and her face bearing an expression that made it clear something was very wrong.
She closed the door behind her and walked slowly through the house, noticing that no one was there except Logan. Hearing some noises coming from the kitchen, Y/n headed in that direction.
Logan was completely focused on the task, humming softly some random song they had heard earlier in the car. She approached the counter silently and rested her forearms on the cold marble, observing his every move. And even without seeing her directly, Logan sensed her presence almost immediately, and a smile appeared on his lips.
"Hey, honey! Are you going to keep staring at me, or can I get a little kiss?"
Y/n let out a weak giggle.
"Hi, darling." The reply came with an awkward smile, and that was enough for Logan to realize that something was amiss.
"I know you probably already have plans for the holidays. And I know you always spend Thanksgiving with Jules. And I know Garrett will be there with me. And I know I'm a perfectly functioning adult who should be able to survive a dinner party without panicking, but..." The words continued to flow without pause. "And I also know it's not fair to ask you to spend hours sitting at that table listening to my dad talk about himself and hockey and—"
"Are you okay, love?"
Y/n looked away, her fingers beginning to pick at bits of nail polish, as if she needed to keep her hands occupied to stop all her emotions from escaping at once.
"This isn't good at all..." Her voice faltered, and Y/n looked up at him, clearly trying to hold back tears.
Logan's expression changed instantly; he quickly wiped his hands on his pants and hurried closer.
"Hey, hey, I'm here..." His hands landed carefully on her shoulders.
Y/n tilted her head until it rested against him, finally finding a safe place where she could relax.
"Do you want to tell me? But only if you feel comfortable."
"My father called." That simple sentence was enough for Logan to understand part of the problem.
"He invited Garrett and me to Thanksgiving dinner so he could introduce his fiancée. And I don't want to go."
"I know..." Logan smiled gently, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"I can't remember a single time he invited us to something and it didn't end up being awful." Her eyes filled with tears. "Garret and I left there feeling terrible and then spent days pretending nothing happened, because it's easier than admitting how much it hurts."
"Love..."
"I know it sounds dramatic. I... I'm just tired."
Logan nodded slowly, still smiling gently at her. "I know."
Y/n stared at her own hands for a few seconds before biting her lip. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything, my love!"
"You're not bothering me."
"No."
Y/n continued.
"And I know you have absolutely no obligation to deal with my family because it's enough that I have to deal with—"
"Hey! Breathe, my dear!" Logan laughed and Y/n blinked a few times.
She exhaled slowly. "Sorry... I'm almost freaking out."
"I perceived."
Y/n let her head fall forward. "This is awful."
"So let's tackle one thing at a time. First, you sit down and take a deep breath." Logan pulled up a stool.
Y/n sat near the counter, her body still stiff. Logan filled a glass with ice water and handed it to her, pulling up a nearby stool and sitting down beside her.
"Would you... go with me to my father's problematic dinner party?"
"Yes!" John said quickly.
Y/n blinked. "Yes?"
"Yeah."
"You didn't even think."
"Because I didn't need to think."
She stared at her boyfriend, as if she were expecting a more complicated answer.
"Logan..."
"Honey, did you really think I'd let you face this alone?"
"But what about Jules?"
"I talk to her and she's very understanding. She'll understand."
Y/n shook her head. "I don't want to bother you."
Garret watched the two for a few more seconds, and then his shoulders finally relaxed from all the accumulated tension. The weight he had carried since the call seemed to lessen a little. He nodded in silent thanks, smiled slightly, and turned to go to his room.
"He is sure?"
"Absolutely." John smiled and extended his little finger for her to intertwine. Y/n laughed and intertwined their fingers.
"Thanks."
"No need to thank me, I'll do anything, you know."
Logan opened his arms without saying anything, and she didn't hesitate. She put her glass down on the table and immediately leaned into his warm embrace, feeling his arms wrap around her waist as she buried her face in his neck and closed her eyes.
It was at that exact moment that the sound of the front door opening echoed.
Garret arrived and as soon as he appeared in the kitchen doorway, he found his sister completely hidden in Logan's protective arms. The scene was more than enough for him to understand everything that was happening there.
Then he made an expressive face, as if to say to Logan something like: Our father called.
And Logan clearly understood the message, because he replied with a calm smile that said exactly what was happening and assured her that everything would be alright.
●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●
Logan knew exactly how fragile and anxious his girlfriend became on the day she had to go to her father's house, so the day before, he made sure to play the role of the dream boyfriend: he gathered his last two savings and bought flowers, chocolates, and their favorite snack from the local Italian restaurant. With everything planned, he went to her apartment on campus to pick her up, ensuring she would spend that night at his place.
The day of the dinner had finally arrived.
Y/n felt her eyes burning with tears. "Or I don't know, I wish my mother were here because...because everything is too much sometimes."
At the moment, Logan was waiting for Y/n outside the house, leaning against the side of the truck with his hands in his pants pockets. As soon as he saw his girlfriend appear in the front doorway carefully holding the freshly baked pie they had made together, he smiled and approached, extending a hand to help her down the steps.
"Where's Garrett?" Y/n asked, looking around.
"He said he would stop by Hannah's apartment before leaving."
Y/n frowned. "I thought he was going with us."
Logan shook his head and then opened the passenger side door.
"He told me he was going alone. We know what Garrett is like, don't we?"
Y/n settled into the seat, fastening her seatbelt and holding the pie firmly on her lap, while Logan got into the driver's side and began to enter her father's address into the GPS.
She remained completely silent for a few seconds. He then noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that she seemed very thoughtful.
"Hey. You're thinking so hard I can hear it from here."
Y/n let out a weak giggle. "Sorry."
Logan frowned immediately. "Why are you apologizing, love?"
Y/n looked at her own hands. "Because I'm only now officially introducing you as my boyfriend." Logan blinked, clearly confused. "We've been together for a year and I didn't want it to be under these circumstances, you know?"
"I don't understand, my dear." John raised his eyebrows.
She exhaled slowly.
"It's Phil Graham, you know..." The name was more than enough for Logan to understand exactly where this conversation was going. "The hockey player and all that. People like meeting him, they get excited, they tell their friends... It's just that..." Y/n made a vague gesture with her hand in the air. "I wanted him to be...normal?" She tried to force a sad smile.
"I understand, my dear." John gently stroked her cheek. "And that's okay, because I'm with you for who you are, not for the last name you carry."
Y/n and Garret had already confided in him countless stories from the past about the man, harrowing accounts that made John's stomach churn with pure, silent rage, because he blindly believed every word the twins said.
John immediately pulled her into a tight hug.
"You have me and Garrett. And we're not going anywhere!" He kissed her cheek tenderly, and Y/n smiled through her silent tears. "And what about your father? I know Phil from the games, and about what you're telling me, it's all right, I'm with you... And I'm not even a HUGE fan of his!" He shrugged casually, and Y/n let out a genuine, open laugh, which made Logan smile.
"Silly!" John simply winked charmingly, and Y/n smiled softly.
"Thank you for everything."
His expression softened completely at those words. Then, with all the gentleness in the world, Logan cupped her chin with his fingers and pulled her in for a quick, incredibly delicate and affectionate kiss.
"Ready."
"Ready what?" She smiled slightly, curious.
"You are now officially forbidden from being sad for the next forty minutes."
"That doesn't even make sense." Y/n laughed genuinely.
"Of course it does." He started the car engine and placed his cell phone in the dashboard holder. "Now choose a song. But nothing too sad or dramatic."
Y/n laughed loudly and nudged his ribs with her elbow. "Shut up!"
From the beginning of college, Phil used to attend the most important games, campus sporting events, team dinners, and celebrations related to the hockey team. Logan was an active part of that world. They had already talked on a few casual occasions, because Phil usually showed up in the locker room after games, greeted the players closest to him, briefly praised a specific play, and moved on with his imposing posture.
Sometimes he would even congratulate Logan on his excellent performance on the ice, but almost always the interaction ended in exactly the same predictable way: Phil would find Garrett and immediately begin a series of comments about the tactical errors his son had made in the game.
For that exact reason, Logan never pressured Y/n to rush an official introduction to the family. Because he knew very well how Phil Graham operated outside the spotlight on the ice.
"If you want, we can go back." He brought one of his warm hands to her face, caressing her skin with his thumb and brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
The car ride along the highway went surprisingly smoothly. And Y/n actually managed to completely forget exactly where they were going.
Then a familiar car suddenly appeared in the rearview mirror and, a few seconds later, overtook the pickup truck at a daring speed, soon followed by the shrill sound of a horn. Then another quick honk. Then one more, in a joking tone.
Y/n immediately recognized the shiny black jeep, and before it completely disappeared around the bend in the road ahead, a familiar hand emerged from the driver's window, making a series of exaggerated and completely meaningless gestures in the air.
The scene was so genuinely ridiculous that she immediately started laughing, the kind of laugh that made her shoulders tremble all over.
When they finally arrived at their final destination, Logan maneuvered and parked right behind Garret's car. But he immediately noticed a crucial detail: his brother-in-law's silhouette was still clearly visible inside the jeep. Motionless in the driver's seat. As if gathering every last drop of courage before opening the door.
Beside her, Y/n continued to grip the pie tin with excessive force, pressing her fingers against the edges while her eyes were completely fixed and locked on the main entrance of the house.
And Logan realized that instantly, because he knew each of those expressions of panic in detail.
Y/n chuckled without any humor. "I really wanted to."
"We can do this, the choice is yours."
And then her gaze fell heavily on Garret's parked car ahead. Just as her brother finally opened the jeep door, his jaw visibly clenched and that familiar frown on his forehead.
"But I'm here for him too." She discreetly pointed with her chin in the direction of her twin.
Logan observed Garret's rigid posture for a brief moment, then turned his full attention to her.
"And I'm here for you, never forget that."
Y/n ended up letting a faint smile appear, feeling more secure.
However, when he looked outside again, he found Garret leaning against the side of his own vehicle. Even at that average distance, it was perfectly clear that he had neither the desire nor the energy to cross that garden and enter the house.
And then Y/n's attentive eyes went straight down to his hands; her brother's fingers were repeatedly opening and closing into clenched fists.
Garrett only did that when he was extremely nervous or under an unbearable level of stress.
Then she turned her head quickly and saw that Logan was still there, with one of his strong arms resting behind her seat and his body leaning slightly towards her.
"Do you want to go back home?" The question came gently and without any pressure.
Y/n turned completely around in her upholstered seat to face her boyfriend. "Can I tell you something before we go inside?"
"Of course, my dear." He gently poked the tip of her nose with his finger.
"But... promise me you won't act strangely when you find out?"
"Honey, what happened that was so serious?"
"Promise me first?" she insisted, her eyes fixed on his.
Logan straightened up a little more in the driver's seat, assuming a protective posture. "I promise. You know you can tell me anything."
Y/n took a deep breath, pulling all the air she could into her lungs, and then began to talk about an old childhood memory.
Because that particular story carried a dark and hidden side of Phil Graham that no one in the public or on the hockey team saw, a real side that existed in their daily lives long before the big games started being televised.
And when it was finally over, the car was completely silent.
Logan didn't say anything at all, not immediately. Because he knew there were no right words, so he did the only thing that truly seemed important at that moment; he opened his arms and pulled Y/n close to him.
The gesture was as if to say that everything was alright now, that she didn't need to carry that entire burden alone, that she believed in herself above all else.
Outside, Garret looked up just as he saw the comforting embrace through the glass and knew immediately what was happening inside, because he knew perfectly well that vulnerable look in his sister's eyes.
His jaw visibly clenched for a moment, a wave of tension coursing through his body, and then his eyes fell heavily to the floor.
When they finally got out of the truck, Logan closed the door firmly and gave Garret a subtle, gentle smile. Y/n just watched her brother with a neutral expression, trying to compose herself.
As they walked together towards the steps of the house, Garret decided to do what he did best to break the ice: openly tease the young couple.
"Then..."
Y/n closed her eyes immediately, anticipating what was to come. "No."
"I saw the little kiss."
"Garret!" Y/n let out an audible groan of embarrassment.
"That was disgusting." Garret made a theatrical grimace.
"It was just a peck!" Y/n argued in her defense.
"It was disgusting."
"You're ridiculous."
She laughed, and the three of them calmly climbed the porch stairs, with Garret going ahead and knocking on the wooden door. Logan took advantage of the moment and comfortably put an arm around Y/n's shoulders.
And then, they heard firm footsteps echoing toward the door. The first to appear and open the door was a middle-aged woman with an immensely kind smile on her face. Her eyes curiously scanned the three young people standing on the porch, and her whole face lit up with satisfaction at welcoming them.
"Garret and Y/n! It's so good to finally meet you." She smiled warmly before turning her full attention to Logan. "And you could only be John? Y/n's boyfriend?"
Logan smiled politely, showing friendliness. "It's me. It's a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine." She opened the doorway wider, letting them in. "I was really looking forward to this dinner."
Y/n returned the smile with all the politeness she could muster. "John and I brought a pie."
"Oh, how sweet! They didn't need to worry about that."
