Abby😖

Jude Bellingham x reader

Note: It's a short post, I just finished writing it and it's not that great, but whatever. I think I've neglected Tumblr too much and needed to post something unrelated to my fanfic.

Summary: Jude does something he regrets and calls many times. (I don't know, I'm terrible at summaries)

pic from pinterest and isnt mine!

wonderwall

your so happy england beat mexico in wc, the sensitive you can stop crying of joy and jude consoles you.

taglist ( tw ) : established relationship, fem!reader, jude bellingham x reader, crying (from reader), pet names (baby etc), sensitive (crybaby in this case) reader, ooc? (idk jude personally but this doesn’t give ‘jude’ vibes)

a.n. WE are all happy that england beat mexico. 2 goals in 2 minutes my goat. england will win wc 🥹 hopefully norway vs england goes well . also wonderwall by oasis is so flipping peak. “maybeeeeee ypur gonna be the one that saves meeeee”

a sea of white shirts jump up from their seats, players crashing into one another as relieved laughter and triumphant shouts echoed around the stadium. jude disappeared beneath a pile of teammates before emerging again with the widest grin you’d ever seen, throwing an arm around one of them as they made their way towards the travelling england supporters.

the fans were already bouncing.

scarves spun above thousands of heads as the players lined up in front of them, applauding every corner of the stand.

then the opening chords of wonderwall rolled around the stadium.

almost instantly, the england fans took over.

~

~

~

“there are many things that i would like to say to you but don’t know how”

the players laughed, some draping their arms over each other’s shoulders as they swayed in front of the supporters. a few sang every word at the top of their lungs, others simply stood there, soaking it all in. jude threw his head back, singing along with a smile so bright it was impossible to look away from him.

“cause maybe, your gonna be the one that saves me.”

your vision blurred, mouthing the unofficial anthem as you watched jude lovingly.

you’d held it together through ninety minutes, through every chance, the 2 goals of jude in the first two minutes and every agonising minute of stoppage time but watching jude sing with the supporters, medal hanging around his neck, completely lost in the moment he’d worked his whole life for was your breaking point.

“and after all.”

a tear slipped down your cheek.

“oh no…” you whispered to yourself, laughing weakly, not now.

another tear followed. then another.

within seconds, your shoulders were shaking as happy sobs escaped you, your hand covering your mouth as you watched him smile towards the england fans.

“your my wonderwall.”

he looked so happy, a big toothy grin practically stuck on his face like every sacrifice, every injury, every hour spent away from home had been worth it.

then, as if he could feel you watching him, jude’s eyes lifted towards the family section and found you immediately, already crying. even from the other side of the barrier, he could tell.

your eyes were glassy, your nose had already gone pink, and you were frantically trying to wipe away tears before anyone noticed with a big happy smile.

he laughed to himself, nudging kane beside him before subtly pointing towards you.

“she’s crying already?” kane laughed.

jude only smiled, unable to take his eyes off you. “ ‘course she is.”’ not an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. only affection, pure and unmistakable affection. “my little crybaby.”

he stayed with the team long enough to applaud the supporters, clapping above his head before tapping the england badge over his heart. he blew a kiss towards the fans, took a few photos with the squad and accepted yet another crushing hug from one of the coaches.

but every few seconds, he looked back at you.

you were still standing there, still crying. still smiling.

he couldn’t get to you fast enough, obviously having to go through the media.

but the moment there was an opening, he jogged towards the barrier.

fans reached out for him as he passed, shouting his name, asking for high fives, congratulating him, but he apologised with a sheepish smile and pointed towards you instead. “sorry, guys, gotta see my girl.”

your heart melted before he’d even reached you. you’d always loved watching him interact with fans. but reading his mouth say that, like as though getting to you was the most important thing in the world, it made another tear roll down your cheek.

you were so happy that england beat mexico.

jude reached the barrier and immediately opened his arms. “come here, baby.”

you didn’t even think, practically stumbling into him.

he caught you with a laugh, wrapping both arms tightly around your waist before pulling you flush against him. the force of the hug almost knocked the air from your lungs. not that you minded. (getting crushed by jude is the dream)

he always hugged you like he hadn’t seen you in months. he wanted to make sure you were really there. to make sure that you were his love only.

you buried your face into his neck, clutching the back of his shirt as another sob escaped.

he just held you.

one hand rubbed slow, comforting circles across your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

“hey…” he murmured, pressing a kiss against your hair. “we won.”

you nodded against him. “i know.”

another kiss. “we’re through.”

another nod. “i know.”

he smiled, feeling your shoulders shake.

“then why’s my baby crying?”

you let out the tiniest laugh between sniffles.“because…” you paused, trying to steady your breathing. “because i’m so happy.” your voice cracking on the last word.

jude’s heart practically burst. he leaned back just enough to look at you.

your mascara had smudged. your eyelashes were clumped together from tears. your cheeks were bright pink and somehow he’d never thought you’d looked more beautiful.

“hi,” he said softly.

you sniffled. “hi.”

“there’s my favourite face.”

“i’m literally crying.”

“i know.” he smiled, brushing a tear away with his thumb.“still my favourite.”

you looked at him for a second before your lip wobbled all over again.

he saw it instantly.

“no…”

you nodded.

“don’t.”

“i’m trying.”

“baby…”

“i really am. you just did so well!” two more tears escaping as you spoke.

jude laughed so warmly that you couldn’t help laughing too.“there they are.”

you groaned, hiding your face back against his shoulder.“stop looking at me.”

“can’t.”

“why?”

“‘cause you’re cute.”

“i’m a mess.”

“you’re my mess. a cute mess too.” he kissed your temple, then your forehead and then the tip of your nose just to hear you giggle.

“see?” he whispered. “there’s my smile.”

you couldn’t help it, being around him always made everything feel lighter. like everything didn’t matter. just him and yoi.

“you looked so happy,” you admitted quietly.

he frowned just slightly.“yeah?”

“when you were singing. it was so cute.”

you glanced back towards the england supporters, who were somehow still belting out wonderwall even though the song had long ended.

“you looked like… i don’t know.” you searched for the words. “like little jude.”

his expression softened completely. he stared at you for a moment and then reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.“that’s because i was thinking about everyone who got me here.”

your eyes searched his, onlt finding admiration.

“my family,”

“my teammates,”

“and you.”

you blinked.“me?”

he smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “especially you.”

you looked at him.“baby…”

“you’ve been there after every loss.” his thumb traced lazy circles over your cheek. “every injury.” he kissed your forehead.“every bad headline.” another kiss landed on your temple “every time i’ve been doubting myself.” he rested his forehead against yours. “you’ve never doubted me.”

you couldn’t stop the tears this time and they spilled over before you even realised. “aww jude don’t say things like that when you know i cry easily..”

jude laughed quietly, shaking his head. “there’s my beautiful crybaby.”

you gave his chest the weakest little shove. “it’s your fault.”

“i know.”

“you keep saying things.”

