definitely need dillon brooks x reader where the reader is about to fight but gets calmed down by dillon 💆♀️☺️
hold me back.
a dillon brooks fic
summary ~ requested!
includes ~ angst to fluff // almost violence // boyfriend dillon // girlfriend reader
a/n ~ reminds me of one i did for miles like this.
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You weren’t usually the type to start fights.
Finish them? Maybe.
But start them? No.
You were grown. You had self-control. You had a reputation to protect, a cute outfit on, and a man who already got enough technical fouls for the both of you. You were supposed to be the calmer one. The one who rolled her eyes, sipped her drink, and let ignorance pass because not everything deserved a reaction.
That was what you told yourself.
Then she said Dillon’s name.
Not casually. Not as a fan. Not even as a joke.
She said it with that little smirk, that raised eyebrow, that tone women used when they wanted you to know they were trying you on purpose.
And just like that, all your growth packed its bags.
The lounge was loud, warm, and crowded with people pretending they weren’t watching the NBA players scattered around the VIP section. Dillon had brought you out after a long week, promising it would be relaxed. Just music, friends, a little food, and him getting to see you dressed up in the dress he kept staring at like he was personally offended by how good you looked.
For most of the night, it had been cute.
Dillon had stayed close, one arm thrown across the back of the booth, his fingers brushing your shoulder every now and then. He was in a good mood, laughing with his teammates, leaning down to hear you whenever you spoke, occasionally kissing your temple when he thought no one was paying attention.
But people were always paying attention.
Especially women who liked attention back.
You noticed her earlier in the night.
Pretty, tall, wearing a silver dress and confidence she wanted everyone to see. You clocked the way she looked at Dillon, but you didn’t care at first. People looked at him all the time. He was tall, famous, handsome, and carried himself like he knew he could annoy an entire arena and sleep peacefully afterward.
Looking was not the problem.
The problem was when she drifted too close to your section with her friends, laughing a little too loud, pretending to talk to someone else while her eyes kept sliding toward him.
Still, you ignored it.
Dillon noticed though.
He leaned close to your ear. “You good?”
“I’m fine.”
He paused.
You already knew he didn’t believe you.
“You sure?”
“Dillon.”
He smiled a little. “Ight.”
You lasted another ten minutes.
Then you got up to go to the restroom, and that was when she appeared near the hallway like she had been waiting for you.
“Cute dress,” she said.
You glanced at her. “Thank you.”
You kept walking.
She followed a step behind. “You came with Dillon?”
You slowed.
There it was.
You turned your head slightly. “Yeah.”
Her smile sharpened. “That’s interesting.”
Your face stayed calm. “Is it?”
“Yeah.” She looked you up and down, slow enough to be disrespectful. “I didn’t know he was bringing girlfriends out now.”
Something in your chest clicked.
Not broke.
Clicked.
Like a door unlocking.
You turned fully toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged, still smiling. “Nothing. Just didn’t know he was serious with anybody.”
You looked at her for a long second.
The hallway was quieter than the lounge, but not empty. A few people lingered near the wall, pretending not to listen. Her friends stood behind her, wearing the kind of expressions that meant they wanted drama but didn’t want responsibility.
You smiled.
Not nicely.
“That sounds like something you could’ve kept to yourself.”
Her brows lifted. “I’m just saying.”
“No, you’re not.”
She laughed, and that was worse than anything she had said. “Girl, relax.”
You stepped closer. “Don’t tell me to relax.”
Her smile faltered for half a second.
Good.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“And you don’t know him,” you shot back. “So why are you speaking on my relationship?”
That got a couple of little reactions from the people nearby.
Her friends shifted.
The woman’s face tightened.
“I know enough.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay.”
That was it.
That was the word that should have warned everyone.
Okay.
Because when you said okay like that, you weren’t agreeing.
You were deciding.
You took one more step forward, and she straightened like she realized the conversation had turned into something she might not be able to flirt her way out of.
“Say what you mean,” you said. “Since you had so much to say.”