Garret discreetly lifted the dessert wrapper he was carrying. "And I was responsible for the other one."
Cindy laughed kindly. "So nobody goes hungry in this house today."
The initial atmosphere seemed surprisingly light. Almost truly welcoming. Almost.
Because it only took a few more heavy footsteps echoing down the main hallway for everything to change drastically, and for Phil to appear imposingly in the living room entrance.
As soon as Logan's eyes met his, his polite smile faded almost automatically. Y/n's words, spoken inside the truck, were still completely fresh in his memory.
The two brothers exchanged a quick glance before walking over to the man. The hugs they shared were short and completely awkward.
"Look who decided to show up. My sons!" Then, his analytical eyes met Logan's. "John Logan! Finally meeting you officially." He extended his firm hand. "We've seen each other so many times in the arena that I was starting to think you were avoiding me as a son-in-law."
Logan accepted the necessary handshake and smiled politely. "No, sir. I think all that was missing was the ideal occasion."
Phil chuckled, lightly patting him on the shoulder. "I hope Garrett didn't teach you his bad habits."
Garret discreetly rolled his eyes at the comment, and Y/n looked away at her brother. Cindy, who remained completely oblivious to all that underlying tension, flashed an even wider and more radiant smile at the group.
"I was really curious to meet you. Phil keeps saying that Y/n is very happy in this relationship."
Y/n felt her heart skip a beat in her chest and slowly turned her head toward her father, completely surprised.
Happy.
He had specifically used that word, and she could barely remember the last time her own father had stopped to ask how she was feeling inside.
"By the way..." Garret discreetly raised the dessert in his hands to change the subject. "Where can we put all this before I drop something on the floor?"
Cindy smiled. "In the kitchen, please. You can leave everything on the main counter."
"Perfect!"
As Garret hurried toward the kitchen, carrying the purchased dessert and the pie his sister had made, Logan remained firmly by Y/n's side. He kept his hands gently resting on her shoulders in a clear form of physical and emotional protection, almost a silent reminder that she wasn't alone.
However, Phil once again focused his full attention on Logan.
"So... how's the season going? I've been following your games. You've been improving a lot on the ice."
"Dad..." Y/n ended up interrupting him on purpose, wanting to get her boyfriend out of that situation. "Do you mind if I show Logan around the house before we sit down in the living room?"
Phil smiled. "Of course, go ahead! After all, this house is yours too."
The sentence sounded strange, empty, and completely out of place in their reality, but she only nodded slightly to avoid confrontation.
"Thanks."
Without saying another word, Y/n gently took Logan's hand and began to guide him up the stairs.
The walls of the long hallway were completely covered with old picture frames and photographs from childhood, records of past birthdays, Christmas mornings, and especially old sporting competitions of the twins.
Logan slowed his pace whenever he saw a different image of his girlfriend, smiling discreetly at all her phases.
Until she stopped completely in front of a specific, incredibly cute photograph hanging near the end of the hallway.
In it, a Y/n girl of approximately six years old appeared holding a large spoon as if it were a shiny trophy, completely covered in white flour from head to toe. Next to her, Garret seemed to be in an even worse and more chaotic state. The two smiled broadly at the camera while their mother laughed in the background behind the children.
Logan began to chuckle softly as he contemplated the details of that pure scene.
Y/n turned her face to him. "What's wrong, love?"
He pointed to the photograph on the wall. "Your brother looks like he fought with a sack of flour... and lost badly."
She stared at the photo and began to laugh as well, the old memory warming her chest for a moment.
"It was all my fault."
"He was?"
"I wanted to make a surprise birthday cake for my mom, but we started fighting in the kitchen, throwing flour at each other, and she ended up discovering the whole surprise ahead of time."
Logan laughed loudly, finding the story adorable, while Y/n stared at the photo with eyes filled with a deep and clear longing.
"Mom wasn't sure whether to laugh at the mess or scold us. But in the end, the three of us made the cake together."
Logan watched intently the subtle change in her facial expression; the slight smile was still there, but now it carried a heavy nostalgia. A great longing indeed.
"You look incredibly like her!" Logan smiled sweetly, gazing deeply into his girlfriend's eyes.
Y/n turned her head quickly toward him, flashing a wide, truly radiant smile. "Do you really think so?"
Logan immediately realized how genuinely happy that realization made her. "In every little detail!"
Y/n smiled shyly, lowering her gaze for a brief moment, her heart warmed.
She continued showing him each room and hallway, which seemed to hold a fond and comforting memory of her and her brother from when their mother still lived there with them.
She pointed out the balcony and fondly remembered the nights she, Garret, and her mother spent lying there watching a meteor shower. She indicated the green area of the garden and recounted the sunny afternoons when the two of them patiently tried to teach the family's old dog to fetch sticks.
She talked nonstop. She smiled slightly. She laughed openly at certain moments of nostalgia. But, deep down, Logan perfectly understood that she wasn't just showing him the physical rooms of the house; Y/n was, in fact, desperately searching for her mother's presence and trace in every corner of that empty place.
The rest of the afternoon dragged on slowly and deliberately, because whenever a conversation seemed to be heading towards any other topic, Phil found a way to steer the conversation back to hockey.
He kept talking about the possibility of Logan pursuing a professional career, questioned tactical strategies, and debated the latest college championships. Meanwhile, he never asked Y/n how her routine was going at college.
He never asked how she was doing away from home. He never asked if she was genuinely happy. Similarly, he also never asked Garrett anything that wasn't strictly related to his performance on the ice.
Logan answered each question with as much politeness as he could muster. But inside, his chest harbored an extremely dangerous mixture of fire and gasoline.
When night finally fell, the dining table was already completely set and decorated in the dining room.
Phil and Cindy sat side by side, and right in front of them were Logan and Y/n. Garret, for his part, preferred to strategically position himself at the end of the table, right next to his twin sister.
"Not to brag... but you're going to love Cindy's mashed potatoes."
Garret chuckled softly at the insistence. "He's been talking about that mashed potato all afternoon."
"Because it's worth the hype," Phil replied, amused, gesturing with his cutlery.
Cindy shook her head, visibly embarrassed by the compliments. "Modesty aside... this mashed potato is delicious. My mother taught me how to make it when I was a teenager."
Y/n smiled at the woman with genuine affection. "I'm sure it's wonderful."
"And..." Phil continued, staring intently at his children. "I also asked Cindy to make macaroni and cheese—"
Y/n's eyes immediately met Garret's in a flash of memory.
"With breadcrumbs on top." They said it exactly at the same time, in perfect sync, and the whole table burst into laughter at their identical reaction.
"It was a tradition." Y/n finished in a soft tone, and Cindy smiled contentedly before turning her attention back to Logan.
"And you, Logan? Do you have any Thanksgiving traditions in the kitchen?"
The brothers' smiles vanished almost instantly. Logan blinked a few times in quick succession, trying to find a happy answer in his mind that he simply didn't have to give.
Noticing her boyfriend's discomfort, Y/n discreetly reached for Logan's hand under the table and gently wrapped her fingers around his.
Logan fixed his gaze on her and simply smiled slightly to show that everything was alright.
"Yeah... sure!" He let out a shy chuckle to fill the silence. "We had a kind of silly tradition with marshmallows."
Cindy immediately flashed a warm smile. "Oh, that sounds lovely!"
"It was fun..." Logan smiled weakly, but the glimmer of joy quickly faded from his features, and Y/n seized the perfect moment to subtly change the subject.
"Thank you so much for dinner." She returned Cindy's polite smile. "And thank you for making the pasta."
"Of course, darling." Cindy smiled with genuine sweetness.
Phil suggested that everyone say a brief prayer of thanks before beginning to eat the served dishes. When the short prayer ended, Cindy smiled at everyone around her and gently gestured for the main courses to be served.
"So... what are your plans after you finish university?" Phil looked directly at Logan, and Y/n sighed deeply, realizing the sports interrogation was about to begin again.
"I'm still calmly evaluating some possibilities."
"Do you plan to enter this year's draft?"
"If a good opportunity arises, yes."
Phil nodded slowly, considering the answer. "And which league do you think best suits your playing style?"
"I think I still have a lot to develop physically before I can really think about that."
Garret watched the whole scene in absolute silence, and Y/n did exactly the same beside her boyfriend. Phil seemed solely interested in getting to know the promising athlete on the team and not the sweet, caring, and protective man Y/n was completely in love with.
Y/n placed some macaroni and cheese on her own plate and smiled discreetly at Cindy in thanks. "Could you pass me the bottle of wine, please?"
"Of course, darling!" Cindy reached for the bottle on the table without hesitation.
As she stretched her arm across the table, the sleeve of Cindy's sweater rode up a few inches, just enough to reveal a large, distinct purplish mark spread across her pale skin. For an overwhelming instant, time seemed to slow down completely for Y/n.
The polite smile instantly vanished from her face, and the strength in her fingers gradually weakened as she held the bottle of wine that was handed to her. Around the dinner table, Cindy laughed at some silly remark Phil made, completely distracted by the moment. Garret served himself some more food on his plate, and Logan calmly answered a question about his university routine.
For a full second, Y/n stopped seeing the dining room, and everything around her was abruptly replaced by old, suffocating memories.
It ranged from memories of dark days when the whole house was immersed in heated arguments, to terrible days when Garret would physically step in front of her to protect her when their father came home completely frustrated and stressed with life.
And as if her own mind wanted to betray her even more in that tense environment, her troubled thoughts returned forcefully to a few hours earlier, to the exact moment when she had confided in Logan a crucial and painful part of her childhood.
"He arrived early that day..." Y/n's voice was almost a whisper. "I got a B on an important test, and I always got A+s in that specific subject... But Mom had died recently, and I was still completely devastated inside..." Her fingers clenched tightly, and Logan remained in absolute silence, running his hand down her arm in a comforting caress. "In my childish mind... I was going to show him the test and just say that I would improve my grade next time. But as soon as he saw it, he simply didn't listen to me anymore... Garret was at practice. And... that day... there was absolutely no one to step in front of me to defend me from him..."
Her voice completely trailed off for a second, and her teary eyes went toward her brother outside the vehicle. Logan, heartbroken, reached out and wiped a lone tear from her face.
"My father beat me so badly that I had to miss three days of school in a row so that no one would see my bruises... And when Garret found out what had happened... he was infinitely angrier with himself than with our father." Y/n quickly wiped her face with her sleeve. "After that, he was always the one who bandaged me. Because he had more opportunities when Garret wasn't home and my father simply had no one else to take out all his pent-up anger on..."
Logan stood completely still and stunned by the revelation. While an overwhelming fury gripped his chest and he felt the urge to take justice into his own hands, Logan also wanted only to embrace her with all his might and never let her go from that safe haven.
Y/n's dazed mind abruptly returned to the reality of the dining room, and then the fingers of her hand completely lost their strength.
The wine bottle slipped from her fingers and the glass hit her with a sharp, deafening crash, bringing all conversation to an immediate halt. Y/n pushed her chair back with such haste and desperation that she almost fell to the side.
Cindy's friendly smile vanished completely from her lips, and Phil frowned in clear irritation at the mess. Garret turned his face toward his sister so quickly he almost dropped his plate of food, and Logan stood up from his chair without a second thought.
"Hey, love... Are you hurt?" Logan asked, his voice filled with genuine concern, gently holding her arm and examining every inch of it. "Are there any shards of glass in you?"
But Y/n couldn't even hear him, her eyes remaining completely fixed on that purple mark hidden under the sleeve of Cindy's sweater.
Garret was already in a state of complete tension, because he was looking in the exact same direction as his twin sister, who was staring in panic. His fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned completely white.
Phil, on the other hand, let out a small, nasal laugh, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere that had settled in.
"Relax, guys." He gave a characteristic wry smile, dismissing the situation. "In hockey, we learn that a fall like that doesn't even count as a real accident. It's just a common welcome card for those who interact with players daily."
Cindy chuckled, Logan remained completely serious, and Garret closed his eyes for a full second, controlling the immense anger rising in his chest.
But Y/n was already completely consumed by an uncontrollable wave of anger and indignation.
"Do you think that's funny?" The entire room fell into a deathly, piercing silence.
Phil raised an eyebrow, surprised by his daughter's audacious tone. "What?"
"You and your ridiculous hockey jokes."
"Y/n, daughter, what is this?"
"NO!" She raised one hand firmly before he could continue with his false speech.
Phil took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure, and laughed again disdainfully. "You're making an unnecessary fuss over a simple broken bottle of wine. We have plenty more in the cellar, I can ask Cindy to go get another one—"
"Is that really what you think happened here?" Y/n snapped her fingers in a clear sign of pure nervousness, and Logan quickly placed one of his hands on her back. "You think everything in life is that simple, don't you?"
"Then explain your point to me," Phil said, his expression hardening and his voice becoming a little more serious because of his daughter's confrontational tone.
"You spend your whole life pretending to the rest of the world that you're the perfect, exemplary father. In front of everyone, you're extremely friendly, polite, you make silly jokes, you ask about other people's future careers... But a real father asks how his children are feeling inside, asks real questions about his daughter's boyfriend, and doesn't just focus on his sports career. A real father is present and cares about his children's lives!"
