he’s staring at you from across the overcrowded frat party, sipping on his drink and smiling like a fool.
your in your usual element, bubbly and laughing while you’re dancing with your girls, looking utterly beautiful in the short mini skirt that’s so short you could flash the whole party with a slight bend, and a skimpy top that’s tied at your back, and dean’s pretty sure he could untie it with a tug of his teeth.
the outfit is beyond dangerous and scandalous, but that’s why your boyfriend’s here, right? and he can fight too, so that’s a bonus.
eventually that smile on dean’s face turns into an annoyed look when you move around all sweaty, trying to get a drink from logan, and that gives the perfect opportunity to some short frat guy making his way towards you, flashing you his cheap boy‑next‑door smile and trying to make small conversation while you look him up and down, answering his questions in boredom.
and dean’s teammate logan has the audacity to leave you alone as he makes his way towards his own girl. the conversation looks innocent, but not until shorty has the audacity to put a hand on your hip, whispering something in your ear, pretending like it’s sooo loud and you just can’t hear him!!
and that’s what motivates dean to leave his drink nearby on a table and strut his way towards you as he rounds a large hand over your tummy, pulling you into his hard chest and making you relax.
the guy you’re talking to falters slightly, letting go as he gapes at him.
“hey man, saw your game last night—” he blabbers, but dean could not care less, using his free hand as he tilts your chin to his smirking face while you grin at him.
not long before he brands his lips and tongue on you, you struggle to kiss him back.
the frat guy is long forgotten, melting away into the background as dean deepens the kiss. your hands find purchase on his shoulders, gripping the firm muscle through his shirt as you press closer.
you’re drunk on his scent.
he’s drunk on your mouth.
shamelessly, he takes full advantage, pressing open‑mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. his hand continues its journey upward until he reaches the knot of your top, his fingers toying with the strings.
“dean,” you whisper, a half‑hearted protest as your body arches into his touch.
he smirks against your skin. “what? just making sure it’s secure. can’t have you flashing everyone now, can we?” but his fingers continue to tease the knot, not quite untying it but definitely testing its strength.
you hear a loud “get a room!” and you both know it’s one of his idiot friends, but he doesn’t even care as he grins into you.
your own hands begin to explore, sliding down his chest to the hem of his shirt. you slip beneath it, your fingers tracing the ridges of his abs while balancing your drink on the other hand.
dean groans into your mouth at your touch, his hips pressing forward instinctively.
“maybe we should find somewhere more private hmm,” he suggests between kisses, though he makes no move to pull away.
you’re about to agree when someone bumps into you, breaking the moment. you both look up to find a drunk girl apologizing profusely before stumbling away. the spell broken, dean takes your hand.
“come on,” he says, his eyes gleaming with desire. “we’re getting outta here.”
who knew dean di laurentis. famous party boy was so desperate to leave a party.
author's note — this is my first time writing for Off Campus, let me know if you'd like to see more <3
"Baby," Garrett practically croons when he sees you, leaning his elbows on the railing of the staircase. "Where've you been?"
You try and fail the urge to let your eyes travel downwards, the trail of hair from his chest to the waistband of his sweatpants, the ridges of muscles very much evident, especially because he isn't wearing a shirt.
"Studying," you reply, in a duh tone of voice, taking the steps one at a time to reach him. He winds his arms around your waist, fingers splaying on the exposed skin of your abdomen, brushing your hip bone.
You melt at the soft touch, and he leans down to press a kiss to the tip of your earlobe. "Do you have no shirts?" You tease quietly, letting out a soft gasp when his kiss grows fervent. "... I should buy you some."
Your boyfriend lets out a little scoff, tugging you closer to his front. "I have enough shirts, honey," he breathes, lips moving up to the underside of your jaw. "C'mon," he coaxes, pulling away much to your chagrin; to you letting out a soft, irritated whine. "Upstairs. Don't you wanna get comfy?"
How can you possibly resist, especially when his hands are on you, and he's using that tone, which begs to be listened to? You let out a little hum of affirmation.