“good.” he wrapped you back up in his arms before you could complain anymore. “because i’ve got a lifetime’s worth left to tell you.”

you melted into him all over again, your cheek pressed against his chest as his medal rested cool against your arm.

around you, the stadium was still alive.

the fans cheered until their voices cracked, children waved england flags from their parents’ shoulders, his teammates danced together in front of the supporters and camera flashes lit up the pitch yet somehow, wrapped safely in jude’s arms, it all faded into the background.

he absentmindedly played with your hair, running his fingers through it while swaying the two of you ever so slightly.

it was something he always did when you cried. he never rushed or teased you. he just let you feel.

after a minute, he tipped your chin up again. “all done?”

you looked at him. “…no.”

he laughed. “thought so.”

“i’ve got more.”

“how many?”

you considered it seriously. “…at least another ten minutes.”

he grinned. “perfect.”

“why?”

he kissed your forehead once more.“’cause that means i get to hold you for another ten minutes.”

and (if possible) you cried even harder.

~~

DRUNK;

⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗

michael olise x f!reader.

dating.

note: thanks for ur req!

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you're drunk and michael is taking care of you.

۶ৎ pairing : Michael Olise x Journalist!reader

۶ৎ summary : Michael couldn’t contain himself after winning the world cup

۶ৎ content : fluff, kissing, secret relationship

۶ৎ author : had fun writing this short imagine based on this tiktok i saw. this is not proofread either so don’t mind my mistakes, ENJOY!!!

The final whistle blew. France had just won the world cup.

You were jumping and screaming behind the scenes, watching the whole team celebrate, and your boyfriend drop to his knees. Michael wasn’t really expressive, and seeing the big smile on his face overwhelmed you with joy.

Everyone was running around, crowd was going absolutely wild, some players were jumping, some crying, some praying. Everyone had their own ways of celebrating, but your eyes were always on him.

His blue scrunchie coming off as the relief came in. His long longs falling on his head, his smile never coming down. He was a world champion.

You’ve never been so proud, but also sad you couldn’t be with him as you were preparing for the post match interviews. You kept your relationship with Michael private, meaning you couldn’t really be with him or celebrate with him, for now.

As the celebration continued, the players lifted the trophy, and they quickly went on to dance and play with the trophy in the changing rooms.

You couldn’t wait to see Michael, hold him, tell him how proud of him you were. But it had to wait until you got home, until the whole world died down and it was only the two of you left.

As the first players started leaving and coming in for the interviews, one familiar face appeared and started walking towards you.

You were a bit surprised as you weren’t supposed to be the one interviewing him, but you tried to stay professional and composed.

He walked up to you, smiling, still kind of out of breath, his heart beating fast, adrenaline pumping.

You held up your microphone

“Tell me Michael, how are you feeling?”

His name rolling sweetly out of your mouth, making him smile even more.

”Well its such a wonderful moment, i’m very happy”

You couldn’t stop smiling, seeing him this happy and emotional. He continued

”I think we’ve earned it from start to finish, and i want to thank…”

He paused, you both knew, you also knew he couldn’t

”…The people who have always supported me. My parents, my friends…”

He stopped, smirking, trying to hold it in. He pinched his nose, looking away, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold it in if he even saw your eyes.

So you interrupted him

”It’s okay”

You tried to stay composed, brushing your hair behind your ear

”Let’s talk about the match and then we’ll come back to it”

Then he finally looked at you again, really looked at you. Your beautiful eyes, the blue white and red paint smudging on your cheeks, your bright smile flashing. That’s when he finally lost it.

”And you too”

He finally grabbed your face, lips smashing quickly against yours. One arm around your neck and the other grabbing your face. He was struck.

You leaned in, accepting the situation. This ment no more hiding, no more leaving in separate cars, no more acting like you were strangers.

He let go, remembering where you were, but still kissing your cheek before saying

”I’m leaving”

And quickly running off.

he was still a bit mad because of the game, his girlfriend congratulated them on winning but also teased him that he looked so good when he was angry, it was just doing things to her and he laughed not taking her seriously because he knows she was half serious half joking something like that

YELLOW CARD;

⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗

michael olise x f!reader.

dating.

note: thanks for ur req 😋

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: michael received a yellow card during the france-paraguay game and you tease him about it.

VIAGRA - ju. bellingham

inwhich! you tease jude about him and his team taking viagra before the mexico vs. england game.

frannytalks! this is so short, didn’t know if you wanted smut haha, i hope you like this! and he lowkey would cause an offside. 👀 don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!

Pairing : Michael Olise X Reader

Summary : You take care of him after a tiring match.

You remove the oven glove from your hand when you hear keys at the door.

Approaching the entrance, you meet an exhausted Michael, eyes half closed, heavy lids, shoulders low, slow steps.

pairing: michael olise x f!reader . . . masterlist genre: fluff synopsis: michael shares an intimate moment at the pool with you a/n: first football fic! i'm back!! hope u enjoy :) feel free to request for football!!

it started when one of the bayern boys said, "come over, everyone's bringing someone!" before long, nearly the entire squad had shown up alongside their partners.

now all you could see and hear was the water beneath you, the music blaring, and the multiple conversations going on. some guys were playing fifa outside on the tv, some playing some sort of water volleyball.

you'd spent most of the afternoon talking with some of the other girlfriends, but it was never for long. the observing was more fun; sitting back, minding your own business, enjoying the sight of people having fun.

masterlist

fluff

michael olise x female reader

plot summary: in which michael olise refuses to do a post match interview unless it’s with you.

note: pls lmk if you would like this to have a part two because i think it could work, also reminder that my requests are open and very dry currently so feel free to send any requests u like.

nobody noticed it the first time, after all michael olise was infamous for his post-match interviews, or therefore lack of. he kept things short, answering politely, praising teammates, thanking fans and disappearing before anyone could dare ask him another question.

so when he declined one broadcaster after a 2-1 win at the allianz arena and instead walked directly towards you, nobody thought much of it, everyone assumed it had been arranged beforehand. you too had assumed the same and it wasn’t until it happened again and again and again that people started to talk.

after almost every match, the routine was identical.

“michael! over here!”

“michael, just one question please?”

“michael, i’m with sky sports can we please have a minute?!”

the voices and desperate yells of journalists from all over the world overlapped each other, with microphones being shoved into faces, everyone wanting to talk to michael.

bayern’s media officer barely looked up from his clipboard anymore.

“…waiting for her?” he asked.

michael simply nodded, watching you from across the media zone as you finished up an interview with one of his teammates. he never complained, instead he’d lean against the wall, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, quietly waiting until you were free. sometimes it was five minutes, sometimes ten, once, nearly twenty.

“you know you don’t have to wait.” you laughed one evening as you hurried over after a particularly long interview, “i’m so sorry.”

“it’s alright.” michael replied, standing up straighter.

“you’ve been standing here this whole time?”

“you were busy.”

“you could’ve gone home.”

“i could have.”