"What you're saying isn't true. I always—"
Y/n let out a sharp, completely humorless laugh. "Do you know exactly what semester of college Garrett and I are in right now? Or do you happen to know what major I'm studying with so much effort?"
"You're exaggerating and going too far," Phil said in a sharp tone, trying to regain authority.
"You never wanted to know anything about my life. And when you found out about something that was out of your control and you didn't like it, you simply took it all out on us with slaps and bruises!" Y/n spelled out each syllable with a cutting clarity, leaving Cindy with wide eyes in shock and Phil visibly furious. "You've always been a cowardly and aggressive man."
Y/n added firmly, unleashing all the pain she had held for years, and that was the absolute last straw that made Phil truly furious.
In one swift, brusque movement, Phil's chair scraped against the dining room floor with a thud, falling backward and pointing a stiff, accusing finger directly at his own daughter.
That reaction was enough to make everyone's heart race in a frantic, frightened beat. And that single movement was all it took for Logan and Garrett to react at exactly the same time.
Logan swiftly stepped in front of Y/n, placing a protective arm directly in front of his girlfriend. At the same time, Garret stopped beside them, leaning slightly forward in a visibly defensive stance.
The two stared at Phil with the same unwavering firmness in their gaze, driven by the same protective instinct and sharing the same ultimate goal: to protect Y/n from anything.
Phil immediately noticed the roadblock, and his eyebrows slowly rose as he saw the two athletes completely blocking his path to his daughter.
Over Logan and Garret's broad shoulders, the man met Y/n's striking eyes again. Her expression was entirely tense, hard, and filled with legitimate anger, but with warm tears still falling discreetly and continuously down her pale face.
"This is over!" Garret says definitively, stepping back from the table and placing both hands firmly on his twin sister's shoulders to pull her away.
"Hey, hey, everything alright!" Cindy says in a desperate voice, hurriedly getting up from the table.
"No, everything is not alright!" Logan says in an extremely serious tone, looking Phil in the eyes one last time with deep contempt.
Logan and Garret quickly led Y/n out of that suffocating dining room. Garret walked ahead of the group, clearing a path down the hallway, while Logan remained right behind his girlfriend, keeping both hands gently resting on her shoulders in constant physical contact.
As they crossed the large living room, Logan paused only to pick up the two coats they had left scattered on the sofa earlier, immediately returning to her side as soon as they reached the front door.
Garret had already opened the door and made enough space for the two of them to get outside, but as soon as he heard Phil's heavy footsteps coming in the same direction down the hallway, Garret blocked the door with his own body.
"Take her." Garret glanced quickly over his shoulder at Logan, who was already on the outside balcony.
"Are you going to be okay?" Logan's question came out low and full of complicity.
"Yes, I will." Garret glanced briefly at his sister. "Take care of her, please..."
"You didn't even need to ask." Logan gave a small, understanding, sad smile. Garret returned the gesture with an almost smile of pure relief.
Garret stood completely still and rigid in the doorway, absolutely preventing Phil from crossing the porch to go after his daughter. And while this human barrier remained at the entrance, Logan guided Y/n to the truck, waited patiently until she got in, and only then went around and got in on the driver's side.
The metal keys turned rapidly, but before he could actually engage the gear, he felt Y/n's cold, trembling hand land firmly on his.
"Wait..." Y/n pleaded, her voice choked with emotion. "We're not leaving without Garret." Her eyes, which had previously overflowed with anger, were now completely filled with the genuine despair of a sister. "I... I'm afraid of what might happen if he's left alone with our father."
The genuine concern in her voice tightened painfully in Logan's chest.
"Of course, we'll wait for him, my dear!" Logan squeezed her hand back to reassure her and gently stroked Y/n's cheek. "I promise!"
"Even if it takes a long time?"
"Even if it takes a long time!"
She breathed a little easier. "Thank you."
Logan left the truck's engine running in neutral, opened the driver's side door again, and remained standing, leaning firmly against the side. He kept his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fully alert and fixed on every movement on the porch of the house, positioning himself ready to physically intervene the moment it was necessary.
Besides, if he wanted to break some bones, all he had to do was throw John Logan up in the air.
Garret continued speaking firmly to Phil, who remained detained on the other side of the entrance gate. And it was precisely at this moment of high tension that the older man realized he was also being watched; as soon as Phil looked up, he found Y/n sitting safely inside the truck, and soon after, his piercing gaze met Logan's.
The young player maintained an extremely cold facial expression, making no effort whatsoever to hide the profound contempt he felt.
At that exact moment, Phil Graham finally understood that Logan knew every detail of the twins' past and that he knew perfectly well the monster he had been within the privacy of that house. And, by the firm and menacing way the young athlete stared back at him from the sidewalk, it was also implicitly clear that Logan would never allow any kind of violence to happen to Y/n again.
"Listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you." Garret took a deep breath, controlling his own voice to avoid shouting. "Never show up in another one of my games."
Phil immediately opened his mouth to respond and retort to the insult, but Garret raised his open hand sharply in the air.
"I'm not finished speaking yet." He then pointed clearly with his index finger toward the parked truck where Y/n was waiting. "And never again come looking for her with cheap apologies! Because she spent her entire childhood and adolescence waiting for you to act like a real father. But now she doesn't need you for absolutely anything. She has me and Logan! So do us all this huge favor. Leave us alone once and for all!" Without waiting for any kind of response, he turned his back and went down the steps.
As soon as Garret got into the jeep, Logan finally moved away from the side of the truck and returned to the driver's seat.
The rain started pouring down on the road, and the only audible sound inside the car was the rhythmic, continuous movement of the windshield wipers.
Nobody said anything at all, but Logan kept one hand firmly on the steering wheel while, from time to time, his worried eyes drifted to Y/n sitting next to him, and then his eyes automatically searched the rearview mirror.
Garrett's Jeep remained close behind them, keeping a safe distance in the storm.
It was then that a low, broken sob broke the silence, and Logan discreetly turned his face toward her.
Tears streamed down Y/n's face again, but this time it wasn't from anger; it was from sheer exhaustion and a deep, accumulated sadness. When she brought both hands to her face, the crushing weight of that night finally collapsed upon her. Her shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably, and her crying turned into painful sobs that seemed to trap the air in her chest.
Without taking his eyes off the road completely, Logan reached for her trembling hand and held it firmly, gently stroking her skin with his thumb to offer as much support as possible.
But then, suddenly, the sound of crying stopped completely.
The silence was so sudden and abrupt that it made Logan frown immediately, and as soon as he turned his face to the side, his heart plummeted in his chest.
Y/n was completely still on the bench, her eyes wide with panic, her hand pressed tightly against her chest as she desperately tried to draw air back into her lungs.
"Honey, breathe!" Logan's voice came out, heavy with a nervous and urgent tone.
She tried to do what he asked, but the tears kept falling while her breathing became increasingly rapid. Logan immediately lowered both windows of the truck, and at that same moment, the cold wind and heavy raindrops flooded the interior of the vehicle.
But the effort wasn't working.
Without thinking twice, Logan turned on his turn signal, slowed down, and pulled his truck over to the side of the road. Right behind him, Garret noticed the emergency maneuver and also turned on his hazard lights, stopping alongside and quickly lowering his window to assess the situation.
And while this was happening, Logan had already removed his own seatbelt and leaned completely towards Y/n in the passenger seat.
Garret hurriedly opened the Jeep door, jumping out into the heavy rain and quickly stopping at the driver's side window of Logan's car.
"What happened?" The concern in his voice was evident as he tried to see his sister.
"Panic attack." Logan replied without taking his eyes off her for a single second. With awkward but careful movements, he pushed Y/n's hair back, brushing away the strands that insisted on sticking to her face. "Do you have any water?"
Garrett immediately turned to his own car and seconds later found a new, full plastic bottle.
"Here!"
Logan quickly opened it, handed her the object, and brought one of his hands directly to Y/n's face. With his thumb, he gently wiped away the tears that were still streaming down her cheeks.
"Just take a little sip," he said softly, modulating his tone of voice to convey calm. "Take a deep breath and then take a little more."
Gradually, Y/n's stiff shoulders began to visibly relax. Her uneven breaths became less rapid, and she slowly closed her eyes, finally allowing the cold, damp wind of the rain to touch her face and the breeze to fill her lungs without encountering the same suffocating difficulty as before.
Once they realized she was actually better and that another immediate panic attack wouldn't occur, they resumed driving until they finally arrived at the boys' house.
Logan had a comforting, firm hand on her back or shoulders the whole time, carefully guiding her as he led her to the bedroom and picked out some of his own clothes for her to wear after her shower. He only truly left her side when Y/n closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower.
Logan slowly descended the stairs of the house, running both hands over his face. As soon as he reached the kitchen to get something for Y/n to eat, he saw Garret leaning against the cabinets.
His clothes were still considerably damp from the earlier rain, and his wet hair dripped discreetly onto his expressive forehead. On the marble countertop, a bowl contained some untouched fruit.
"I... wanted to apologize to you."
Logan frowned slightly. "Apologies?"
"Because of everything you witnessed today. You shouldn't have been exposed to this dark side in this way."
Logan let out a quiet sigh, moving closer. "Garret..."
Y/n's brother looked away, his gaze fixed on the floor for a moment.
"She shouldn't have had to go through all that again. I should have protected her better."
"You protected." Logan leaned against the counter.
Garret shook his head immediately, refusing the consolation.
"Not enough. Because I keep wondering if that day... you know, she told you, right?"
Garret looked at Logan, and his sister's boyfriend immediately understood what he was talking about and nodded silently. "I keep thinking I should have skipped practice... Or left her at Grandma's house... Or..." The sentence died before he could finish the painful thought.
"Garret." Logan waited patiently until he raised his head again. "You were just a kid trying to protect another kid. It was never your fault."
"But I still feel like it."
Logan nodded slowly, understanding his pain. "I know."
They remained silent for several long seconds, and then Logan let a small, knowing smile appear on his lips to ease the tension.
"You know what? If that dinner had been at my family's house..." He let out an awkward chuckle. "...it probably wouldn't have been exactly a perfect margarine commercial."
Garret chuckled briefly through his nose, understanding the irony. "Yeah... None of our families won the 'Most Functional of the Year' award."
The two chuckled softly together, not because the family situation was genuinely funny, but because, for a few brief seconds of complicity, they had finally managed to breathe amidst the storm.
Garret lowered his head again, watching the water slowly trickle down the hem of his jacket onto the kitchen floor. Meanwhile, Logan walked to the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of fresh water, and before he could actually look for something for his girlfriend to eat, Garret called him softly.
"Logan. Here." He pushed the glass bowl with the cut fruit. "I set it aside for her."
Logan smiled back, grateful for his brother-in-law's gesture. "Thank you."
Carefully picking up the fruit bowl in one hand and balancing the water bottle in the other, Logan left the kitchen. But as soon as he set foot on the first step of the stairs, he turned back towards Garret.
"Can I ask you something?"
Garret frowned slightly, curious. "Hm... maybe."
"Could you give me the recipe for that macaroni and cheese? The one your mom used to make..." Garret blinked a few times, taken aback. "I... wanted to make it for Y/n."
Silence filled the kitchen again, but this time, it was a completely different kind of silence than before.
Garret felt a thick lump instantly rise in his throat, and at that exact moment, he truly understood how immense and genuine Logan's love for his sister was. Because Logan wasn't just thinking about superficially comforting Y/n on that difficult night; he wanted to bring back good memories from her past to gradually replace the old, bad ones that hurt her.
"Of course." Garret replied, his voice visibly choked with emotion. "She'll like it."
"Thank you." Then he climbed the stairs.
When he reached the quiet upstairs hallway, he noticed that the sound of the shower had completely stopped. When he carefully opened the bedroom door so as not to make a sound, he saw that Y/n was already lying on his bed, wearing his baggy sweatshirt and comfortable pants.
She was completely curled up under the covers, as if she had finally found a safe place where her body could truly rest, and she was breathing deeply, having fallen asleep from extreme exhaustion.
Logan closed the bedroom door, placed the water bottle and the bowl of fruit on the study table, and turned off the main light. Then he slowly walked to the side of the bed, carefully crouching beside her; he brushed away a few strands of hair that stubbornly covered her face with his fingertips, and then placed a long, tender kiss on her forehead.
"I'll always be here for you." His voice was just a whisper directed into the silence of the room. "I love you."
WHEN SOMEONE ASKS ME WHO’S MY FAVOURITE BATMAN, I’LL THINK OF YOU AND SAY CHRISTIAN BALE | Beau Maxwell
Summary: The world suddenly feels too big without Beau Maxwell in it. Everywhere she looks, she sees the man that she was supposed to marry.
Pairing: Beau Maxwell x Fiancée!Reader (I’m picturing something along the lines of Van and Cheyenne in Reba but without the baby born on prom lmao)
Warnings: I made myself cry while I was writing this, so do with that what you will. Heavy on the grieving, mentions of weed usage.