Garrett grins, the corners of his lips tugging up in what looks to be a mix of amusement and pleasure at your easy obedience. "Good girl," he murmurs, fingers slipping off your waist, only to intertwine with your loose ones by your side. "Up," he says in the softest voice possible.
You blink up at him through your lashes. He tilts his head at you, resembling a bit of a golden retriever with those brown eyes fixed on you, solely on you. You're warm under his attention.
"Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to stare, baby?" Garrett says softly, a teasing chide to his words.
It's your turn to let out a scoff now, mirroring his, and his eyebrows soften in appreciation of the soft sound from your lips. "You're my boyfriend, I think I'm allowed to admire you."
His grin widens. "Oh, is that what you're doing? Admiring me?"
"Mhm."
"Huh," Garrett murmurs, lifting his free hand to cup your cheek, watching the way you melt in real time with adoring eyes. "When did you get so smooth?"
You smile prettily up at him, your best smile, and his breath catches in his throat. "Learned from the best."
"Did you?" he brushes your cheek with a calloused thumb, so gentle it makes something in your heart splinter and crack in two.
"Come on, sweetheart," he gentles his voice even further, giving your cheek a gentle pat. "Let's take a nap. You look exhausted."
You frown up at him, lips jutting out in a pout. "That's so mean, do I not look pretty?"
Garrett curls his arms around you, picking you up with an ease that still surprises you. Your legs naturally wind around his waist, head lolling forward to find rest on his shoulder. "You always look pretty, baby," he hums, kissing the side of your head. "My gorgeous girl, hm?"
Letting out a pleased sound of acknowledgement, you let Garrett climb the rest of the stairs and make his way down the hallway. You pass Dean's room on the way, and the door is wide open.
You don't bother lifting your head from Garrett's shoulder, you're already sure what's going on in there. Your boyfriend wrinkles his nose above you. "Dean, how many fucking times! Close the door, yeah?"
Dean lets out a sound to the affirmative, but makes no move to get up from where he's got a pretty girl perched on top of him.
Garrett pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out an annoyed sigh, shifting you on his hip to close the door with one hand. "Idiot," he mutters under his breath. He hitches you higher against his chest, and you go willingly, boneless and warm under his affections.
The floorboards creak under Garrett's weight as he moves to cover the distance from Dean's room to his. "Tired, sweetheart?" He asks, voice soft again, a low rumble to the timbre of his words.
"No," you mumble against his neck, pressing your nose against the space between his jaw and shoulder.
He lets out a laugh, opening his door with his foot, shifting you in his arms a little so he can flop onto his bed, back against the headrest, with you in his lap. "You're lying."
"Am not."
"Are too," he grins, watching you peer up at him with half-lidded, obviously sleepy eyes. "You're barely awake, pretty."
You let out an annoyed whine, hands finding home on his chest. "I'm awake, thank you very much. And I want a kiss."
Garrett's smile widens. "Do you now?"
"Don't be a jerk," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him. "I'm allowed to ask for a kiss."
"You are," he hums, tugging you closer, one big hand lifting from your waist for your neck, brushing idly at the tender skin of your jaw. "You do have to say please, though, honey. Manners."
Groaning frustratedly, you add, "please can I have kiss?"
Your boyfriend smiles, thumbing at your cheekbone. "You can, baby," he murmurs, leaning down to meet you halfway. Your hand slides up to the nape of his neck, thumbing at the baby hairs there, and he sighs against your mouth, deepening the kiss.
It's lazy, the kind of kiss that isn't going anywhere, and doesn't need to, either. His tongue brushes your lower lip, seeking entry, and you open for him. He tastes like mint, the gum he's always chewing.
"Garrett," you breathe when he pulls away for a second to get air.
"Shh." His lips trail to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the soft spot below your ear. "Just relax, sweetheart."
‵、¸ 𝙩𝒉𝙚 𝙚𝒎𝙚𝒓𝙜𝒆𝙣𝒄𝙮 𝙨𝒉𝙞𝒇𝙩 ⊹ garrett graham & dean di laurentis
⌗ pairing — garrett graham x dean di laurentis x fem!reader
⌗ synopsis — The Briar University ER is usually absolute chaos, but for her—a twenty-one-year-old clinical psychology intern—staying calm is second nature. Everything changes when the Division I hockey team storms in with an injured player. Faced with the campus golden boys, her sweet voice and firm boundaries completely disarm Garrett Graham and Dean Di Laurentis, igniting an unexpected tension that leaves them utterly obsessed.