“…but you didn’t.”

michael gave a small shrug.

“i wanted to talk to you.”

as the months passed, interviewing michael became easy. whilst at first every answer had been short, snippy and careful, now he actually smiled, giving detail in his answers, and occasionally he even laughed.

“you looked frustrated after that missed chance.”

“i was.”

“i was wondering if you’d admit that.”

“well, i knew you’d ask.”

another evening, after a late winner, you teased him about his celebration.

“you smiled.”

“did i?” michael replied, feigning confusion.

“you did.”

“hmm.”

“you know there are photos.” you told him coyishly causing him to break out into a reserved grin.

“that’s unfortunate.”

then came the first match you missed. you’d come down with a bad flu, and despite insisting you were well enough to travel, your producer refused to let you work.

“rest,” he had told you. “we’ll send someone else.”

after the match, as usual michael made his way into the media area, looking around the room, his eyes darting from camera crew to camera crew before stopping as the media officer droned on in his ear.

“…where is she?” he asked, completely ignoring any previous conversation.

the media officer looked up in recognition.

“oh… she’s off today.”

michael frowned.

“…off?”

“she’s ill.” the media officer clarified.

michael glanced back towards the tunnel, almost expecting you to appear anyway. you didn’t.

“they’ve sent someone else,” the media officer added, directing him towards a disturbingly striking blonde with a wide smile.

“i’ll be interviewing you tonight.” she spoke, her voice grating in his ears.

michael shook his head.

“no.”

the reporter blinked.

“…no?”

“no you won’t. i’m not doing interviews.”

“michael…”

“i’ll wait.”

bayern’s media officer couldn’t help but smile.

“she’s not running late.”

“…oh.”

and for the first time all evening, he looked genuinely disappointed.

when you missed the following midweek fixture as well, everyone already knew how it would go down as they watched the replacement reporter approach him.

“ready?” she asked.

“…is she back?”

“not yet.”

michael sighed quietly.

“i’ll pass.”

the reporter laughed sourly.

“you know, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“sorry.” he replied dryly, walking off, not sorry at all.

by the weekend, you were finally back and the moment you stepped into the tunnel, several reporters grinned.

“look who’s here.” one jeered.

“he’s been unbearable.” another nudged you.

but before you could ask what they meant, michael walked out, his eyes immediately finding yours, the tiny crease between his brows disappearing, as his body visibly relaxed.

“you came back.”

“i did.”

“you look better.”

“i feel better.”

you both smiled shyly.

“i heard you refused to speak to my replacement.” you joked.

“i did.” michael confirmed.

“…michael.”

“what?” he asked, dead serious.

“you could’ve just done the interview.”

he looked at you as though the answer was obvious.

“they weren’t you.”

heat crept up your cheeks.

“come on, that’s not exactly fair on them.”

“i know.”

“…then why?”

michael thought for a moment before answering.

“i like talking to you.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them but before you could respond one of the camera operators called from behind you.

“mate, i don’t think you’re exactly fooling anyone anymore.”

laughter echoed through the tunnel as michael looked around in confusion.

“what?”

you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing.

“nothing.”

“i’m fairly certain it wasn’t ‘nothing’.”

your producer shook his head, trying to hide a smile, and failing, as you looked back at michael.

“so…”

you clipped the microphone onto your jacket and passed him the handheld microphone, his fingers brushing yours in the intimacy of the moment.

“interview?” you asked.

a small, genuine smile appeared on his face, the kind that only seemed to surface around you.

“yeah, i’ve been waiting.”

Lamine yearning for reader 👀

Break up

synopsis: you want a break up, lamine can't handle that

Pairings: lamine yamal x fem!reader

hii I loved this reading of yours, can you also do Jobe?? 🥹

Jobe Bellingham hc

Masterlist

Jobe Bellingham head canons as your footballer boyfriend.

Note: ty for the request! Remember everything is fictional 🫰

BallerBf!Jobe who always texts you during trainings and games. The minute he gets benched as substitute he grabs your phone to text you and update on how the game is going as if you’re not watching every minute of it.

BallerBf!Jobe who knows you’re not as athletic as him but still goes easy on you and purposely plays bad in order for you to do well.

BallerBf!Jobe that tried his best to teach you some football tricks that you absolutely botched, in which he never lost patience and could only laugh and repeat to learn you the right way.

BallerBf!Jobe who sees you get embarrassed when you kick the ball the opposite way and gets all giggly like it’s the cutest thing ever.

BallerBf!Jobe who got you a custom football shirt made with ‘Jobe Bellingham#7’ on it. And for himself he got one too but with your last name instead.

BallerBf!Jobe who then kept wanting you to wear his shirt while he wore he shirt with your last name on it to show you off.

jude bellingham x influencer!reader

a/n: this is my first fic so i was kinda experimenting a lil and trying to figure out how things work😭

warnings: use of y/n and reader interchangeably, first smau ever😔, not proofread fr

life_with.reader

🎵playing: as-stevie wonder

liked by indiyahhh, bsf1 and 500k others

we won!

new weekly vlog out now!

comments

user1: she’s so cute

user2: we love when liverpool doesn’t disappoint

life_with.y/n: you get it

user3: did anybody notice the guy in the background of the vid

user4: omg yes he looked athletic kind of🤭

user5: is that her bf or sum🤨

user2: yall are reaching probs just a friend😐

life_with.y/n

private dms

bsf1

bsf1: why are you acting like that’s not your boyfriend🤨

y/n: i wanna soft launch yk😛

bsf1: you’re so odd

jude

jude: i didn’t know we were posting each other now

y/n: we aren’t but i kinda wanna soft launch, kinda ease it into their brains🤗

jude: love you’re certainly a funny one

life_with.reader

thanks so much for having me! i had such a great time @thegirlspod

liked by thegirlspod, bsf2, 1.2m others

comments

user3: them asking about bellingham is frying me

user7: ikr😭 like she literally hates madrid

user8: what’s worse is her saying that’s her celebrity crush 💀

life_with.reader

liked by jude.bellingham, bsf1 and 1.1m others

I MET BELLINGHAM

new weekly vlog out now

comments

user8: JUDE IN THE LIKES WTH💀

user6: no actually what is going on

life_with.reader: gang idk either😪

y/n_updates

liked by 2m others

idek what this is anymore

comments

user12: WHATTTT

user13: who even is she?

user14: idk maybe one of londons biggest ytbers

private msgs w/ jude

reader: jude bellingham what was that interview

jude💗: idk you tell me

reader: omg😭 stop playing

jude: i’m not you are great yk

reader: flattery is not gonna work on me😒 people are actually gonna think something ups between us

jude💗: well it’s more than something you are my girlfriend 😃

jude💗: i think it’s time we say it bc im tired of hiding you

reader: you’re so lucky you make it sound so sweet or i would’ve killed u😐

life_with.reader

🎵: summertime- the sundays

liked by judebellingham, k.mbappe, and 2m others

cats out the bag ig! he’s my jude💗

comments restricted

bsf1: finally😫 i’ve been waiting for this

judebellingham: my love❤️

a/n: ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED with this idea omg thank u lipgloss anon you never disappoint oml 🙏

Even if it made your head spin a little, you were grateful for how loud the stadium was since it made gossiping with your boyfriend easier. Leaning over to him for what seemed like the thousandth time you whispered a snarky remark in his ear, leaning back with a satisfied smile after seeing him break into a smile.