I wonder if you kept that pilgrim ashtray, if it’s still propped up on your bar cart
The townhouse felt too quiet. The football team’s accommodations weren’t stellar by any means, but the pair had done quite well with the space they had been given.
And now that small house felt massive. The door to their bedroom had been closed since the day of the accident, and she couldn’t bring herself to throw out his toothbrush.
The heavy glass ashtray still rested in Beau’s bar cart, next to a half full bottle of Smirnoff that would never be finished. The last time they had used it was two nights before his last big game, curled up on the expensive patio furniture set his parents had sent down from the Hamptons.
“Does coach know that you get stoned when you plan game strategy?” Beau had laughed, running his thumb along her calf. Her legs were tossed over his lap, a joint in one hand and a hardcover notebook in her lap.
“This is THC-free, unlike that shit you and Dean smoke. There’s nothing here that’s going to impair me in any way. It’s straight CBD, on prescription.” She corrected, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “And he doesn’t care, as long as we win.”
“Can I see your notebook of secrets?” Beau asked, lighting up his own joint. “Come on, baby. Let me in to that beautiful mind of yours.”
When she had first started working for the Briar football team, it had been admin work, which she had been fine with. It kept her close to Beau Maxwell, her high school sweetheart. Of course, all that time spent around a football pitch had rubbed off. She had boldly corrected the coach during a game one night, and when the players won on a strategy that she had suggested, she was promoted from administration to strategy the very next day.
She had laughed as Beau pulled her closer, trying to steal a glance at the notebook sprawled across her lap. “Being engaged to a member of the strategy team doesn’t give you special privileges, Maxwell. You’ll find out when the rest of the team does.”
When he kissed her that night, he tasted like weed and honey garlic barbecue sauce, a remnant from the boneless wings they had shared for dinner.
He pulled her on to his lap with his big strong arms, gazing up at her with wonder. “I can’t wait to call you my wife.”
Now, when she looked at that ashtray, she felt like she was going to vomit. That was the same way she felt when she went into their empty garage, the spare keys for Beau’s Land Rover hanging from the unfinished drywall. What were you even supposed to do with the spare keys for a car that was totalled with your fiancée in the front seat?
With a guttural cry, she flung the ashtray at the wall. She expected it to shatter, breaking into pieces the way that her heart had, but it didn’t. Instead, it fell to the floor with a thump, taking a chunk of drywall with it.
When she looked over at the hole in the wall, she realized glumly that the wall mirrored the way that her soul felt without Beau Maxwell.
could make a grand off of that chain you bought me, but goddamn it’s not for sale
She had told Beau that she didn’t want an expensive ring. While Beau had come from money, she was the eldest child of a teacher and a steel worker. Her childhood had been fantastic, don’t get her wrong, but it made her uncomfortable with large displays of wealth. Even when Beau presented her with jewelry or trips, she was never quite sure how to react at what she knew must have been a large price tag.
The simple gold band had a small diamond in the center, and felt light on her finger. Now, it burned her skin with a reminder of something she could no longer have.
She hadn’t been wearing it when the police knocked on her door. She had just gotten out of the shower, back from a night out with some of her friends. She was wearing fuzzy slippers and a bathrobe when she answered the door, her heart stopping when she saw the cruiser parked in her driveway.
“Ma’am, are you Beau Maxwell’s fiancée?”
“Yes.” Her voice had been shaky. “What’s happened?”
“I’m afraid there’s been an accident. May we come in?”
That was the precise moment when her world stopped turning. When six and a half years of a life she thought she was building for the long haul shattered.
She hadn’t been able to put the ring back on after that, but couldn’t stand to be without it either. Now, it was threaded through one of Beau’s gold chain necklaces, resting over her heart underneath her Briar football sweater as she prepared herself to enter the empty locker room and clean out his things.
“You don’t have to do this alone.”
Joanna Maxwell stood behind her, looking only marginally better, in the sense that the great Joanna Maxwell rarely ever looked less that perfect, even in sweatpants.
“I don’t know what to do, Joanna.” Her voice cracked as she approached her sister-in-law. “We were going to start looking at wedding venues next week. I can’t even fathom calling to cancel and having to explain it.”
“Allie and I will handle that for you.” Joanna insisted, pulling her in for a hug. “He loved you so much. Sometimes it felt like all he did was talk about how brilliant you were and how he couldn’t wait to start a life with you.”
“I miss him so fucking much.” She sobbed, feeling like her heart had been ripped right open again.
As long as I live I’ll remember the names of your favourite beers and your video games. That look on your face when you turned twenty-six, and your dad got too stoned, yeah that one’s gonna stick
It was her fifth or sixth day of self pity and defeat (or maybe even longer- her sense of time had blurred since she had been taken to Hastings Memorial to identify Beau’s body) when Dean came knocking. He let himself in with the spare key Beau had given him, chest tight when he took in the state of the small living room.
YN was sprawled across the couch, buried under Beau’s Yankees blanket, head barely peeking out over the top. A chunk of wall was missing, an ashtray lying on the floor beneath the gaping hole. She was staring at her phone, emptily scrolling through pictures of her and Beau at their high school graduation.
“YN,” Dean’s voice was soft. “He wouldn’t want this.”
“He can’t want anything any more. He’s dead, Dean.” She cried. “Just like he’ll never sing show tunes while making breakfast, or kiss me in the middle of the football pitch after a big win.”
Dean sat down in the leather recliner next to the couch, his eyes taking in the mess scattered around the glass coffee table. Where there had once been magazines with wedding dresses circled, there were now brochures for funeral homes and 4 by 6 prints of YN and Beaus life together. Two mugs half filled with cold coffee sat on the table, one leaving a ring of condensation, the other looked like it had been there for days.
“Remember his birthday in Cape Cod, the year he turned twenty? When I accidentally fed his dad pot brownies?”
YN laughed, sitting up shakily in the couch. “Yeah. Fuck, I’d almost forgotten. Mr. Maxwell got up on the patio table singing All Summer Long. I’m shocked the table didn’t buckle under his weight.”
Dean laughed with her. “And that look on Beau and Joanna’s faces. I’ll never fucking forget it.”
She turned off her phone, placing it face down on the table. “Want a beer? It’s all Miller Lite. He loved that stuff, but I’ll never touch it.”
“Sure.” Dean nodded. “I’ll crack a six pack open in his honour around the fire tonight. The hockey house is hosting a vigil. You should come.”
She really didn’t want to. Didn’t want to submerge herself in everyone else’s grief as well as her own. Didn’t want to hear stories about Beau that would just rip her in two again.
But staying trapped inside a house of memories didn’t sound fantastic either.
“I have to call the condo corporation. I need to see if they can get someone to fix the hole I made.”
“That’s a weak excuse and you know it. You can’t shut yourself away forever. You aren’t the only one who’s hurting, YN.”
“We talked about kids. About the perfect house with a picket fence and dock in the back. Am I just supposed to forget about the life we were planning?”
I’ll never forget how I bloomed for your gaze, or your wall of guitars and your video games
After Dean had left, holding her to her promise to show up at the vigil with all the Miller Lite in her fridge, she found herself standing in front of the closed door to the master bedroom, her hand hovering over the doorknob like she was scared that it would burn her.
She took a deep breath, slowly turning it, giving herself plenty of time to change her mind as she opened the door.
The room was still, dust lingering in the air. No light seeped in, the blackout curtains pulled firmly closed. She forced herself to open them, letting the sun hit corners of the room that it hadn’t seen in a while.
The closet still smelled like him. Traces of his cologne were on all his shirts and sweaters. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as she buried her nose in one of his resort shirts, soaking in the smell.
There was a stack of CD’s on his nightstand, each one of them an obscure musical soundtrack that he had picked up at a yard sale or traded his sister for. She picked up the one at the top, laughing when she saw what album it was.
Bat Out Of Hell. He had always promised he’d take her to see it, to hear the songs of Meat Loaf performed live to the background of a dystopian Peter Pan story.
The half-full bottle of his Ferrari cologne sat on a mirrored dish in their dresser, the bottle sitting pretty next to her Victoria’s Secret perfume. Everything in the room brought back emperors of the good times that she and Beau had shared, right down to the drawer of sex toys hidden at the bottom of his night stand.
She sink down on his side of the bed, smiling through the tears as she picked up the picture frame on his side of the bed.
It was their first trip together, when they were barely nineteen. The summer before they both came to Briar. They had gone to a cottage in Michigan. Beau had taken this picture on the paddle boat at sunset, a clumsy selfie where you could barely see their faces, but could tell how besotted he was with her.
“Beau, you big fucking idiot. What am I going to do without you?”
blurb: briar’s hockey team hosts their annual fundraiser for the hurricanes at malone’s. the prize? a date with one of the four hottest hockey player heartthrobs. the problem? you lost the bidding war to win your own boyfriend.
warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, the whole gang is here yay power of friendship, lowk crack fic with a side of romance, light jealousy, mentions of deanallie hehe, BEAU MAXWELL IS A FLIRT
“Allie, I gave you one job!”
And really, you did.
You were swamped with final exams and endless group projects. On this particular Friday night—the evening of the hurricanes fundraiser—you had to meet up with your teammates to go over presentation slides.
Thus, you entrusted your beloved friend, Allie Hayes, to ensure your spot in the bidding war for…well, your boyfriend.
“Aw, you wanna win me over once again, gorgeous?” Logan had teased you.
You had rolled your eyes and nudged him, “It’s for a good cause.”
“You’re paying to go out on a date with your boyfriend.”
“I’m paying to fund a little cane’s hockey endeavors.”
Except you can’t do either of those things because your trusted friend turned out to not be so trustworthy.
“I’m sorry, babe! I really am,” Allie’s eyes shone with guilt. “Della had me working a table during Logan’s segment, and I lost the stupid auction paddle—”
You raised your hand up to cut her off. With a resigned sigh, you let any hard feelings flee from your system. Allie had been having a rough couple of days—with the Sean breakup, and her recent streak of suspicious disappearances that you still hadn’t confronted her about, you knew this was a genuine mistake.
“Did he at least sell for a good price?” You asked.
“$750, baby!”
The voice came from behind you, along with a strong arm draping over your shoulders. You turned your head and met your boyfriend’s handsome face. Logan wore a gleeful smile, probably elated that the fundraiser had gone so well despite the last minute arrangements.
“Wow, that’s a lot,” you noted in surprise.
Logan’s expression shifted to a subtle pout. “You don’t think I’m worth that much?”
You kissed his stubble placatingly. “I think you’re priceless, babe.”
That got him to grin again.
Tucker came up behind and clapped him on the back, “Your boy here got the second highest bid.”
You shared an unimpressed look with Allie, “Let me guess, the top bid was on—”
“Well, well, well, Mrs. Logan. You finally showed up,” Dean joined the circle with a smug smile.
“I know you mean that as an insult, but I take it as a compliment.”
“You tell him, Al,” Beau popped up right behind Dean. He shot Allie a wink.
“How much did they get on you?” You redirected the conversation back into place.
The blond shrugged casually, peering down at his drink. “Nothing grand. A humble amount, really.”
Beau rolled his eyes and answered, “$1800.”
Your eyes widened, “You’re kidding.”
Dean’s mouth hung open, “Don’t stoop to their level, Mrs. Logan.” He pointed an accusing finger your way.
“I’m just shocked that somebody has that much money laying around,” you replied.
“We could’ve renovated the theatre department’s stage,” Allie noted bitterly.
“I could’ve gotten new car rims,” Logan added.
“Or that new gaming console,” Tucker said.
“Or my housing payment,” you continued.
“Or better toner for his hair,” Beau teased Dean.
“OKAY! WE GET IT!” Dean exclaimed, holding his hands up to stop the discussion.
Hannah and Garrett walked by, holding hands. The former shared a bright smile, “Hey, you made it!”
“How much was your boyfriend?” You asked her.
“5 bucks.”
“How.” You deadpanned. Garrett was a good looking guy, a very popular one at that. You’ve seen the herds of puck bunnies that worshipped him. A five dollar bid was ridiculous to even consider.
“Garrett stopped the auction once Wellsy placed her bid,” Tucker responded.
Smooth move, Graham.
And he knew it. Garrett had a shit-eating grin on his face like he knew he just won a million boyfriend points.
“That’s so cute,” you said before turning your head to eye your boyfriend. “Why didn’t you do that?”
The boys stifled their laughs at that.
Logan paused for a beat before he replied with: “I…wanted to make sure we raised enough money for the children.”
Smooth move, Logan.
Garrett dapped him up like his answer was ingenious. You hmphed and looked away. Logan squeezed your waist in an appeasing gesture.
“Well, when’s your date?” You asked.
Logan looked at his watch, which was on the wrist of the arm he had around you, so he charmingly pulled you closer to him to check the time. “In half an hour.”
You blinked. “What? Why so soon?”
Dean answered, “She requested it.”
“And is anyone gonna tell me who she is?”
“HIPAA,” Dean mimed zipping his lips closed.
“That’s for medical stuff, dingus,” Hannah told him.