⌗ author’s note — This story features high-tension seduction dynamics, lighthearted mutual flirting, social alcohol consumption in a university pub, and relaxed, mature language suitable for an adult audience.
⌗ the emergency shift.- part ii ⌗ the emergency shift.- part iii ⌗ | ⌗ MAIN MASTERLIST
The fluorescent lights of Briar University General Hospital whirred with a clinical, relentless beep that seemed to vibrate even in the soles of your shoes. It was a Friday night in late November, one of those frigid Massachusetts nights when black ice on the roads set off sirens and fraternity parties on campus filled the waiting room.
At twenty-one years old, you weren't exactly a seasoned medical professional. You were a third-year clinical psychology student doing your practical hours as a triage and emotional support intern in the emergency room. Your job wasn't to stitch up wounds or prescribe medication; it was to manage the human chaos. You were there to talk people down from panic attacks, comfort terrified freshmen who had taken too many shots, and keep the psychological temperature of the ER from boiling over while the actual doctors and nurses ran themselves ragged.
By 1:00 AM, you had been on your feet for nearly seven hours straight. Your hair was pulled up into a slightly messy bun, a couple of pastel-colored highlighters were clipped to the pocket of your oversized medical scrub top, and your clipboard was heavy with incomplete intake forms. Despite the exhaustion tugging at the corners of your eyes, you still carried yourself with a soft, natural warmth. You understood that the people coming through those double doors were having one of the worst nights of their lives. A little bit of kindness went a long way.
You were standing by the main nurse's station, charting a quick note about a panicked student who had just been discharged, when the automatic doors of the ambulance bay slid open with a sharp hiss. A blast of icy winter air swept into the corridor, followed closely by a group of guys who instantly shifted the entire energy of the room.
They were massive, loud, and completely impossible to ignore. Even without the heavy, blue-and-red white Briar varsity jackets, anyone on campus would have recognized them instantly. It was the core of the university's division-one hockey team. You had gone to a handful of their games with your friends from the psychology department, sitting high up in the stands, yelling until your throat was sore, and watching them dominate the ice. But you had never crossed paths with them in real life. To you, they were just those untouchable, golden-boy athletes who lived in a completely different universe.
Until right now.
In the center of the group was John Tucker. His usual cocky, energetic demeanor was entirely gone. He was deathly pale, his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears of pain, and he was clutching a thick white dish towel around his left hand. The towel was already deeply stained with bright, ominous crimson.
Walking right next to him, holding him steady by his shoulder, was John Logan. Logan looked sharp, focused, and intensely worried, guiding his teammate with a firm grip. Bringing up the rear were Garrett Graham and Dean Di Laurentis. The two of them looked like towering walls of muscle, their shoulders tense, their faces flushed from the cold and the sheer adrenaline of whatever accident had just taken place.
―Hey! We need someone over here right now! He’s bleeding all over the place!― Garrett’s deep, commanding voice boomed across the triage area, sharp with panic. He was looking around wildly, his captain's instincts kicking in but completely useless in a medical environment.
The sheer volume of his voice threatened to spike the anxiety of every other patient in the waiting room. Realizing someone needed to step in and ground them before they caused a scene, you tucked your pen behind your ear and stepped out from behind the counter, walking toward them with a calm, easy pace.
―Hey, hey, gentle with the volume, big guy. You're in a hospital, not the rink,― you said, your voice soft, sweet, and completely relaxed. You didn't sound like a stern doctor or an older nurse; you sounded exactly like what you were—a fellow student who was completely unbothered by their imposing size. You gave them a reassuring, gentle smile. ―Bring him right into cubicle three. Let's get him off his feet.―
The four hockey players stopped in their tracks, their eyes locking onto you simultaneously. Logan let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for miles and immediately nodded, guiding Tucker through the privacy curtains of the cubicle you had pointed out.