Sure it might not have been the best thing to be doing at a basketball match you had been specially invited to, but it sure was fun. The screech of a whistle signified the end of the second quarter and you watched as the attention shifted away from the courts. People around you hurried to beat the bathroom lines or to grab a drink, but you and your boyfriend stayed put.

“Look over there,” you hear him chuckle and you did as you were told, eyes landing on a couple clearly in a fight. Your smile only widened when you noticed the two of them wearing different jerseys.

You were in the process of leaning over to offer another comment, but you noticed your boyfriend’s eyes drifting upwards. Regardless you started anyways, before his hand came up, gently bumping the side of your cheek as he shielded it. Looking at your confused expression, he let out a low chuckle as he nodded to the giant screen hovering over the centre of the court.

“All eyes are on us baby, be careful,” looking upwards, you were met with the giant image of the two of you. Trying your best not to look ridiculously guilty at being caught in the act you smiled and gave a shy little wave.

explaining something while frustrated

"não, meu amor, that’s not what i mean.”

joão drags his hand down his face, already halfway through explaining whichever football rule you asked about. 

he’s clearly getting frustrated with the topic itself, words coming out faster and faster. except, every time he looks at you his expression seems to soften.

“listen, meu amor, if the defender is here—“ he points at the screen in front of you two, sighing dramatically. then immediately reaches over to squeeze your knee.

summary: in which dean notices the quiet, suspicious intimacy growing between beau and his sister.

pairing: beau maxwell x fem!dilaurentisreader

notes: hi!! thank you so much for your request. i hope i've done your idea justice <3 💌

ˋ°•*⁀➷ in other words, four times dean notices moments between beau and y/n that feel a little too intimate to ignore, and the one time he finally catches on.

ꪆৎ

the car ride

the thing about cape cod was that it had always felt like tradition.

same beach house, same salt-heavy air, same worn wooden deck that creaked under bare feet, same maxwells, same di laurentis family.

for as long as you could remember, summers were spent in cape cod. beach days, late-night bonfires, shared dinners, too many drinks, too much laughter.

it was familiar in the kind of way that felt permanent, except this summer, everything had changed. somehow, somewhere between classes at briar and now, beau maxwell had stopped being just your brother’s best friend and started becoming yours.

secretly, quietly, completely.

which meant one thing.

dean could absolutely never find out.

the first time dean nearly catches on, it happens before you even reach the holiday house, which in hindsight, should've been a clear warning. luckily, he brushes it off as nothing.

dean drives, claiming it’s because he knows the route better, but really, it’s because he has control issues, deeply mistrusting anyone else behind the wheel.

you sit in the backseat, legs tucked beneath you, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, one hand wrapped around an iced coffee.

beau sits in the passenger seat. too close, yet too far all at once.

he looks unfairly good for someone who’d been awake since six that morning, like he hadn’t spent half the night before in your dorm room, his hands warm against your waist as he kissed you breathless against the wall until you’d both lost track of time.

his hair is still damp from a shower, one arm resting against the open window, tanned skin catching the late morning light. every now and then, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, meeting yours.

never long enough for dean to notice, but always long enough to make your pulse jump.

“so,” dean says, one hand loose on the wheel. “ground rules for the week.”

you immediately groan from the backseat. “oh my god.” beau’s mouth twitches in amusement.

dean glances at you in the mirror. “don’t start.”

“we haven’t even arrived and you’re already lecturing me.”

“because i know you.”

“you know nothing.”

“i know enough to know you make questionable decisions near large bodies of water.”

you sit forward slightly. “that was one time.”

“you fell off a paddleboard while it was still tied to the dock, y/n.”

"i was nine years old!"

beau coughs into his hand, attempting to hide his laughter. you narrow your eyes, gaze landing on the back of his head. “don’t laugh.”

he glances back at you, eyes warm. “i didn’t say anything.”

“your shoulders moved.”

beau turns to look out the window, still smiling, feigning innocence.

you hate him a little for how easily he can do that. how easily he can sit in the front seat, acting as though nothing is happening. like he hadn’t slipped his fingers around your waist for one fleeting second while dean loaded the cooler into the trunk. like he hadn’t whispered, “i miss you,” even though you had been standing two feet apart.

dean keeps talking. something about not getting lost, not swimming too far out, and not letting joanna convince you to jump off the dock after midnight.

you hear maybe half of it, because beau’s hand has shifted. casual, at first, resting near the centre console, then lower. closer to the gap between the seats.

your eyes drop instantly. his fingers hang loosely there, hidden from dean's direct line of sight.

an invitation.

you stare at his hand for a second too long before reaching forward, pretending to grab something from the cupholder. your fingers brush his gently. the action so brief, yet enough for beau to react.

you notice the smallest flex of his hand, like he wants to catch yours and hold it.

“you listening, y/n?” dean asks suddenly.

your head snaps up. “yes.”

your brother looks at you in the rearview mirror. “what did i just say?” you blink. beau turns his face towards the window once more.

traitor.

“you said...” you start slowly, buying time. “to make good choices.”

dean stares at you. “that is the vaguest answer you could’ve possibly given.”

beau loses the internal battle he must've been having with himself, laughing under his breath.

dean glances at him briefly, “what?”

beau shakes his head in response. “nothing.”

dean's eyebrows furrow temporarily, looking at his best friend for a few seconds more. not suspicious yet, just watching. you feel beau’s hand pull back instantly, and the absence of it makes your chest ache.

-

an hour later, somewhere after the second gas station stop, dean brings up a topic that almost ruins everything.

“oh y/n,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just lit a match in the middle of the car. “someone asked about you last week.”

you look up from your phone. “me?”

“yeah.”

beau’s body stills, not much, but enough that you notice. dean reaches for his drink. “a guy from hockey. matthews.”

your face blanks slightly. “who?”

“exactly,” dean says. “which is why i told him no chance.”

you frown. “you told him no chance?”

“obviously.”

“dean.”

“what?”

“you can’t just police every interaction that may come my way.”

“i absolutely can.”

beau stays facing forward, but you catch the way his jaw ticks, fingers tightening briefly where his arm rests against the window. it's subtle, small enough that dean misses it entirely, however you don’t, of course you don’t.

“he asked if you were seeing anyone,” dean continues, completely unaware of the way your pulse had started to climb. “i told him no, and that he should probably leave it there.”

you stare at him. “that’s insane.”

“that’s brotherly.”

“that’s overstepping, dean.”