“Is someone a sore loser?” Dean taunted.
Your gaze flew to Allie, “You placed a bid?”
“No,” she defended rather quickly. “Dean’s just…being stupid.” She muttered before rushing back into the staff kitchen.
You would’ve questioned their exchange more, but Logan’s arm returned to his side. “I should go too. You know, freshen up for my date.”
You flashed a faux smile, “Keep talking like that and you’ll have to go looking for a real date after this.”
The group dispersed—Garrett tugging Hannah along for their ‘fairly’-earned date, Dean and Tucker off to count up all the money they collected, Logan away to prepare for his mystery girl, and Beau gave your shoulder a reassuring rub and said, “If you give me $20 right now, I’ll go on a date with you” before you glared at him enough for him to bolt out.
You decided to stick around and help the group clean up the place once the festivities ended. Surely it wasn’t because you wanted to see the girl who spent hundreds of dollars to hang out with your boyfriend.
“Pop a fucking button, Logan. What is this, Sunday school?” Tucker was playing with Logan’s outfit to ensure he looked presentable for his date.
Logan’s eyebrows knitted together, “Relax, Law Roach. Are you forgetting she’s not actually my girlfriend?”
“For $750, you better start acting like she is.”
You cleared your throat loudly.
Tucker shot you an apologetic look.
“…John?”
The pair of them turned their attentions to the voice.
There stood a tall, stunning girl with beautiful deep tanned skin, hair down in luscious locs adorned in gold hair cuffs, and smooth legs peeking out from under her skirt. She looked like a model.
She looked between the two hockey players.
“You’re Amala,” Logan voiced.
She nodded with relief, “Yes. John, right?”
“We’re both John,” Tucker chimed in.
“Ohh,” Amala nodded.
“You can call me Logan,” your boyfriend said, stretching out a hand towards her.
“Logan,” she repeated the name, shaking his hand.
Tucker pushed Logan a step forward, “Have fun, you two.”
Logan looked over his shoulder to share one last look with you. He gave a reassuring smile, his eyes soft. Amala noticed and waved at you shyly. You waved back slowly.
Logan turned back to Amala, “Where would you like to go? You’re the boss.” He told her with a charming grin.
She shrugged with a smile, “Here is fine.”
“Here?” Logan raised a brow, surveying the post-function bar. “We could, though I thought of taking you out for ice cream—”
“Ice cream sounds great!”
“Yeah?” He smiled. “Perfect.”
Your eye twitched as you picked up discarded confetti off the floor.
Logan guided Amala out Malone’s with a hand hovering—not touching—over her lower back. The bell hanging over the door rang in a soft tune as they exited, marking their departure.
“Remind me again why I agreed to letting my boyfriend sell himself?” you queried as you picked up a broom.
Tucker raised a brow, “For charity?”
“Right,” you sighed.
Tucker looked around, “Hey, have you seen Dean? He was supposed to drive all this stuff back to the hockey house.”
You shook your head, “No. But he’s not the only unhelpful friend. Allie was supposed to clean up with me. She literally works here!”
“Huh.” Tucker licked his lips in thought.
He picked up a stack of boxes, “Well, I have to get these home myself. Do you need a ride?”
“I promised Della I’d clean up,” you replied.
“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?”
You shrugged, “I’ll be fine, Tuck. Drive safe.”
Tucker nodded and bid goodbye before leaving the diner.
By the time you finished fixing up the place, flipping chairs over tables, and mopping the floor clean, the bell chimed again.
“We’re closed,” you called out as you tied a garbage bag shut.
A pair of familiar arms wrapped around your torso from behind you. “No late night service?” Logan’s voice tickled your ear.
You stood up straight and leaned back into him before remembering you were supposed to be mad at him.
You pulled back and turned to him, “How was your date?”
Logan let out a wistful sigh, “Amazing. You know, I might need to ask her out again.”
You pinched his arm. He winced.
Logan leaned in and held your hips, “I’m kidding. You’re the only girl I want.” He murmured as he pressed a kiss against your forehead.
That soothed your jealousy a bit. “What did you two do?”
He hummed. “Took her to Spoons, got ice cream, sat at a table and talked about you, drove back—”
“Wait, wait,” you stopped him. “Talked about me?”
Logan’s lips tugged upwards, “Yeah, we talked about you. Like the whole time.”
“Why?” You were so perplexed.
He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear and responded, “Amala’s an exchange student. She shares a class with you. She’s been wanting to befriend you since the semester started but she didn’t know how to talk to you. So…she enlisted my help.”
You blinked a few times. “She went out with you…to ask you how she could be my friend?”
“Yeah. Sweet, right?”
“Oh my god, I feel like an asshole,” you breathed out.
Logan pulled you closer, “You’re not an asshole, baby.”
“I was cussing her out in my head for the past 2 hours!”
He chuckled, “I think that’s valid.”
“It’s not! I shouldn’t have judged so soon. Fuck, I feel so bad.” You started to spiral.
Before Logan could calm you down and reassure you, the bell rang again. You both turned to the door and saw Amala stepping in.
“Hey,” she shared a polite smile. “Logan, you left your wallet.” She handed it back to him.
“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” He took it from her hands. “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.”
She smiled with a small nod. Her eyes flicked over to you. Amala mustered up some courage and said, “Logan said so many nice things about you. No wonder he loves you so much.”
Your guilt boiled over and settled into soft mush at that. “He’s…too kind.”
Logan rolled his eyes fondly and pulled you closer to him.
Amala smiled again then spoke, “We…we share an econ class together. The 10 am with Prof. Singh?”
You nodded, “Yeah, I’m in that class.” You didn’t want to tell her that you hadn’t noticed her before.
Amala nodded back, “Yeah…I think you’re pretty cool. And smart. Do you maybe wanna study together for the final exam this weekend?”
Your lips eased into a soft, genuine smile. “I’d love that, yeah.”
Amala’s eyes gleamed with excitement and relief. “Yeah? Great, that’s…” she cleared her throat to control herself and appear nonchalant. “Cool. Logan has my number, he can share that with you.”
“Will do,” Logan swore solemnly.
She waved goodbye and started heading towards the door, “Alright, text me! It was lovely meeting you both!”
And then she was gone.
You turned back to Logan. He had a smug, ‘I told you so’ smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes and shoved him. “Shut it.”
He buried his face in your hair, “Looks like you have an admirer.”
“Why, jealous?” You teased.
Logan’s brows lifted. “Me? Look who’s talking. You wanted to skin me alive a few hours ago.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong.
“God forbid a girl doesn’t want to see her boyfriend go out with someone else.”
Logan kissed your temple, “It was for a good cause,” he said softly.
“I know,” you squeezed his hand. You knew how much the hurricanes meant to Logan ever since he was a kid himself.
“So…” He brought you closer to him until your foreheads rested against one another. “How much for me to take you out on a date?”
Your eyes looked deep into his, “Hmm, how much have you got?”
Logan pretended to think about it. “If Amala didn’t rob me before returning my wallet, I should have 60 bucks and a punch card for free cheesy fries.”
You faked a delighted gasp, “How romantic!”
He chuckled at your comment before kissing you. His lips moved smoothly over yours, his kiss felt like a breath of relief after the long and busy evening. He held your chin in one hand, using the other to pull you even closer.
You separated for a moment to murmur, “Next year we’re sticking to signed hockey merch.”
Logan grinned, “Good luck trying to convince Dean of that.”
“He needs a girlfriend.”
He hummed, “And for $1800 and an hour, he might already have one.”
You laughed, taking his hand and tugging him out of Malone’s. “Come on, time for my own date with you.”
“You’re the boss,” he murmured with a kiss on your cheek.
And maybe it was best if you didn’t know that Logan purposely ‘forgot’ his wallet at the ice cream shop.
who remembers this trope from the movie ‘flipped’?
You had been completely honest when you’d told Beau you were going to read “just one more chapter.”
What you had not mentioned was that your definition of one more chapter could, on occasion, stretch a little. Sometimes it meant one. Sometimes it meant three. Sometimes it meant the entire emotional downfall of a fictional couple and then a serious denial that you were “that invested.”
Beau, unfortunately, had lived with you long enough to know exactly what that phrase meant.
It was past midnight when he’d finally crawled into bed beside you, warm from the shower and smelling faintly like soap and laundry detergent. The room was dark except for the glow of your reading light and the steady rustle of pages turning. You were curled on your side, one knee tucked under you, completely absorbed in whatever tragic, beautiful disaster you’d chosen tonight.
Beau stretched out beside you and blinked at the ceiling.
“You said one chapter,” he murmured.
Without looking up, you shifted the book higher. “This is one chapter.”
He turned his head. “That chapter has been going on for forty minutes.”
“It’s a long chapter.”
“It’s a suspiciously long chapter.”
You smiled to yourself and kept reading. Beau sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that sounded like it had traveled through several stadiums and one semester of film finals before reaching your bed.
“Baby,” he said, quieter now, “you have class in the morning.”
“I know.”
“It is currently three in the morning.”
“I know.”
“You are still reading.”
“I know.”
He propped himself up on one elbow. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Mhm,” you said, eyes still on the page.
Beau stared at you for a second, then reached over and very carefully slid the book from your hands.
Your head snapped up. “Hey!”
He held it just out of reach, reading the page number with exaggerated seriousness. “Page four hundred and twelve. You call that restraint?”
“You cannot just take my book.”
“I absolutely can.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I’m stronger than you.”
“That is not a legal argument.”
“It is in my house.”
You gasped, scandalized. “Your house?”
Beau’s mouth twitched. “Our house. Sorry. I was distracted by the crimes being committed in our bed.”
You made a grab for the book, but he pulled it away and set it on the nightstand beyond your reach. Then, with a firmness that was somehow still gentle, he tugged your blanket up and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Beau,”
“No more chapters.”
“One more?”
He gave you a look. “You already used that line on me.”
“You know what? Rude.”
“I’m taking care of you.”
“I do not need taking care of.”
Beau leaned closer, eyes soft even as he fought a smile. “You’re blinking like you’ve been awake for three days.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because unfortunately, he was right. Your eyes did feel heavy now that the book was gone and the room had settled into quiet.
He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “There she is.”
You huffed, but the sound came out more like a yawn. “You’re smug.”
“Terribly.”
“I hate that you’re right.”
“No, you don’t.”
You let yourself sink into the pillow. Beau shifted and tugged you closer until your body fit against his perfectly, like the space beside him had been waiting for you all along. One hand slid through your hair, slow and absentminded.
“Did you get to the good part?” he asked.
You gave him a sleepy side-eye. “You mean the part where everything goes wrong?”
“Yeah.”
“Not yet.”
He frowned. “Then I’m glad I stopped you.”
You laughed quietly, and the sound faded into a yawn. Beau smiled against your hair.
“There,” he said. “Sleep.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am not.”
He kissed your temple. “You fell asleep holding a chapter marker last night.”
“That was one time.”
“Two times.”
“Beau.”
“Five times, actually.”
You made a soft sound of protest, but your body had already betrayed you. The warmth of him, the dark room, the steady beat of his heart under your ear,it all started to pull you under like a tide.
His hand kept moving through your hair. “There you go,” he whispered. “That’s it.”
Your eyes fluttered shut. “You’re annoying.”
“And you’re exhausted.”
“I love you.”
Beau’s arms tightened around you at once, like the words had reached somewhere deep and tender inside him. “Yeah?”
You nodded against his chest, barely awake now.
He kissed the top of your head. “Love you too.”
By the time dawn started to spill pale light into the room, Beau had the book tucked safely on the nightstand and you tucked just as carefully into his arms, finally asleep.
And this time, for once, he was the one smiling over the pages.
Summary: They discover absurd theories on the internet about their relationship. Oscar reads aloud, completely serious, while Y/n almost falls off the couch laughing.
Words: 2.3K+
Warnings: Established relationship, funny, cute, romantic, flirting, laughter and maybe suggestive remarks (?? I don't know).
Author: English is not my first language, so please excuse any spelling, grammar, and slang errors that may appear in the story. My profile is always open for new story requests!! And for universes too. 🇧🇷🩷
MASTERLIST
The silence in the apartment was broken only by the soft sound of computer keys and the muffled echo of videos playing on a cell phone screen.
Oscar was completely sprawled on the sofa, his body relaxed among the cushions in a sloppy posture that only existed within four walls. A few meters away, Y/n remained focused at her study table.
Each one lived in their own little world, but the mere presence of the other in the same space brought a palpable feeling of peace and belonging.
Their relationship wasn't something recent; it carried the beautiful and light baggage of years of shared experiences, growth, and complicity. For Formula 1 fans, the couple was already a well-established institution.
From the moment Oscar took his first steps in the junior categories until the day he finally moved up to the main grid, Y/n was right there, sharing the weight of expectations and the brilliance of victories. For the public that followed the young driver's career, it was simply impossible to conceive of Oscar's world without Y/n's presence, welcoming smile, and unwavering support in the paddock.
They were a complete package.
Still, the internet being the internet, it always found a way to create the craziest things.