You quickly snapped on a pair of sterile latex gloves, moving into the small space with an easy grace. Tucker was sitting on the edge of the examination cot, staring blankly at the floor, his breathing shallow and rapid. He was trembling. Classic early-stage shock.
You stepped right into his line of sight, bending down slightly so you were eye-level with him, and placed a gentle, comforting hand on his uninjured shoulder.
―Hey,― you said softly, your tone incredibly sweet and soothing, a perfect contrast to the sterile chaos around you. ―I'm the psychology intern on duty tonight. I know everything feels super overwhelming right now and it hurts like crazy, but you're totally safe. We're going to get you sorted out, okay? Can you tell me your name and let me know exactly what happened?―
Tucker blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on your face. His lips parted, but his throat clicked; the shock had completely locked him up. He couldn't form a coherent sentence, his gaze drifting back down to the blood-soaked towel in his lap.
―He's completely checked out, he hasn't said a word since the car,― Logan said, stepping closer to the cot. He was watching you closely, his brow furrowing as he studied your face under the harsh lights. Suddenly, a spark of pure recognition lit up his eyes. ―Wait... hey, I know you. You're in the psychology department, right? We're literally in the same neuroanatomy lecture this semester. You sit a few rows ahead of me on the left.―
You glanced up at Logan, offering him a quick, genuinely bright smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. ―Oh, yeah! With Professor Hayes, right? His slides are absolute torture. It's really nice to officially meet you, even if the vibes in here are a little messy tonight. What's your friend's name?―
―John Tucker,― Logan answered instantly, his posture visibly relaxing just from the casual, friendly way you were talking to him. ―And I'm Logan. We were back at the house, and Tuck here was trying to be a chef. The knife handle was super greasy, his hand slipped, and he basically sliced his palm wide open. There was a ridiculous amount of blood. He freaked out, and honestly, we did too.―
―Okay, John, it's nice to meet you too,― you murmured, turning your attention back to the pale boy on the cot. ―I'm just going to take a little look, okay? I promise I'll be super gentle.―
With agonizing care, you began to peel away the layers of the bloody towel. You didn't flinch or make a face when the deep, clean laceration across his palm was revealed. It was definitely a nasty cut that was going to need a handful of stitches from the attending surgeon, but the bleeding had already started to slow down. You grabbed a thick, sterile pad from the counter, placed it firmly over the wound, and applied steady pressure, keeping your movements incredibly calm.
―Look at me for a second, John,― you said, your voice dropping to a warm, cozy whisper that felt like a safety blanket. Tucker raised his eyes to yours, completely captivated by how soft you were being with him. ―The cut looks scary, I know, but it’s actually really clean. You didn't ruin your hand, I promise. But you're breathing way too fast, and that's making you feel dizzy. Let's do a little teamwork, okay? Just mirror me. Inhale nice and slow... and let it out. There you go. Just like that. You're doing awesome.―
As Tucker began to synchronize his breathing with yours, the tight knot of panic in his chest began to unravel. The sheer sweetness of your demeanor was doing more to stabilize him than any medical monitor could.
But behind Logan, the entire atmosphere of the cubicle had taken a massive, absurd turn.
Garrett Graham and Dean Di Laurentis had been standing by the curtain, fully prepared to pace around like caged animals. But the moment you had started talking, the moment that sweet, melodic voice of yours had filled the small space, both of them had completely frozen.
Garrett was staring at you with his mouth slightly open, his dark eyes locked onto your face with an intensity that could have melted ice. He had never seen anyone like you. On campus, girls practically tripped over themselves to get his attention, putting on acts or trying way too hard to impress the hockey captain. But here you were, a girl exactly his age, wearing oversized scrubs, completely ignoring the fact that he was a campus celebrity, and speaking with a gentleness that was making his chest ache in a way he couldn't explain. He watched the way a few stray hairs fell across your cheek, the soft curve of your lips as you comforted Tucker, and the absolute focus in your eyes. He was completely, utterly floored.