She scoffed. “You’re doing too much.”
“No, I’m asking you a question.”
“Over a man?”
Your smile vanished.
Over a man?
No.
Not over a man.
Over disrespect. Over the way she had waited until you were alone to test you. Over the way people thought being with somebody famous meant you were supposed to swallow every slick comment because reacting made you insecure.
You moved before you fully thought it through.
Not swinging.
Not yet.
But close enough that her friend reached for her arm.
“Girl,” one of them whispered.
You barely heard it.
Your focus narrowed.
Then a familiar hand wrapped around your waist from behind.
Firm.
Warm.
Unmistakable.
Dillon.
“Baby.”
His voice was low, right against your ear.
You were too heated to melt immediately. “Move.”
“Nah.”
“Dillon, move.”
“Not doing that.”
His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back a step. Not rough. Never rough. But strong enough that your body had no choice but to register him.
You tried to lean forward anyway. “No, 'cause she got me messed up.”
“I heard.”
That made you pause.
Only slightly.
“You heard?”
“I heard enough.”
His other hand came to your hip, turning you gently away from the woman.
You resisted. “Don’t turn me around.”
He leaned down, voice even quieter. “Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me, ma.”
The nickname hit the edge of your anger and softened it by half an inch.
Not enough.
But enough for him to work with.
You turned your head just slightly.
Dillon’s face was serious. Not amused, not entertained, not feeding off the chaos like he sometimes did on court. His eyes were locked on yours, calm but firm.
“You not fighting in this hallway.”
“She—”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t know.”
“I said I heard enough.”
You pointed past him. “Then you know she was trying me.”
“I do.”
“So move.”
He almost smiled, but wisely didn’t. “You think I’m moving so my girl can fight somebody in heels?”
“I’ll take them off.”
“Exactly why I’m not moving.”
Your nostrils flared.
Behind him, the woman muttered something under her breath.
Your head snapped toward her.
Dillon shifted instantly, blocking your view with his body.
“Don’t look over there.”
“Dillon.”
“Eyes on me.”
“She’s still talking.”
“And I’m talking louder.”
That would have been funny if you weren’t so mad.
He touched your chin gently, guiding your face back to his. “Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You breathing like you about to commit a crime.”
You glared at him.
His eyes softened just a little. “Come on, baby. Not here.”
Your hands were still shaking. Your heart was still pounding. Every part of you wanted to step around him and finish the conversation the way your body felt it needed to be finished.
But Dillon stayed in front of you.
Solid.
Unmoving.
“Don’t let her pull you out of yourself,” he said quietly.
That landed.
You hated that it landed.
He continued, “She wanted a reaction. Don’t give her the best part of you.”
“The best part of me wants to drag her.”
“That’s not the best part. That’s the loud part.”
You blinked.
Your anger stumbled.
Dillon’s thumb brushed once at your waist. “There you go. Stay with me.”
You exhaled sharply, still glaring past his shoulder.
He lowered his head a little, forcing your attention back.
“You know I got you,” he said.
“She disrespected me.”
“I know.”
“And you.”
“I don’t care about me.”
“I do.”
His face softened at that.
For a second, the hallway noise faded.
Dillon looked down at you like he understood then. Like he realized your anger wasn’t just jealousy or pride. It was protection. You had heard someone speak carelessly about the man you loved, about the relationship you had built, and something in you had stepped forward before your mind could catch up.
His voice lowered. “I know you do.”
You swallowed, breathing hard.
He touched your cheek with the back of his fingers, careful even in the middle of everything.
“But I’m right here,” he said. “She don’t get to make you forget that.”
Your jaw tightened.
The woman behind him scoffed, quieter this time.
Dillon didn’t even turn around.
That was how you knew he was serious.
Normally, Dillon lived for confrontation. He could talk with the best of them. He could turn a room icy with one sentence if he wanted to. But tonight, he wasn’t giving her a show. He wasn’t giving anyone one.
He was choosing you.
Your peace.
Your name.
Your future embarrassment level.
And honestly, your clean criminal record.