There was a segment of fans who were either newcomers or simply overly creative, who refused to accept the simplicity of that novel and spent their days fueling genuinely absurd conspiracy theories on social media.
And instead of feeling offended or invaded, Oscar and Y/n found it to be an endless comedy.
It became an almost therapeutic habit for them to spend hours on Twitter, scrolling through their feeds together and laughing hysterically at the soap opera-like scenarios they created about their lives.
After a while, the repetitive sound of TikTok audios coming from the sofa completely stopped. Y/n noticed the silence, but chose not to say anything at first, imagining that her boyfriend was answering serious emails or dealing with some bureaucratic matter with his sponsors.
However, the reality was far less professional.
Oscar had fallen into a bottomless black hole in the depths of Twitter, his eyes glued to the screen, devouring a new sequence of posts made by an account dedicated to analyzing every millimeter of their relationship.
Suddenly Oscar let out a loud laugh, which made Y/n look at him smiling.
"What was that, Osc?"
"I just discovered something incredible about you."
"Me?" Y/n turns around, curious.
"There's a theory here on Twitter that you're dating me just to infiltrate McLaren and get strategic information to help the drivers from the backmarker teams." Oscar looked at her, holding back a laugh.
Y/n raised her eyebrows, startled with amusement. "Wow! That's a new one. And what proof does this person have of that?"
Oscar turned his attention back to his cell phone. "It says here that you wore a red shirt at the Italian GP in 2023."
Y/n let out a laugh, returning to the computer screen. "That theory was pretty strong. What do you think about it, Piastri?"
"You were careless, now I know your whole plan from the start." Oscar shakes his head, getting into character, and Y/n has to hold back a laugh to play along.
"Damn, I thought I was doing well. So many years and I got caught by the red shirt from a Grand Prix that was like... three years ago."
"Yes, now I know everything!" Oscar agrees seriously, and she ends up laughing a little.
"I knew I shouldn't have worn that blouse!" She slams her hand on the table as if annoyed, and Oscar laughs.
Amused by the direction the game was taking, Oscar continued scrolling, filtering through the sea of posts. When the theories were repetitive or lacked imagination, he simply scrolled past them. But the moment he came across something too creative or absurd to keep to himself, he paused his reading, ready to share his new discovery aloud.
"This one is good."
Y/n didn't even take her eyes off the computer. "On a scale of one to ten, how worried should I be?"
"About eight."
"Excellent!"
Oscar cleared his throat dramatically. "There's someone convinced that we're not dating."
"Oh, that theory again?" Y/n said, looking somewhat downcast, and glanced at the computer.
"No. This one is different."
"Different how?" she asked, curious.
"We're best childhood friends who pretend to date because they think I'm not outgoing enough to find a real girlfriend."
She stared at her boyfriend for a few seconds. "But we were best friends since childhood."
"Exactly."
"And we're dating!"
"Also exactly."
Y/n rested her chin on her hand. "So they got fifty percent right."
"It's progress."
She looked at him, holding back a laugh, and Oscar noticed.
"What is it, darling?" He smiled, and Y/n ended up lowering her head while letting out a laugh.
"Aren't you outgoing enough to find a real girlfriend?" She stared at him with a teasing smile.
"Well... I thought you hadn't paid attention to that part..." Oscar whispered.
"Hmm." Y/n hummed, and Oscar realized she was being provocative.
"Yes, I am an extroverted person... sometimes... Actually, I try, okay?" Oscar defended himself without her having said anything. Which clearly made Y/n laugh loudly and turn more towards him.
"Ah yes, that same boy who spent two months working up the courage to ask me out, he was quite the extrovert. I see!" She teased, and Oscar looked at her defensively.
"We don't need to revisit that part of our beautiful love story."
Y/n stifled a laugh again. "No, no. I think this is very important!"
"Y/n, love!"
"So why did that same boy you say is also extroverted take about forty minutes to pick me up on our first date because he was asking his friends for advice?"
"Next question!"
"And he also deleted the same message about fifteen times."
Oscar looked at her, smiling. "You promised you wouldn't bring that up."
"I lied, I'm sorry."
Oscar laughed loudly, "You're having too much fun with this!"
"Sure, that's cool!" Y/n smiled and made a face, making Oscar laugh and turn his attention back to his phone.
Okay, let's move on to the other theories!
"Go ahead and send it!" she says, turning her attention back to university matters, but still listening to Oscar.
While the pilot continued his meticulous search for some absurdly controversial or unprecedented post, the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard on the desk finally ceased. Y/n reviewed the last files, saved his work, and with a sigh of relief, began to organize the materials, finally free from the academic obligations of that day.
"I thought it was good! But it offended me a little." Oscar says, and Y/n raises her head to look at him"
"Wow, you have emotions!"
Oscar looked at her with a neutral expression, which made her laugh and move closer to the sofa to sit next to him.
"Someone's saying you're the only reason I know how to interact socially."
Y/n had to hide her smile. "Well..."
Oscar pointed at her. "Don't even start!"
"I'm just saying that before me, you answered questions with ONE word."
"But now I know how to use a complete sentence. My PR even praised me at the last GP."
"Revolutionary progress in recent years." Y/n laughed and Oscar agreed, smiling. "Please, keep reading more theories; the ones from this week are very good."
As they continued browsing the app, Oscar read aloud the most surreal comments he found, causing Y/n to giggle against his shoulder. However, Twitter's algorithm sometimes led to more explicit corners of the platform.
Suddenly, the pilot's eyes fixed on a considerably more provocative tweet. A flush of red instantly rose up his neck, reaching the tips of his ears. He froze on the spot, deciding that that particular post was best kept secret.
But Y/n knew him perfectly well; she noticed the sudden stiffness in his posture and the suspicious silence, craning her neck slightly to try and read the tiny letters on the screen.
"Osc?"
"Hm?"
"You turned red!"
"WHAT, NO!"
"You blushed, what did you read?" She asked, giggling, and Oscar sighed, smiling slightly.
"Want to read?" She nodded, and he scrolled back a few posts and handed the phone to Y/n. "I think Piastri is so calm before any race starts. I'm sure there must be some—'... WOW, LET'S END IT HERE!" She said, handing the phone back to him, which made Oscar burst out laughing at her reaction.
"Why did you stop reading, dear?"
"I can't believe people think about that!" Y/n says, startled.
Oscar smiles slightly. "But it's not like we've never done this before the race."
Y/n's eyes widened, but she knew what he was talking about. "BUT I DIDN'T THINK PEOPLE THOUGHT THAT ABOUT US!"
Oscar laughs loudly and starts scrolling through his phone again. "This and much more!"
Y/n's eyes widen even more. "WOW!"
Oscar looks at her and smiles. "Want to try and come up with some kind of theory?"
"Oscar?" Y/n looks at him smiling, which only makes Oscar laugh even harder.
"Sorry, but I had to ask... just in case something happened."
"Funny guy!" She nudges his shoulder.
"Okay, changing the subject, this one's interesting!" Oscar says, but for him, anything involving crazy things about their relationship was interesting.
"I'm afraid of your definition of interesting."
"There's someone here who's absolutely certain we're married!"
"That's really interesting. Tell me more."
"She said here that we got married in secret because last week we didn't appear on social media and we went on a trip to enjoy our honeymoon!"
"She even brought facts and evidence! Too bad we only had a flu that turned us into zombies for a week."
Oscar nodded. "But the theory was good!"
"Absolutely! Next time I disappear from social media, we should let people know we're not getting married yet."
"Good observation!"
Oscar went back to reading some posts, while Y/n fiddled with her own phone, waiting for more updates from him about the theories.
But this time the pilot began laughing uncontrollably before he could even utter a first word. He covered his face with his free hand, his shoulders shaking as he tried to catch his breath to read.
"This one's really good, right?" Y/n asked, smiling, and Oscar nodded, trying to catch his breath.
"A new fan, apparently, saying that our relationship is a social experiment."
"Countryside?"
"It says here: 'No one can believe that two such different people have been together for so long in a relationship. Because Y/n speaks for both of them and Oscar speaks once a quarter.'" Oscar started laughing again. "Quarterly is cruel!"
At that moment, Y/n no longer knew whether she was laughing at the comment or at Oscar's laughter and indignation.
"That was still very generous per quarter!"
Oscar looked at her, still laughing.
"Wow, that was rude!" He nudges her lightly and laughs even more, because it wasn't rude at all, it was hilarious.
"It's a scientific observation."
Oscar shook his head, catching his breath. "I'm being bullied in my own home, by my girlfriend."
Y/n smiled and shook her head. "Poor Osc!"
Oscar placed a hand on his chest. "Thank you..."
"I wasn't complimenting you!" Y/n tilts her head, smiling slightly, resting her arm on the back of the sofa.
Oscar locked eyes with her, his laughter transforming into a genuine, tender smile that lit up his face.
He found himself analyzing every little detail of her features, the familiar curve of her lips, the playful glint in her eyes, small traits he had kept in his memory and watched evolve since they were sixteen years old.
For a few long, suspended moments in time, the need for jokes or reading absurd publications completely vanished. There was no internet, Formula 1, or external judgments; it was just Oscar and Y/n in their purest and most real state.
Breaking the stillness with affection, he stretched out his index finger and gently poked the tip of her nose, eliciting a soft smile that made her close her eyes for a second to savor the gesture.
"You made a comment that made me think a lot."
"And what is it?" Y/n smiles softly.
"Someone said that despite the theories people invent about our relationship, you can see how much we love each other and enjoy being together, which is why we've been in a long-lasting relationship for so many years." Oscar smiles. "And that's why I love you so much!"
Y/n lets out a little laugh and feels her eyes burning. "I want to cry..."
Oscar smiles. "I love you!"
Closing the distance between them, Oscar pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. In that instant, all the playful atmosphere evaporated, giving way to a mature and urgent romance.
Their lips moved slowly, his hands tracing the contour of her jawline firmly, while Y/n's fingers intertwined in the hair at the nape of the pilot's neck. It was a kiss that carried the certainty of years of shared experiences, the warmth of a familiar touch, and a passion that time only intensified.
There was no room there for crazy theories, inside jokes, or the ghost of red shirts; only the synchronized beating of two hearts that knew exactly who they belonged to.
As soon as they parted ways, Oscar smiled, their foreheads still touching.
"You still love me even knowing that crazy fans probably know that we have sex before I go into a race!"
Y/n stifles a laugh and hits him on the shoulder. "OSCAR! FORGET THAT THEORY!"
"Theories? No! These are facts that happen in some GPs!"
Hiii could i request a John Logan x pregnant reader?!! Like multiple moments where he’s very protective of reader and everyone in the group is too!!
I love your writing omg 🥹💕
Two Heartbeats
Pairing: John Logan x Reader
Word Count: 1128
Request open!
Off campus masterlist
The first time John got protective, it happened so quietly you almost missed it.
You were only a few months pregnant, still early enough that most people didn’t know unless you told them, but the hockey boys had found out the same way they found out everything: by being loud, nosy, and impossible to keep secrets from. The reaction had been instant. Garrett had nearly dropped a cup. Tucker had gone soft around the eyes in that way he did when something mattered. Dean had stared at John for a full ten seconds before saying, “Well, you’re screwed.”
John, to his credit, had just smiled and kissed your temple.
Now, on a Saturday afternoon, the six of you were at the grocery store because you had decided, with the confidence of a pregnant woman and the appetite of one, that you needed strawberries, salt-and-vinegar chips, and the exact yogurt brand you could not possibly live without.
John had already insisted on pushing the cart.
You had already insisted that you were perfectly capable of walking by yourself.
He had already ignored you.
“John,” you said, reaching for a box of crackers, “I am not fragile.”
He looked at you over the cart handle. “Did I say you were?”
“You are acting like I’m a piece of glass.”
His hand slid to the small of your back as a man in a hurry passed too close behind you. “You’re pregnant.”
You gave him a look. “That is not the same thing.”
“It is for me.”
That made your expression soften even though you were still trying to be stubborn about it. John’s hand stayed warm at your back, steady and absent in that comforting way he had. He wasn’t hovering exactly. Just close enough to make sure the world stayed out of your space.
Garrett, who had been pretending not to hear the entire conversation, leaned over the cart and muttered, “He’s been like this for weeks.”
Dean nodded. “He acts like you’re going to faint if you reach for cereal.”
John shot him a look. “She did almost faint last week.”
“That was one time,” you said.
“That was enough for me,” John replied.
You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face gave you away. He noticed, of course he did.
The second time it happened was at practice.
You had come to watch because John had asked you to, but only if you sat in the safer seats and promised not to wander around the rink by yourself. You had laughed at his tone when he said it, because it sounded half serious and half terrified.
Now you were sitting in the stands with a blanket over your lap and a bottle of water in hand while the guys skated hard below. John kept looking up at you every few minutes, and each time he did, you lifted a hand in a tiny wave just to make him smile.
Garrett noticed.
“Dude,” Garrett said as they skated past the bench, “you’re staring again.”
John didn’t even try to deny it. “She’s pregnant.”
Tucker, immediately amused, said, “That is not an answer.”