“same thing.”

beau joins the conversation before he seems to think better of it. “you told him she wasn’t seeing anyone?”

the car goes quieter, not silent, but quieter.

dean glances sideways at him. “yeah.”

beau keeps his gaze on the road. “right.”

your fingers tighten around your phone, anxiety coursing throughout your body. dean’s brows pull together slightly. “why?”

beau shrugs, attempting to be casual. “just asking.”

“since when do you care who my sister’s dating?”

there it is, the first crack.

you feel yourself almost stop breathing. beau doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move, doesn’t panic. he just leans back against the seat and says, “i don’t.” a beat passes, then he adds. “i just think maybe y/n can answer for herself.”

your heart twists. dean’s eyes narrow slightly, caught somewhere between amused and confused. “wow,” he says. “that's very noble of you."

you kick the back of his seat. “shut up.”

dean laughs, and the tension breaks, barely, but not completely. beau looks in the rearview mirror a few seconds later, and this time, when your eyes meet, there’s something there.

something possessive, something frustrated, something almost apologetic.

dean sees just enough of that glance to go quiet, only for a second, but you notice, so does beau.

2. the annual di laurentis & maxwell beach volleyball match

the second time dean nearly catches on, it happens during the annual beach volleyball match, which is ridiculous, because the annual match is usually the least romantic event of the entire summer.

the teams change every year, mostly because dean insists on drafting like he’s building an olympic roster instead of playing barefoot volleyball with relatives and family friends on a beach. this year, you end up on a different team to beau. which is both a blessing and a curse.

a blessing because standing beside him would have been dangerous. a curse because standing across from him somehow turns out to be worse.

he's shirtless, which shouldn't matter, because you've seen him shirtless before, many times.

recently, privately.

with your hands against his chest, his mouth at your throat, his voice soft in your ear telling you to stay quiet. you should have been immune. unfortunately, you're not, not even close.

beau stands on the opposite side of the net beside joanna, sunlight catching on his shoulders, hair pushed back messily from the ocean.

you’re wearing a bikini you had almost talked yourself out of wearing. dean had barely glanced at you before immediately pointing at the sunscreen bottle, “don't make me remind you again.”

you had thrown a towel at his head.

beau, on the other hand, had looked once, only once, then very deliberately looked away, which told you everything.

the game starts messy.

dean is competitive in a way that makes everyone want to either laugh or throw something at him, joanna cheats shamelessly, and beau keeps failing at pretending he isn’t watching you, his attention drawn to you like instinct.

then the guys arrive. not your guys, not anyone’s guys.

just a group from a nearby beach house. loud, sunburnt, carrying beers they definitely should have finished slower. they linger too close to the edge of the game, watching. mostly you.

you feel it before you see it. that prickling awareness of eyes staying too long. one of them says something under his breath to another, and they both laugh.

you miss the ball, dean notices immediately. “you good?” he calls from beside you.

“yeah,” you say, shaking it off. “sun got in my eyes.”

beau’s gaze has already shifted. not to the ball, not to dean, to them.

his expression changes so subtly most people probably would have missed it. his shoulders square slightly, jaw tightening. the warmth in his face completely gone.

you feel your stomach dip, because beau can’t do anything, not really. not without making it obvious, not without stepping into a role nobody is supposed to know he has.

that might be the worst part of keeping something secret. it's not the sneaking around or the lying, it's the consistent restraint. the way love has to sit quietly inside your chest even when every instinct tells it otherwise.

the next serve comes hard, and you dive for it, sand scraping your knees as you manage to bump the ball up. dean shouts something triumphant, joanna yells that it doesn't count.

you laugh breathlessly, pushing yourself up onto your hands. following your action one of the guys whistles. low, obvious, clearly directed at you. your smile falters.

beau hears it, everyone hears it, but he reacts first.

“you wanna keep your eyes on the game?” he snaps.

the beach stills slightly. your head lifts, dean turns. the guy raises his hands, laughing. “relax, man.”

beau doesn’t smile. “then stop being fucking weird.”

beau is usually easy, relaxed, charming when he wants to be. this is different. this is sharp, personal.

dean looks between beau and the guys, then back to you. you can practically see the pieces moving in his head. you stand quickly, brushing sand from your thighs.

“beau,” you say softly, too softly. his eyes cut to you immediately, not like a family friend, not like someone who has known you forever. more like someone who belongs to you, like he forgot, for one second, that he wasn’t allowed to.

dean sees that too, his expression shifting, just slightly.

“you okay?” beau asks.

you swallow. “yeah.”

dean’s brows lift. “why wouldn’t she be okay?”

beau’s eyes flick towards your brother, and for one terrifying second, you think he might say something stupid. something honest. instead, he shrugs.

“because those guys are being assholes.”

dean stares at him, then slowly turns towards the guys. “he’s right,” dean says, and just like that, big brother dean takes over.

which should be helpful.

except now beau looks like he wants to murder someone, dean looks like he’s trying to understand why beau cares so much, and you're standing between them in a bikini, wishing the ocean would swallow you whole.

3. 'one double chocolate chip ice cream with sprinkles, please'

the third time dean nearly catches on, it happens because of double chocolate chip ice cream. by now, he knows he's not just simply imagining it

the afternoon starts on the boat. everyone spends hours out on the water. your skin feels warm from the sun, salt drying in your hair, laughter carried away by the wind.

beau looks incredibly good it almost feels painful.

he sits near the back of the boat, sunglasses on, one arm stretched along the seat behind him, t-shirt abandoned somewhere near the cooler. every time the boat cuts over a wave, his stomach tightens slightly, and you have to pretend very hard that you're looking out at the horizon.

you're of course not looking out at the horizon. you're looking at your boyfriend, from beneath your sunglasses, like a coward, like a girl undeniably in love.

later that evening, beau docks the boat. everyone wanders into town for ice cream.

the shop is crowded, sticky floors and bright menus, families packed shoulder to shoulder, kids running around with melting cones already dripping onto their hands. before you can order, joanna tugs you back outside, insisting she needs your opinion on a bracelet in the little store next door.

which leaves dean and beau inside, alone, with your order.

it should mean nothing.

however, when you and joanna finally meet them outside, beau is already holding two cones. one mint chocolate for himself, one double chocolate chip for you.

complete with rainbow sprinkles. your favourite order. exactly.

dean’s gaze drops to the cones in beau’s hands before settling on his best friend, an unreadable expression on his features.

“how’d you know that?”

beau looks at him. “know what?”

“y/n's order.”

you step forward quickly. “everyone knows my order.” dean turns to you. “no, i know your order.”

“congratulations?”

“why does he know your order?”

beau’s face remains calm, infuriatingly calm. “she gets it every year.”

dean points at him. “i do not like how reasonable that answer was.”

joanna laughs from behind you. “dean, you’re being insane.”

“am i?”

“yes.”

dean looks at you again as you take the cone from beau carefully.

your fingers brush his. a mistake, another one. beau’s thumb moves, not much, just a small, instinctive stroke over your knuckle before he lets go.

dean’s expression goes blank. not angry, not yet. just very, very still.

you immediately shove the ice cream toward your mouth like that can somehow undo the last three seconds.