“You ready to walk away?” he asked.
“No.”
He nodded like he expected that. “Aight. We gon’ stand here then.”
You frowned. “What?”
“We gon’ stand here until you ready.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I got time.”
“You have no patience.”
“For other people, no.” His eyes stayed on you. “For you, I got plenty.”
Your anger faltered again.
“You’re cheating,” you muttered.
“How?”
“Being sweet while I’m mad.”
A small smile finally broke through. “That’s my bad.”
You looked away, but this time it wasn’t toward her.
Dillon noticed.
He took the opening, sliding his hand down to yours.
“Come with me.”
You hesitated.
Then let him lace his fingers through yours.
He didn’t drag you. Didn’t rush you. Just guided you back toward the main room with his body angled slightly between you and the hallway, like he still didn’t fully trust the situation behind him.
You heard the woman say something again.
Something low.
Something not worth repeating.
Your shoulders tensed.
Dillon squeezed your hand once.
“Keep walking.”
You did.
Barely.
When you got outside, the night air hit your face, cool enough to make you realize how hot your skin had gotten. Dillon led you to the side of the building, away from the entrance and the noise. The music was muffled now, bass thudding faintly through the walls.
You pulled your hand free and started pacing.
“I cannot stand people like that.”
Dillon leaned against the wall, watching you. “I know.”
“She waited until I was away from you. That’s what’s crazy. She didn’t say that at the table. She didn’t say that when you were sitting right there.”
“Because she not bold. She messy.”
“Exactly!”
Your hands flew as you talked. “And then it’s like, if I react, now I’m insecure. Now I’m dramatic. Now I’m the girlfriend who can’t handle other women being around. But if I don’t say anything, then I’m just supposed to let people play with me?”
Dillon nodded. “You’re right.”
You stopped pacing.
“I’m right?”
“Yeah.”
That threw you off. “Oh.”
He pushed off the wall and came closer. “You had every right to be mad.”
You searched his face. “Then why’d you stop me?”
“Because you had every right to be mad, not every right to ruin your night.”
Your mouth opened, then closed.
He continued, “And I know you. Once you get there, you don’t care what happen next until later. Then later you sit there feeling bad, talking about, ‘I shouldn’t have let her get me out of character.’”
You hated that he knew your exact post-anger speech.
Your eyes narrowed. “You think you know everything.”
“I know you.”
“Annoying.”
“Still right.”
You turned away, folding your arms.
Dillon came up behind you slowly, giving you space to move if you wanted. When you didn’t, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back against his chest.
You let him.
Barely.
“I was going to handle it,” you muttered.
He kissed the side of your head. “I know.”
“I wasn’t scared.”
“I know that too.”
“I just didn’t like her mouth.”
“I know.”
You sighed, your anger losing some of its heat now that his arms were around you.
Dillon rested his chin near your shoulder. “But you know what would’ve happened if you swung?”
“I didn’t swing.”
“If.”
You stayed quiet.
He said, “They would’ve recorded it. Posted it. Said you crazy. Said you insecure. Said whatever they wanted. Nobody would care what she said first.”
That made your stomach twist.
Because he was right.
You hated that more than anything.
His voice softened. “I’m not letting them do that to you.”
Your arms loosened slightly.
He continued, “You too pretty, too smart, too loved to be giving people a clip they don’t deserve.”
Your chest warmed despite yourself.
“You think I’m pretty when I’m mad?”
Dillon huffed a laugh against your neck. “I think you’re pretty all the time. But you scary when you mad.”
“Good.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
“I’m taking it as one.”
He laughed, and the sound finally pulled the last bit of fight out of your shoulders.
You turned in his arms.
Dillon looked down at you, hands resting at your waist.
“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment.
His brows drew together. “For what?”
“For almost making a scene.”
“You didn’t.”
“I was close.”
“Yeah.” His mouth curved. “Very close.”
You rolled your eyes.
He squeezed your waist. “But you stopped.”
“You stopped me.”
“You let me.”
That made you quiet.
Because that was true.