“It is for me.”
Dean laughed. “He’s getting worse.”
John shot him a look. “I will put you on your ass.”
Dean grinned. “Not if your pregnant girlfriend gets to you first.”
From the stands, you yelled, “I can hear you!”
The entire bench cracked up.
John looked up and smiled so fast and so soft that even Garrett stopped teasing for half a second.
After practice, John came straight to you with his hair damp and his cheeks pink from the cold. The second he got close, he touched your stomach lightly with the backs of his fingers, like he was greeting both of you at once.
“How was it?” he asked.
You smiled. “You only looked up at me nine hundred times.”
He gave you a deadpan look. “That’s not what I asked.”
You laughed. “It was fine.”
He nodded, then looked at the stairs leading down and immediately shifted closer when one of the rink workers carried a stack of equipment past the rail.
You narrowed your eyes. “John.”
“What?”
“You just moved me.”
He blinked. “I did not move you.”
“You absolutely nudged me behind you.”
His hand stayed on your back. “That guy wasn’t watching where he was going.”
“He wasn’t even close to me.”
John gave you a look like that was beside the point. “I know.”
You studied him for a second and saw it then. Not control. Not panic. Just instinct. He had already started thinking in terms of two heartbeats instead of one.
That should have been annoying.
Instead, it made your chest go soft.
The third time happened at dinner that night when someone at the table reached over you too quickly and John’s hand shot out to stop the glass before it tipped. Everyone went quiet for half a beat.
You stared at him.
He stared back, then looked mildly embarrassed by the fact that the entire room had just witnessed how hard he was trying to make the world gentle around you.
“Okay,” Tucker said carefully. “That was actually kind of impressive.”
Dean muttered, “He’s going to fight the air next.”
John ignored them and sat beside you, one hand resting over your thigh under the table as if to prove he was not in fact overreacting.
You leaned a little closer and whispered, “You know I’m not breakable.”
John looked at you for a second, then his expression softened completely. “I know.”
“Then why are you like this?”
He smiled a little. “Because I love you.”
That made you go quiet.
The whole table probably heard it. No one said anything, though. Garrett suddenly found his food very interesting. Dean looked away with the kind of fake disinterest people only used when they were being very obvious.
John’s thumb brushed once against your leg under the table. “And because I love him,” he added, nodding toward your stomach, “and I’m not used to loving two people at once yet.”
That was enough to make your throat go tight.
You reached under the table and laced your fingers with his.
John looked at you and smiled, small and warm and a little stunned by his own honesty, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud but was glad he had.
Garrett cleared his throat loudly. “Anyway, this is disgusting.”
Dean pointed at him. “You’re just jealous.”
Tucker nodded. “Very.”
You laughed, and John kissed your temple before going back to pretending he wasn’t the most protective man in the room.
He failed.
But only because he was already so in love with both of you that it didn’t matter who noticed.
author’s note: cheers to part 2! my plan for this was to show how reader becomes more free, more open to Beau, while still being a menace to him, but i really wanted reader to become someone relaxed and nonjudgmental. their banter was my top priority along with reader being in charge over Beau 🙂↕️ because Beau enjoys being walked like a dog. enjoy! 🩷
Beau
He'd fucked up. The realization hit him the second he noticed you were no longer at the party.
Beau wasn't typically one to panic. But right now, standing in the middle of a crowded kitchen surrounded by a sea of girls, panic was exactly what he felt.
He panicked, because you had probably walked back to your dorm completely alone, especially since both Hannah and Allie were still here with their boyfriends. More than anything, he panicked because he knew he'd lost—but Beau wasn't the type to just give up.
Without a word, he broke away from the crowd and beelined toward his best friend and his girlfriend.
"What's up, man of the hour?" Dean teased as he approached.
"I fucked up," Beau muttered.
Allie rolled her eyes. "Of course you did, you idiot."
While Dean looked on, completely confused, Beau let out a defeated sigh. "Y/N's gone."
Dean’s mouth fell open in a silent O.
"Allie, please," Beau pleaded, turning to her desperately. "Can I borrow your dorm key?"
Allie's eyes bulged. "Huh?"
"I know Y/N won't ever let me explain myself if I just try to catch her on campus," Beau rushed out, the words tumbling over one another. "I know she might be completely done with me—that I might have lost her for good. But I just need to make sure she's okay. I want to be selfish just this once, because I care about her too much to just give up."
He knew how desperate he sounded, but knowing Y/N, he knew he had to put his pride on hold and if she demanded it, he would happily get down on his knees and beg.
Allie and Dean exchanged a long look, a silent conversation passing between them.
Beau waited, his shoulders hunched as he braced himself for a rejection, but to his utter surprise, Allie reached into her pocket and pulled out her key.
But before she handed it over, however, her gaze hardened. "I want nothing but the absolute best for her. And I've seen the way you look at her and I love that. But Beau? If you fuck this up, I will ruin you."
"Yes, ma'am," Beau said, a massive, unsuppressed smile breaking across his face as he took the key.
He patted Dean on the shoulder before bolting in the direction of the door, breaking into a full sprint the second he cleared the crowd.
At this point, he knew he owed Allie everything. She had been kind enough not to just tell him to fuck off—especially after he'd called her after that disastrous day, desperately trying to get information about you without sounding completely blunt.
It was hard, to be completely honest, because for once in his life, Beau found himself completely caught off guard.
He was baffled that his usual charm hadn't worked like magic this time, but he quickly realized he didn't even want the easy way out. He wanted the hard in, because for the first time since arriving at Briar University, he had finally found something—someone—worth being rejected for over and over again.
You.
And he was fully prepared to fight for you. Even if it meant breaking into your dorm room and letting you beat him with a frying pan.
—-
Beau: I know you're free from 5. I bet you're hungry already, so I booked a table for 6. Dress code: Casual. I know you like details, but that's all you get ;). I'll pick you up.
You bite your lip as you read Beau's message. Pocketing your phone, you head back to the dorm to get ready.
For the past two weeks—ever since his confession that he wanted to get to know you, and your acceptance of it—he has been a proper gentleman. He continues to prove you wrong about your earlier impression of him and his habits.
Since then, you have finally started to see that Beau is indeed a changed man. Football is still a priority, and so are his friends, but the opinions of others—and other girls—seem to drift right past him. He no longer entertains any girl who approaches him, instead, he politely tells them that he's with someone.
That someone is you, the one he still looks at with a twinkle in his eyes.
Due to his grueling football practice schedule, he started weaving you into his daily routine just so he could study by your side. The sessions could last anywhere from one to four hours, but Beau never once complained.
Instead, he learned to appreciate the quiet moments with you. He learned to love the way everything slowed down, catching his breath and savoring the stillness like a rare drop of water in a desert.
He felt entirely comfortable around you, deeply grateful that he didn't have to force dry small talk just to keep your interest. There was simply no need for it when he was already knee deep in your world, and you started to feel more comfortable around him.
Once, you asked him if he'd rather be doing something else instead of just sitting there in dead silence, but he simply shook his head.
"I'm fine," he murmured. "Honestly, getting to sit here and watch you look all cute and focused is the best part of my day anyway."
The blush on your face flared even warmer when he leaned in closer, whispering, "Though... I am keeping score of how many hours you’ve ignored me, and I fully expect to be paid back in kisses."
You hadn't kissed him just yet, but his passion hadn't dulled in the slightest.
As you arrive back to the dorm, only Hannah is there, practicing.
“Oh hi!” she greets upon seeing you with a huge happy smile on her face.
“Hi,” you lock the door and take your shoes off, giving her a quick hug before heading to your room.
“Where are you going?” she asks, following after you, abandoning her guitar on the sofa.
“I’m going to freshen up a little before Beau picks me up.”
Hannah’s smirks. “He’s picking you up?”
“Yeah, he just texted that he’s gonna be here soon. We’re going out to dinner,” you inform her, changing your top and brushing your hair.
Hannah watched your frantic pacing from one corner of the room to the other. A piece of chewing gum dangled from your mouth as you hurriedly tried to touch up your makeup.
Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, you realized you had exactly five minutes before Beau arrives.
While frantically applying a fresh coat of mascara and dabbing concealer under your eyes, you caught Hannah’s expression out of the corner of your eye.
"What?" you asked.
"It's just funny to see how the tables have turned."
You froze mid-motion. "You think…You think I shouldn't go?" Your voice was laced with sudden anxiety.
Are you too blind to see Beau's clear intentions? Was it really too early of a transition?
No. Beau still grovelled, and you were one hundred percent sure he actually enjoyed it.
Hannah smiled warmly.
"I think you're going to be just fine with him. It's so obvious Beau wants you, and he actively acts on it." She stepped closer, brushing her palm soothingly against your arm. "Everyone sees how smitten he is. He doesn't play games—not when it comes to you," she finished, pulling you into a tight hug.
—-
“Okay, I need something no one else knows about you,” you pat your lips with the napkin, “I wanna feel special.”
Beau snorts. “Special about knowing one of my dirty secrets?” He leans closer over the table, whispering the last of his question playfully.
You mimic him, intervening your fingers under your chin, elbows on the table. “I want something to hold against you.”
Beau falls silent for a moment, his brown eyes lazily scanning over you. The usual smirk is present at the corner of his mouth—something that has practically become his trademark.
His hand, which had been resting on the table, slowly reaches out to take yours from under your chin. His fingers briefly fumble for yours, slowly intertwining them right in the middle of the table.
Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel your face growing warmer and warmer, even though you were already hot enough from the restaurant and the food you'd eat.
“I can’t tie a shoe.”
You froze, empty blinks were sent back to him.
“What?” you manage to ask.
“I have to make two bunny ears.”
Your mouth twitches upwards.
“You tie your shoe with bunny ears?”
“Yeah. I never figured out how to do the one bunny ear through the loop, so I came up with two bunny ears tied together.”
You can’t help it, you burst into laughter. Beau laughs with you, as his smile was present the whole time, not an inch of doubt or fear present on his face.
“Poor bunnies,” you huff, giggling.
Beau’s gaze lingers on you, intense yet gentle.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “I just love it when I can make you laugh. It’s my favorite sound.”
The pink on your cheeks deepened.
Dinner had been… a blast.
Beau drove you just outside of Hastings to a nice restaurant that served delicious Italian dishes.
“You remembered?” You turned to face him for a fleeting moment before you were escorted to your table.
“Of course,” he replied softly, his palm resting against your lower back. “I remember everything about you.”
It was during a casual conversation that you had mentioned to him how much you love pasta and Italian food—even mentioning that you got a cookbook for Christmas written by an Italian nonna.
The food, the servers, the atmosphere and him - everything was amazing.
Then he asks, how was your day, and you’re smiling again.
Because single-handedly, this is your most favourite thing about him. Because he always makes it his priority to ask about your day, eager to learn something new about you, about your visions, your quirks, your triggers, anything. Because he never interrupts, his brown eyes deepening into something like melted chocolate, and he waits until you're done, then, and only then he asks follow up questions.
And maybe he starts to warm his way into your heart.
—-
"Hi, fangirl."
"Hi, bunny."
Beau threw his head back with a laugh, sweaty, dark locks plastered against his forehead. He had ripped his helmet off the second the coach's final whistle signaled the end of practice.
You were seated up in the bleachers, your coat tightly wrapped around you to keep from shivering. It was late - the sun had already set, and the biting night breeze was softly but surely creeping in. Beau made his way up to you, a bright smile cutting through the exhaustion on his handsome, sweaty face.
"I thought you were headed home," he said, taking the bleacher stairs two at a time.
"I wanted to see you," you admitted, feeling your ears flush hot despite the chill.
"Well, the whole fangirl theme is lookin' pretty spot-on tonight, then."
"Says the guy who literally follows me around campus," you countered while rolling your eyes, playfully shoving his shoulder as he sat down right next to you.
Beau turned fully toward you. His warm eyes raked over your face, instantly catching the slight tremor in your shoulders.
"You're freezing," he said matter-of-factly, a slight furrow appearing between his brows.
"I'm okay... for a few more minutes, at least."
"You really keep me humble, don't you?" he huffed with a soft snort.
"Please, it's my main source of entertainment."
Without thinking, you reached out and pushed the damp hair back from his forehead, your fingers lightly brushing against his skin. Beau’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching in his throat.
It wasn't the first time you had touched him, but it didn't happen nearly as often as he yearned for. Yet, bit by bit, as your guard dropped lower each time you were together, Beau couldn't stop his heart from hammering against his ribs like a caged bird.
Before you could pull your hand away, he caught your wrist. He didn't squeeze, but he held it there, silently begging you not to stop.
You bit your lip to hide a smile, leaning into it as you tentatively traced your thumb along his chiseled jawline.
"You played well today," you murmured, your eyes dropping briefly to his lips.
Beau’s gaze dropped to yours, doing exactly the same.
God, you wanted to kiss him so badly. You knew the ball was entirely in your court.
Beau knew it, too. He was doing everything in his power to move at your pace, but the way his dark eyes begged for a taste, you knew that you probably looked just as desperate as he felt.
But you couldn't give in to the temptation. Not just yet.