“good?” beau asks quietly. too quietly.

you nod. “yeah.”

dean stares, his gaze moving between you and beau, something unreadable settling over his features.

for the rest of the afternoon, he watches, and once he starts noticing, he can’t seem to stop.

he notices the way beau instinctively walks behind you on the crowded sidewalk, one hand briefly brushing your back to steer you away from a cyclist. the way you pass him your water bottle without even looking, and he takes it without question, like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before.

dean isn’t entirely sure what he’s seeing yet, but he knows enough to realise this isn’t nothing.

4. jealousy, jealousy

the drinks night is supposed to be casual, which in hindsight, is exactly why it becomes a problem.

it’s just you, beau, dean and joanna at your favourite beachside bar in town, tucked around a small table beneath warm string lights, the air sticky with salt, and music low enough that everyone still has to lean in slightly to hear each other.

dean is, predictably, thriving.

he’s halfway through a beer, leaning against the back of his chair with that stupidly charming smile on his face while some girl at the next table over keeps glancing at him.

joanna notices first.

“oh my god dean" she mutters into her straw. “she’s been looking at you for ten minutes.”

dean’s brows lift. “has she?”

you snort. “don’t act humble. it doesn’t suit you.”

dean's gaze shifts to yours as a smirk graces his features. “what can i say...i’m naturally magnetic, y/n.”

“you’re naturally annoying.”

beau laughs quietly beside you, the sound brushing over you in the way it always does. low, familiar, private even when everyone else can hear it.

you don’t look at him. you can’t.

his knee is pressed lightly against yours beneath the table, hidden by the shadows and the angle of joanna's chair. it has taken every ounce of self-control in your body not to lean into him properly.

dean catches the girl’s eye and smiles. that’s all it takes, within five minutes, she’s at the table. pretty, confident, already laughing at something dean says before he’s even finished saying it.

then, because apparently the universe has decided to punish you personally, two of her friends follow suit.

one of them looks directly at beau and you feel your stomach drop.

she’s tall, sun-kissed, wearing a white linen dress. she has the kind of easy smile that comes from knowing it’s almost always returned.

“hi,” she says, leaning slightly towards him. “i’m natalie.”

beau glances at her politely, tipping his head in greeting. “beau.”

“beau,” she repeats, like she’s testing how it sounds. “that’s cute.”

your fingers tighten around your glass. joanna's eyes flick to you immediately. she knows, of course she does.

dean is too busy flirting to notice anything yet, but joanna sees the way your smile stills. the way you look down at your drink instead of across the table. the way beau’s knee presses a little more firmly against yours, like he feels the shift before you even say a word.

“are you here for the summer too?” natalie asks.

“just the week,” beau says.

polite, short, safe.

not rude enough to raise questions, not warm enough to invite anything. still, it burns.

she doesn’t know he’s yours.

she doesn’t know that his hand had been at your waist fifteen minutes ago in the hallway outside the bathrooms, thumb brushing beneath the hem of your shirt while he whispered that you looked beautiful.

she doesn’t know anything, and you hate that she’s allowed to look at him like she might.

“you should come by our place later,” natalie says, smile widening. “we’re having people over.”

beau pauses and you feel your throat tighten instinctively. dean, finally tuning back in, glances over with lazy amusement. “look at that, maxwell. making friends.”

your nails press lightly into your palm beneath the table.

beau doesn’t look at dean. he looks at you, just for half a second, too quick for anyone else, long enough for your heart to twist.

he turns back to natalie. “thanks, but we’ve already got plans.”

your chest loosens slightly. natalie tilts her head. “all of you?”

beau’s mouth lifts faintly, but his voice stays steady. “yeah.”

dean narrows his eyes slightly. “do we?”

joanna immediately kicks him under the table.

“ow.”

“yes,” she says brightly. “we do.”

you take a sip of your drink to hide your smile. natalie lingers for another second, clearly not used to being dismissed that gently, then shrugs and lets one of her friends pull her back towards the bar.

the moment she’s gone, dean looks between all of you.

“why are you guys being so weird?”

joanna rolls her eyes. “because you make everything weird.”

you stand suddenly, grabbing your drink. “i’ll be back, i'm going to grab some water.”

you slip through the crowd towards the bar, heart beating too fast for something so small, because it is small. you know it’s small. beau didn’t flirt back, he barely even smiled, but secrecy makes everything feel sharper.

every glance someone gives him feels like a reminder that the world still thinks he’s available.

you’re waiting at the bar when he appears beside you. not touching, not close enough to be obvious, but there.

“y/n,” he says quietly.

you keep your eyes on the counter. “you didn’t have to follow me.”

“yeah,” he says softly. “i did.”

you swallow. for a second, neither of you speak.

beau leans one elbow against the bar, studying your expression. “talk to me.”

your grip tightens slightly around your drink. “it’s silly, beau.”

his voice stays gentle. “i don’t think it is.”

you exhale slowly, trying to put words to the feeling. “it’s not even about her.”

beau stays quiet, letting you speak.

your voice softens, “it’s just… hard sometimes.” finally, you look at him. “having to sit there and act like i don’t care.”

something in his expression shifts immediately. understanding, softness, guilt.

he glances down briefly, then back at you. “i’m sorry, y/n.”

you blink. “for what?”

“for putting you in that position.” his voice is low, steady. “for making you feel like you have to pretend none of this matters.”

your chest tightens, “beau-”

“because it does matter.”

his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “you matter.”

your expression softens. his hand shifts on the bar, close enough that his fingers brush yours for half a second. quick. hidden.

“she didn’t matter.”

your breath catches.

his voice stays quiet. “i knew exactly who i was leaving with tonight.”

emotion lodges somewhere in your throat. you look down, a small smile finally pulling at your lips once more.

“i’m sorry.”

beau’s brows pull together slightly. “don’t apologise.”

“i know she didn’t mean anything,” you say softly. “i just… had a moment.”

his expression turns impossibly gentle. “you’re allowed to.” silence settles between you again, but it feels softer now, steadier. “are we okay?” he asks quietly.

this time, your smile comes easier. small. warm.

“yeah.”

some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “okay.”

he says it so softly it almost sounds like relief.

back at the table, dean watches the two of you standing side by side at the counter, not touching, not too close, nothing obvious.

yet, something about it feels strangely intense, serious. your expressions are soft but focused, like you’re having a conversation that matters.

beau says something quietly. you look down, then back up. dean narrows his eyes slightly. he can’t hear a word, can’t see anything concrete, but something about the whole thing feels… off.

a series of tiny moments that finally stop feeling explainable. nothing obvious, nothing he can actually point to.

yet, enough to leave dean with the quiet, unsettling feeling that he’s missing something.