Dillon could hold you back physically, sure, but you both knew that wasn’t what really happened. You had listened. Not to the people around you. Not to embarrassment. To him.
Because even when you were furious, some part of you trusted him enough to come back.
His expression softened like he realized it too.
“You trust me,” he said quietly.
You looked down. “Don’t make it deep.”
“It is deep.”
“Dillon.”
“It is.”
You sighed.
He touched your face gently. “You know I’m not out here entertaining nobody, right?”
Your eyes lifted.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He studied you carefully.
You looked away for a second, then told the truth.
“I know. I just hate when people act like they can still try because you’re you.”
His face softened.
“Because I’m me?”
“You know what I mean.” You touched the front of his shirt. “You’re known. Women are bold. People think boundaries don’t apply if somebody famous is involved.”
Dillon’s jaw tightened. “They apply.”
“I know.”
He leaned closer. “I’m with you.”
Your throat tightened slightly.
“I know that too.”
“Nah.” His voice got firmer, but still gentle. “Hear me. I’m with you. Not half. Not when it’s convenient. Not just when people are watching. You.”
Your anger finally gave way to something softer.
You leaned into him, forehead pressing against his chest.
“I hate that she got to me.”
His arms came around you again. “Happens.”
“I was ready to embarrass myself.”
“Little bit.”
You pinched his side.
He laughed. “Ow. See? Violent.”
“You’re annoying.”
“And calming you down.”
“Barely.”
“But successfully.”
You lifted your head, and despite everything, a smile pulled at your mouth.
Dillon’s eyes dropped to it.
“There she is,” he murmured.
You shoved lightly at his chest. “Do not.”
“What?”
“Be cute.”
“I’m always cute.”
“You are not cute when you’re talking trash on court.”
“That’s when I’m cutest.”
“You’re delusional.”
He grinned. “But you love me.”
You looked at him for a moment.
Still a little mad. Still a little embarrassed. Still feeling the leftover adrenaline humming under your skin.
But loved.
Very loved.
“I do,” you said softly.
Dillon’s grin faded into something warmer.
“I love you too.”
He leaned down and kissed your forehead first. Then your cheek. Then, finally, your mouth, slow and steady, like he was trying to bring you the rest of the way back to yourself.
When he pulled away, you took a breath.
A real one this time.
“You want to go back in?” he asked.
You thought about it.
Then shook your head. “No.”
“Good. I didn’t either.”
You raised an eyebrow. “So you were asking for no reason?”
“I was being supportive.”
“You wanted to leave.”
“Absolutely.”
You laughed, and he smiled like that was all he had wanted.
Dillon took your hand and led you toward the car. As you walked, he glanced over at you.
“What?” you asked.
“Next time somebody tries you, just come get me.”
“You’re going to fight women for me?”
“No.” He opened the car door. “Imma just stare at them until they feel stupid.”
You paused.
“That might work.”
“It will.”
You slid into the passenger seat, shaking your head.
He leaned down before closing the door. “And if that don’t work, I’ll carry you out again.”
“You did not carry me.”
“Emotionally, I did.”
You burst out laughing. “Goodnight, Dillon.”
He smiled, pleased with himself, and closed the door.
On the ride home, your hand stayed in his.
You were still annoyed. Still replaying what she said. Still imagining a few responses you wished you had gotten off before Dillon interrupted. But the heat was gone now. The danger of it.
In its place was him.
His thumb moving over your knuckles.
His voice low as he asked if you wanted food.
His presence steady beside you.
Dillon Brooks, professional instigator to everyone else, somehow the only person who could talk you down when you were ready to lose it.
You looked over at him while he drove.
He glanced back. “What?”
You squeezed his hand.
“Thank you for stopping me.”
His face softened.
“Always.”
Then, after a second, he added, “But just so we clear, if she say something again, I’m telling her sumn.”
You stared at him.
Then laughed so hard you had to cover your face.
And Dillon drove home smiling, proud as ever, because he had done what he came to do.
Kept his girl out of trouble.
And got her laughing again.
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