So instead, you murmured, "Thanks for the snacks."
Your warm breath brushed directly against his lips, the proximity so intense it felt as if you actually had kissed him. He closed his eyes for a brief second to gather himself, gently leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.
"Couldn't let you pass out in the middle of your lecture," he whispered back. His own breath fanned over your skin, making you subconsciously wet your lips.
Beau let out a low groan. "Tease."
You couldn't help but giggle.
"You should go and change—you'll catch a cold," you whispered, slowly peeling yourself away from him.
"Aww, are you worried about me?" Beau teased, a smirk playing on his lips. "Where's my don't-give-a-fuck girl?"
"Well, I definitely won't give a fuck if you're sick before your next game, because you didn’t listen to me," you countered, crossing your arms over your chest. You looked up at him as he stood, his tall frame towering over you in the chilly air.
"But you'll take care of me anyway, won't you?" he leans down, his veiny forearms planted on his knees, his face mere inches from yours.
His eyes once again find your lips.
So does yours.
"Take care of you when you brought it on yourself? Hell no."
"Rude," he laughed.
"Go and change!"
"Anything for you, sweetheart," he replied smoothly, then he leaned forward and planted a kiss on your cheek.
You were sure you looked like a crab now.
—-
Bunny: I can't wait to see you tonight. Any chance you’ll get here sooner?
You: We’re still getting ready.
Bunny: I’m dying over here.
You: Dramatic much?
Bunny: I need to see my pretty girl.
You: Your pretty girl?
Bunny: No need to act surprised.
You: You're way too confident.
Bunny: Then break my ego again. I’ll even thank you for it.
"Who got you smiling like that?" Hannah asked, wiggling her eyebrows at you from where she sat on your bedroom floor, even though the answer was completely obvious.
"Shut up," you murmured, a helpless smile taking over your face as you turned back to the mirror to finish your makeup.
“We should hurry up,” Allie shouts from the bathroom, “the guys are getting cranky.”
“You tell me,” you snort, coating your eyelashes in mascara.
“If you had told me last year that these big ass guys who are known to be absolute manwhores are now getting pissy when their girls are making them wait, I’d have laughed in everyone’s faces,” Hannah says.
“Guess they like being walked like a dog overall,” you add to it, making the girls laugh.
An hour later, you walk through Malone’s, not even surprised that it’s packed.
Fighting your way through the crowd, you are visibly relieved to see the guy in the back, who managed to reserve a booth.
“Finally,” Dean is the first one to notice all three of you, immediately making room for Allie. Then, Garrett holds a hand out to Hannah and pulls her into her lap.
“This guy over here was getting whiny,” Dean says, pointing a finger at Beau.
You laugh as you sit down next to him, Beau's hand immediately wrapping over your shoulder. His fingers slide into your hair at your nape, sending goosebumps down your arms.
“And that guy over there was checking his phone every two minutes, wishing Allie would grace him with some reply to his hundred messages,” Beau retorts, to which Dean gives him the middle finger.
“Awww, you missed me that much?” you ask, turning your attention to Beau and looking up at him through your lashes.
His fingers continue to curl around your soft locks.
“Told you, sweetheart. I was seriously dying over here,” he says, his eyes raking over you, “Though I have to admit, I might go into cardiac arrest. You look beautiful.”
“Flirt,” you reply, unable to stop grinning, your cheeks already turning pink.
"Would you like something to drink? I bribed Taylor to give us alcohol without watering it down."
You narrow your eyes at him. "How exactly did you do that?"
Beau flicks your nose. "No need to get jealous. I gave Max’s phone number to her. She has a thing for blondes."
You snort. "Okay. Bring some tequila."
"Damn. You'll be on fire in no time."
"I'm already on fire," you tell him, your glossy eyes boring into his.
"Careful, or I might think you're in love with me," he leans closer to whisper in your ear, his soft lips brushing against your earlobe.
You bite your lip. "You wish."
"I do, baby,” then he gets up and walks to the bar.
Your heart missed a beat.
"He has a nice ass."
"He does," you reply, wishing your heart to stop beating erratically.
Garrett barks out a laugh, and you turn to them with a smile.
You lean closer to Dean, who can't stop smirking. "But that ass is mine."
"Okay, keep on objectifying him," Dean says, winking teasingly. "He likes it."
Eight shots and two bathroom breaks later, you lean into Beau's side as if you've always belonged there.
"Are you not drunk?" you ask him, your words slurred and vision blurry, though Beau has never looked brighter.
"Not as far gone as you are," he fires back, his long fingers squeezing your hip teasingly. His other hand remains intertwined with yours in his lap, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles.
"Why do you like my hair so much?" you blurt out.
It's no secret that Beau always finds a way to touch your hair. He loves curling a strand around his fingers constantly.
Once, while he was over at your place between classes and practice, he even found himself braiding it.
"You're going to get it tangled," you told him then, though your voice lacked any bite.
"You have no faith in me," Beau replied, shaking his head but lazily continuing the braid anyway.
Then there was another time, when you were over at his place after a gruellingly long lecture. You lay across his bed with a book in hand, reading to ease your mind a little. Beau laid right beside you on his back. You thought he might be sleeping, but then his arm slowly reached out, brushing a stray lock behind your ear.
"Thank you," you whispered, mesmerized by his softness.
Beau brushed a knuckle over your cheek, making you blush all over again.
"Because it smells sweet, and it was the first thing I noticed about you," Beau answers then.
"My hair?"
"Well, you were walking right in front of me," he chuckles, his hand casually brushing over your hair again, trailing down the strands. "So I noticed your hair immediately."
You scoff playfully, looking back at him. "Not even my ass?"
"Baby, your ass is hot," he says quickly, "But I love yo- ,” he catches himself, “your hair more."
"My hair?" you repeat, a little skeptical but melting a bit.
"Yeah. And how sweet it smells all the time."
"That sounds so dumb."
"Maybe," he murmurs, his fingers tangling into the locks once more, anchoring you close. "But I'm obsessed with you, so I'm obsessed with your hair, too."
“You’re so dumb,” you hiccup as you laugh up at him.
After your laugh dies down, your eyes automatically drop to his lips. He looks incredibly good in his jeans and black sweater, and smells even better—honestly, it's enough to make your mouth water.
"Y/N," he whispers, your name a soft breath against your skin as he keeps his face close to yours.
"Hm?" you hum, completely incapable of tearing your eyes away from him.
"Don't kiss me right now."
"But I really want to," you pout, leaning in just a fraction more.
"I really want you to, too," he admits softly. "But you're drunk."
This man.
Beau's eyes linger on your lips for a fraction of a second longer. Then, with a deep sigh, he gently pulls back to put some necessary distance between you two.
"I don't want you to regret it tomorrow," he continues, his thumb shifting to trace soothing circles on your cheek. "I don't want you blaming yourself, and I definitely don't want you to feel like I took advantage of the situation."
"You're so sweet," you whine, your defenses completely melting. "When did you get so sweet? Imma cry."
He gives you a warm, melty smile. "Don't cry, baby."
"I won't," you sniffle playfully, holding his gaze. "But I might."
Beau lets out a soft laugh, the tension breaking as he pulls you in close.
—-
"Why the fuck would you buy them all?"
"Because I wanted to," he shrugged, acting nonchalant despite the weight of eight books stretching the paper bag.
For the past two months, Beau had never made you angry. Annoyed, sure, but never angry. Right now, though? You were fuming.
"But I didn't want them."
"Sweetheart, you looked back in their direction three times before you walked away."
"I was just making sure I read the blurb correctly."
"Uh-huh." Beau doesn't pay any attention to your protests. He just keeps walking toward his car, keys already jingling in his hand.
"You should take them back," you insist, hurrying to keep up. "What if somebody else wants them?"
"That somebody is you." He unlocks the car and swings the passenger door open for you. "Get in."
"Not until you bring the books back." You cross your arms stubbornly over your chest, planting your feet.
Beau sighs, but he steps closer, closing the distance until the toes of his shoes touch yours.
"Look at me," he says, his voice soft but determined. He slips a warm palm over your cheek, catching your chin with his thumb, gently forcing you to meet his gaze.
"I know you like to be independent and all," Beau says, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. "But please let me step up and spoil you however I please."
"But I don't want you to spend money on me."
"I spend money on whatever I want, and I wanted this," he says firmly, giving the paper bag a little shake.
"I've never...", you scramble for the right words, but your thoughts tangle together. Sensing your distress, Beau leans in, his lips pressing a warm, grounding kiss right against your forehead. “This was never done to me before, so it’s uncomfortable and hard right now.”
"Thank you for telling me," Beau says softly, before his lips curve into that familiar, arrogant smirk. "But I want you to know this is going to happen a lot more from now on."
Your lips curl up in a little smile anyways.
"I'm still mad at you right now, Bruce," you cross your arms, hiding the frantic flutter in your pulse.
"Oh, here we go again," he rolls his eyes, a rich laugh bubbling up from his chest. "Get in the car, woman."
"Don't tell me what to do, Boden."
"Jesus, how many names do you know with B?"
"Enough to annoy you for a lifetime," you tease, stepping past him.
"A lifetime, huh?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"Get lost, Blaine," you scoff, giving his chest a playful push as you walk to the passenger side.
Before you can grab the door handle, a sudden smack lands on your butt.
"Hey!" you yelp, turning to glare at him, though a grin tugs at your mouth.
Beau looks entirely unbothered. "Sorry, my hand slipped."
“Jerk,” you mutter under your nose while sitting in the car, waiting for him to sit in the driver seat.
"I need to pay you back," you blunt out the second the apartment door clicks shut behind you.
The words feel clumsy, a knee-jerk reaction. The truth is, he has been everything you ever could have wished for—patient, steady, and infuriatingly giving. Meanwhile, you’ve been far too lazy, dragging out the heavy tension between you two like a snail.
You’re done being careful. You’re done moving slow.
Beau pauses in the middle of the living room, setting his keys down. "No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
He turns around slowly to face you, a genuinely confused look washing over his features. "Did you not hear a single thing I just said in the parking lot?"
"I did."
Step after deliberate step, you close the distance between you. You stop right in his space, having to crane your neck just to look up into his eyes.
"I need to pay you back," you repeat, your voice dropping to a soft, definitive murmur.
Slowly, you lift your arm, letting your fingers slide up his chest until your palm rests against the warm skin at the nape of his neck.
Beau’s eyes widen slightly at the touch, his breath hitching. His gaze instantly drops to your lips before lifting back to your eyes, dark and searching. The confusion evaporates, replaced by a sudden, heavy heat. He brings his hand up, his palm wrapping securely around your hip to anchor you, pulling you firmly against his chest.
"You do?" he murmurs, his head tilting as he leans down, his breath fanning across your lips. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
"Something that's far too overdue."
You close the remaining fraction of an inch and kiss him.
Finally.
Rising up onto your tippy toes, you throw your weight into him, deepening the kiss. A low, breathless groan breaks from the back of Beau's throat. His grip tightens, his fingers squeezing your hip to pull you flush against him, while his other hand slides up to cup your jaw, his thumb angling your face to take the kiss deeper.
He tastes so good.
His tongue guides over your bottom lip, begging to let him deeper into you, because he no longer wanted air, he wanted you to breathe.
Tongues dancing together, his hand that cupped your jaw now moved into your hair, fisting it at your nape, keeping you fucking close to him.
He never tasted anything sweeter in his whole life.
Your own fingers fist the fabric of his sweater at his chest, suddenly terrified that your legs will give out the second he lets you go.
"Fuck," he murmurs against your lips. His voice is raw and hoarse when the desperate need for oxygen finally forces you both apart.
"Holy shit," you whisper back. Your eyes are glossy, your cheeks flaming hot.
You try to step back just a fraction to catch your breath, but Beau’s grip tightens instantly on your hip, anchoring you right where you belong.
"No, I'm not done," he protests. He pulls you back in and immediately kisses you senseless. A soft moan escapes into his mouth, your composure completely gone.
He continues to taste you, lick you, anchor you, breathe you.
"Beau," you moan his name the second he pulls back just an inch.
"I have a new favorite thing," he murmurs. He leans his forehead against yours, both of your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath. "Actually, no. Two things."
"I'm all ears," you giggle softly. Your fingers mindlessly track down his chest, smoothing out the fabric of his wrinkled sweater.
"One—the way you moan my name. It's hot as fuck."
A fierce blush flares across your cheeks.
"Two—your kiss. I want to kiss you all the fucking time now."
"Worth the wait?" you tease.
"Worth the fucking wait," he says, nodding frantically.
You laugh, leaning up to plant a quick, sweet kiss on his lips. This time, he doesn't immediately deepen it or steal your breath away. Instead, he cradles your face tenderly in both of his palms, looking down at you with an intensity that makes your heart stop.
"Can I be yours, baby?"
Now it’s your turn to nod frantically. Beau grins, leaning down and kissing you senseless, again, but this time, it’s not frantic, messy or hungry, but rather a soft, slow and gentle one.
“Though, I’ve been yours the moment you trash talked me.”