5. uh oh...

back at the house, you find beau in the kitchen, alone. finally.

the whole house is loud around you, music plays from the living room, parents drink wine on the deck, dean somewhere outside arguing with joanna about whether he cheated at cards.

beau stands by the sink, sleeves pushed up, rinsing sand out of a cooler. you pause in the doorway, he looks up. everything in his face softens, quietly, instantly.

“hi,” he says.

your heart aches. “hi.”

for a moment, neither of you move. “dean’s watching us” you whisper.

beau huffs softly, turning off the tap. “yeah.”

“you noticed?”

“it's pretty hard not to.”

you lean back against the counter, a small smirk gracing your features. “you were the one who knew my ice cream order.”

“i do know your ice cream order.”

“that’s the problem.”

his mouth curves faintly. “i'm sorry for paying attention to you.”

you give him a look. he steps closer, not touching, not yet, but close enough that the air shifts.

“i’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”

your gaze lifts to his. the bar, about how hard this had become.

beau’s jaw tightens slightly. “i hate that you feel like you have to sit there pretending none of this matters.”

your chest tightens. “beau-”

“i mean it.” his voice is calm, steady. “watching you walk away earlier because you felt like you couldn’t react… it sucked.”

your expression softens. "it did for me too.”

“not being able to just…” he exhales, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth before lifting again. “be normal with you.”

your chest pulls tight. “beau.”

his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “i know why we’re doing this,” he says quietly. “i do. dean’s your brother. he’s my best friend. i understand why this is complicated.”

his voice drops. “but i’m starting to hate pretending.”

your throat tightens, you look down. “dean’s already noticing.”

“yeah.”

“he’s smart.”

a faint smile touches beau’s mouth. “unfortunately.”

you let out a small laugh, your face softening once more. “that’s what scares me.”

the words sit between you, honest, fragile. beau’s hand lifts slowly, giving you enough time to pull away. you don’t. his fingers brush your wrist, then settle there gently, hidden below the counter.

beau goes quiet. when he speaks again, his voice is gentler.

“dean finding out doesn’t scare me.”

your brows lift slightly. “it doesn’t?”

he shakes his head. “no.”

you laugh softly despite the seriousness of the conversation. “it should."

he stifles a small laugh before shaking his head. “what scares me is losing this.”

your breath catches, his eyes lock on yours.

“losing you, y/n.”

everything in you stills. beau’s expression shifts, suddenly more vulnerable than before, like the words came out before he could stop them.

he swallows. “i’m serious, baby i-”

dean’s voice sounds down the hallway, growing louder as he nears the kitchen. beau steps back quickly, the action alone looking suspicious. dean appears in the doorway two seconds later, his eyes move from you to beau, then to the space between you, then back again.

“what’s going on?”

you grab the nearest object off the counter. a spoon, for no reason.

“nothing.”

dean looks at the spoon in your hand, then at you. “why are you holding that like a weapon?”

you look down. “because you scared me.”

dean's eyebrows furrow. “by entering a kitchen?”

“aggressively.”

beau coughs. dean’s eyes flick to him.

“something funny?”

beau shakes his head. “nope.”

dean stares at him for one long second. then points between you. “you two are being weird.”

your stomach drops. “we’re not.”

“you are.”

“you think everyone is weird.”

“because lately everyone is being weird.”

he holds your gaze for another moment, and for a second, you think that’s it. that he knows, that he’s about to say it.

but then joanna yells from outside, accusing dean of hiding the cards, and he backs out of the doorway with one last suspicious glance. “this conversation isn’t over.”

you wait until he disappears. then exhale. beau looks at you.

“we’re terrible at this.”

-

the following day

the time dean actually catches you, it’s the last night, which feels unfair and inevitable at the same time.

the kind of thing summer had been building towards all week.

the house is full of noise behind you. music, laughter, screen doors opening and shutting, someone yelling about missing marshmallows, the distant clink of bottles being moved across the deck.

you slip away after dinner, simply needing some fresh air.

the dock is quiet when you get there, the water black and silver beneath the moon, the old wood still warm from the day’s heat beneath your bare feet. you sit at the edge with your knees pulled up, chin resting against them.

for a few minutes, you're alone, then the dock creaks behind you.

you don’t turn around, already knowing who had come to join you. beau sits beside you without speaking, shoulder brushing yours.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. tomorrow everyone goes home, and cape cod becomes another distant memory, until next year.

“you disappeared,” he says quietly.

“so did you.”

his mouth curves faintly. “followed you.”

you look at him then, bad idea. the moonlight softens him. his hair is messy from the wind, sweatshirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, eyes fixed on you like the rest of the world had become background noise.

“dean’s inside,” you whisper.

“i know.”

“someone could come out.”

“i know.”

you should move away, you don’t. instead, beau’s hand finds yours, his fingers threading slowly through yours like he’s giving you every chance to pull away.

not rushed, not hidden this time.

“i’m tired of pretending i don’t want to do that,” he says.

your eyes sting suddenly. “beau.”

“i don’t want to spend the whole year only looking at you when no one else is paying attention, y/n.”

your fingers tighten around his. “i don’t either.”

he turns more fully toward you. “then we tell him.”

you laugh once, nervous and soft. “you say that like it’s easy.”

“it won’t be.”

“he might kill you.”

“probably.”

you huff a small laugh in response. he smiles faintly, but his eyes stay serious. “i’d rather deal with him than keep making you feel like something i’m hiding.”

that gets you, completely. this is exactly what you had been too afraid to say out loud.

you look down at your joined hands. “you don’t make me feel like that.”

“sometimes this does though, y/n”

you hate that he’s right. you hate that you love him for noticing. the word arrives in your chest before you can stop it.

love.

maybe it had been there for longer than you realised, waiting patiently for you to stop looking away. beau reaches up slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. you close your eyes for half a second, savouring the moment.

“we should go back,” you whisper.

“yeah.”

neither of you moves. his hand stays on your cheek. your eyes open, and then he kisses you. softly at first, careful, like even now, even after everything, he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.

you don’t.

you lean into him, one hand curling into the front of his sweatshirt. beau makes a quiet sound into the kiss like the week had finally caught up with him all at once.

his arm slides around your waist, yours around his neck. for once, there is no pretending, no careful distance, no stolen almost-touch hidden behind towels or car seats or kitchen counters.

just beau.

warm and solid and yours beneath the summer night.

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

you tear apart so fast you nearly lose your balance. beau’s hand catches your waist instinctively, which, unfortunately, does not help your case.

dean stands at the start of the dock. still, silent. your heart drops through your stomach.

“dean,” you breathe.

he doesn’t look at you first, he looks at beau.

to his credit, he doesn’t move away from you completely. beau lets go of your waist, but he stays close. close enough that dean notices. close enough that you do too.

“how long?” dean asks, his voice calm, too calm.

you stand slowly. “dean-”

“how long?”

beau answers. “a few months.”

dean’s jaw tightens. “months,” dean repeats.

you wrap your arms around yourself. “we were going to tell you.”

he laughs once, humourless. “when? at your wedding?”