Next to him, Dean Di Laurentis was having an identical internal meltdown. His usual lazy, arrogant smirk had completely vanished, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated wonder. Dean prided himself on being smooth, on always having the perfect line, but his brain had just short-circuited. Hearing you call Tucker ―John― in that soft, caring voice made a wave of intense possessive jealousy hit him so hard it left him breathless. He didn't want you looking at Tucker like that. He wanted those soft eyes on him. He wanted that beautiful, comforting voice directed entirely at his own ears.
―Hey... uh,― Dean stammered, actually stumbling over his words as he took a step closer into your personal space, his massive frame towering over the side of the cot. He tried to summon an ounce of his usual charm, but it came out completely dorky and helpless. ―Hey, so... I think I'm having a literal medical crisis right now. My chest feels crazy tight, and my heart is doing this weird, fast thing. Don't you think you should check my pulse? Like, right now? I might pass out if you don't talk to me like that.―
You stopped guiding Tucker's breathing for a fraction of a second, tilting your head back to look up at Dean. You blinked your big eyes, completely amused but keeping your tone sweet and light.
―Oh, wow, an immediate heart issue? That sounds super serious,― you said, a playful little smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you looked at his perfectly healthy, flushed face. ―But since we're the same age, I can tell you classmate-to-classmate that you look like you have way too much energy to be fainting. If your chest hurts, it's probably just the cold air from outside, but you can always ask the triage nurse at the front desk for an EKG if you're really worried.―
Garrett immediately shoved Dean out of the way with his elbow, stepping forward to take his place. He leaned over the cot a little, his broad shoulders blocking Dean entirely, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a desperate need to make you look at him the same way you were looking at Tucker.
―Don't listen to him, he's just an idiot,― Garrett said, his voice dropping to a low, husky register that he definitely thought sounded smooth, though his ears were slightly pink. ―I'm Garrett, by the way. Garrett Graham. I just... I wanted to say you're doing an amazing job. Seriously. You're like, incredibly good at this. And you have a really, really pretty voice. If you need someone to help you hold anything... or if your hands get tired from holding that gauze, I'm right here. I have great grip strength. Just let me know.―
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a groan of pure secondary embarrassment. ―Oh my god. Are you two seriously trying to hit on the psych intern while Tucker is literally bleeding out on a gurney? You are being actual embarrassments to the entire athletic department right now.―
The sudden influx of loud, competitive energy from Garrett and Dean immediately ruined the quiet bubble of safety you had built for the patient. John Tucker, who had just managed to get his breathing under control, looked up at his two teammates. Seeing them flexing their shoulders and competing for your attention in the middle of his medical emergency made his anxiety spike all over again. His chest began to heave, and his face twisted in frustration and pain.
―Guys... oh my god, please stop,― Tucker groaned, closing his eyes and pressing his uninjured hand against his forehead. ―You're making my head pound... you're literally making me feel more sick. Just shut up.―
You saw the immediate negative shift in Tucker's psychological state, and your protective intern instincts flared up. You weren't going to let a couple of boyish egos mess with a patient's recovery, no matter how attractive or famous they were on campus.
You stood up straight, making sure your hand remained firmly and securely pressed against the sterile gauze on Tucker's hand. You turned your full attention to Garrett and Dean, looking at them with a soft but completely unyielding expression. You didn't scold them like an old professor; you spoke to them with the direct, easy authority of a peer who had simply had enough of their antics.
―Alright, boys, that's enough,― you said, your voice still incredibly sweet, but carrying a very clear, firm boundary that left absolutely no room for argument. ―Look at your friend. You're totally stressing him out. This is a super small cubicle, your voices are way too loud, and all this extra energy is making his blood pressure go up. I need this room to be completely quiet for him right now.―
Dean opened his mouth, looking like a teenager who had just been caught breaking curfew, his hands flying up in a defensive gesture. ―Wait, no, we didn't mean to—―
―I know you didn't mean to, but you're doing it anyway,― you interrupted gently, giving him a look that was both incredibly cute and entirely unyielding. ―So, I'm going to need you two to do me a massive favor and step outside. Go find the blue plastic chairs in the waiting room and hang out there for a little bit.―
Garrett looked absolutely devastated, his broad shoulders slumping as if he had just been benched during the finals. ―Come on, let us just stay in the corner. We won't say a single word, I swear. We'll be like statues.―
―No statues allowed tonight, Garrett,― you replied, using his name with an easy familiarity that sent a literal jolt of electricity straight down his spine. You gave them both a sweet, reassuring nod toward the curtain. ―The doctor is going to be in here any second to do the stitches, and it's already too crowded. Go wait outside like good guys. I promise I'll come out and give you a full update the second we're done here, okay? Do it for John.―
Dean swallowed hard, completely neutralized by the combination of your sweetness and your absolute firmness. ―Yeah... okay. If you promise you'll come find us, we'll go.―
―I promise,― you smiled angelically.