“that’s not fair.”

“isn’t it?”

his eyes finally move to you, and the anger cracks just enough for hurt to show underneath. that is worse, so much worse. “you lied to me.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

“both of you.”

beau’s voice stays low. “that’s on me.”

dean turns on him instantly. “do not do that.”

beau stills.

“don’t stand there and try to take all of it like that fixes the fact that you’ve been sneaking around with my sister behind my back.”

“i’m not trying to fix it.”

“good, because it doesn’t.”

you step forward. “dean, please.”

his face softens for half a second at your voice, then he looks away, dragging a hand through his hair. for a while, nobody says anything. the water moves quietly beneath the dock. the house hums behind you, distant and unaware.

finally, dean exhales, long, tired.

“i kind of figured.”

you blink. beau’s head lifts slightly. dean looks at you both like you’ve personally exhausted him. “i’m not an idiot.”

you say nothing. he points towards the house. “the car ride? weird.”

“the volleyball thing? very weird.”

beau looks down.

“the ice cream?” dean continues. “please. beau knew about the rainbow sprinkles, y/n.”

“lots of people know i like rainbow sprinkles,” you mutter weakly. dean gives you a flat look, you take it as a sign to stop talking.

“and the kitchen,” he adds. “you were holding a spoon like you’d been caught redhanded”

beau presses his lips together. wrong time to laugh, dangerously wrong.

“something funny, maxwell?”

beau shakes his head. “no.”

“good.” silence again. dean’s shoulders drop slightly, not forgiveness, not completely, but something less sharp.

“i’m not mad because it’s you,” he says, looking at beau. that surprises you, it seems to surprise beau too.

dean’s jaw works once. “honestly, if it had to be someone…” he stops, annoyed with himself for even saying it. “whatever. that’s not the point.”

your voice comes out small. “what is the point?”

dean looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly he’s not angry in the loud way anymore.

he’s your brother.

the boy who used to carry your beach bag because he said you packed like you were fleeing the country. the boy who scared off guys before you even knew they were interested. the boy who pretended he wasn’t protective while being the most protective person alive.

“the point is you’re my sister, y/n” he says, softer now. “and he’s my best friend. and both of you decided i was the last person who got to know.”

your chest aches. “we were scared.”

“of me?”

you hesitate. dean’s expression shifts, that hurts him too.

“not like that,” you say quickly. “not because we thought you’d be horrible. just because it mattered. because you matter. because beau matters. and i didn’t want everything to change before we even knew what this was.”

dean looks at you for a long moment, then his gaze flicks to beau. “do you know what this is?”

beau doesn’t look away. “yeah.”

your breath catches. dean studies him carefully. “yeah?”

beau nods once. “i love her.”

everything stops. you turn towards him. for a second you forget dean is there, forget the dock, forget the entire summer sitting around you.

beau’s eyes meet yours, steady despite the nerves in his face. “i didn’t want to say it like this,” he says quietly.

your eyes burn. a small, helpless laugh escapes you. “on a dock while my brother plots your murder?”

beau’s mouth lifts faintly. “yeah. not exactly how i pictured it.” dean makes a strangled sound. “i’m literally standing right here.” you look back at him, wiping quickly beneath one eye.

“sorry.”

dean stares at you, then at beau. he sighs like the universe has personally wronged him.

“unbelievable.”

his voice is different now. still annoyed, still protective, but not furious. not anymore.

he steps closer, pointing directly at beau’s chest. “you.” beau straightens immediately. “don’t fuck this up.”

“i won’t.”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i.”

dean’s eyes narrow. “she’s my sister. don’t forget that.” beau’s face softens, but his voice stays firm.

“i never have.”

dean looks away, jaw tight, before pointing vaguely between you both.

“and no more sneaking around.”

you nod quickly. “okay.”

“no more lying.”

“okay.”

“and absolutely no making out on docks while everyone else is inside eating dessert.”

you frown. “that feels very specific.”

“because it just happened.”

beau looks down, hiding another smile. dean points at him again. “wipe that look off your face.”

beau immediately does, you bite your lip. dean turns to you, eyes narrowing. “and you. don’t think you’re getting out of this because you look emotional.”

you blink up at him. he lasts three seconds, maybe four, then his expression breaks. “come here,” he mutters. you step into him immediately.

dean wraps his arms around you, tight and familiar, one hand pressing briefly to the back of your head the way he used to when you were younger, crying over things you didn’t want to explain.

your throat closes. “i’m sorry,” you whisper.

he sighs into your hair. “yeah. you should be.”

his arms tighten. “i just didn’t want to lose you,” you admit quietly.

dean stills, pulling back enough to look at you. “you’re not losing me because you fell for my idiot best friend, y/n.”

beau mutters, “fair.”

dean doesn’t look away from you. “you’re stuck with me.”

your mouth trembles into a smile. “unfortunately.”

“watch it.”

you laugh softly, and dean’s face eases a little at the sound.

he looks over your shoulder at beau. “you can walk her back.”

beau blinks. “i can?”

“don’t make me regret saying it.”

“i won’t.”

dean starts walking backward towards the house, still pointing.

“door stays open.”

“dean.”

“i don’t care if we’re outside right now, the door stays open.”

you groan. “you’re so annoying.”

he turns finally, heading back toward the house, but stops halfway. for a second, he looks back. not at beau this time, at you.

his expression softens. “for what it’s worth,” he says, quieter. “i’m glad it’s him.” he disappears into the noise of the house before either of you can answer.

you stand there for a moment, stunned. beau steps closer beside you. careful now. respectful of the fact that everything has changed, and yet nothing at all.

“you okay?” he asks. you look at him, really look at him. the boy you had spent the whole summer loving in glances, in almost-touches, in quiet corners and stolen seconds. the boy who had just told your brother he loved you without flinching.

you nod slowly. “you love me?”

his face softens. “yeah.”

your heart turns over. “that’s inconvenient.”

beau laughs quietly, stepping close enough for his fingers to brush yours. “very.”

you slip your hand into his, openly, for the first time. “i love you too,” you whisper.

beau’s entire expression changes. he leans down, then stops, glancing towards the house.

you laugh softly. “dean said no sneaking around.”

“this isn’t sneaking.”

“no?”

his thumb brushes over your hand. “not anymore.”

so you kiss him again, softly, briefly. smiling against his mouth when someone from the deck yells, “door stays open!”

dean, obviously.

Summary: You let loose with the girls after Allie’s final performance of the season and Logan has to come get your drunk ass.

Ahead: John Logan x reader, purely fluff, excessive drinking, dumb short I'm sorry

“Hello?” Logan’s voice was raspy with sleep as he answered his phone after several rings. He blinked his eyes in the darkness, temporarily blinded by the light of his phone screen which clearly displayed your name and a picture he had taken of you after one of his games. 

“I need you to come get me.” You giggled into the phone, speech slurred and music playing muffled in the background like you were just outside of the main area of whatever bar or party you were at.