Logan chuckled, grabbing Dean by the shoulder and swatting the back of Garrett's jacket to get them moving. ―Move it, you two. You just got completely shut down by a psych major. Go sit in the penalty box.―
As Logan guided the two star players out of the cubicle, both Garrett and Dean turned around one last time before the curtain pulled shut. They looked like two giant, lovesick puppies, completely dazed and utterly captivated by you. The fact that you had just kicked them out with a smile and a soft voice had left them ten times more obsessed than if you had screamed at them.
You let out a soft, amused breath, shaking your head as the curtain finally closed, and turned back to the cot. Tucker was looking at you, his breathing rapidly returning to normal, a look of profound gratitude on his pale face.
―Thank you so much,― Tucker whispered, letting out a genuine sigh of relief. ―Seriously. If they stayed in here any longer trying to flex for you, I think I would have passed out from pure annoyance.―
―Don't worry about it at all, John,― you said softly, your sweet voice returning to that comforting, relaxed rhythm as you checked the gauze. ―Managing rowdy hockey players isn't exactly in my job description, but your peace of mind definitely is. Now, let's just keep taking those nice, slow breaths. The hard part is over, and you're doing so good.―
Meanwhile, out in the corridor, Garrett and Dean dropped heavily into the uncomfortable plastic chairs, staring blankly at the floor with matching, completely bewildered expressions, their hearts racing for a reason that had absolutely nothing to do with hockey.
A couple of weeks had passed since that chaotic Friday night in the emergency room. After making sure the surgeon took care of John Tucker's hand and giving the status report to Garrett and Dean in the waiting room—who practically melted in their seats when you stepped out to talk to them with your usual sweetness—you had gone right back to your university routine. Between third-year psychology classes, exams with Professor Hayes, and your internship hours at the hospital, you had barely found any time to think about the hockey team's star players.
However, they definitely hadn't forgotten about you. Logan had been looking for you in neuroanatomy class, and according to the rumors floating down the faculty hallways, Garrett and Dean had spent the last two weeks asking half the campus about ―the prettiest psych student in the hospital.―
That Saturday night, you decided it was finally time to take a breather. Your best friend, Gracie, had practically dragged you out of your room.
―I don't care how many case studies you have to read,― Gracie had declared while helping you pick out an outfit. ―We are going to Malone’s. You need a beer, loud music, and a reminder of what it's like to have fun with twenty-one-year-olds who aren't actively bleeding.―
Malone’s Pub was packed to the brim, as always. The air was thick with laughter, the smell of draft beer, old wood, and the shouts of students celebrating Briar’s latest victory. You were wearing dark jeans, a soft, pastel-colored knit sweater that fit a little oversized and draped casually off one shoulder, and you left your hair down, looking completely relaxed, fresh, and incredibly cute.
―I’ll grab the drinks, stay close to the bar so we don't lose each other in the crowd,― Gracie yelled over the music before sliding into the thick of the crowd.
You leaned against one of the bar's wooden pillars, taking in the atmosphere with a quiet smile. As a psychology student, you loved analyzing people, and tonight the bar was a goldmine of interesting college dynamics. In fact, you knew exactly where things stood with the guys on the team. Sharing a campus and being the same age meant gossip traveled fast: you knew all about Garrett’s romance with Hannah Wells—which had been the talk of the entire university—and you were also well aware of the intense, recent history between Dean and Allie Hayes. You were a silent observer, completely detached from their love lives, which gave you a very relaxed perspective on the whole scene.
Suddenly, a tense murmur rippled through the back area of the pub, near the pool tables. The laughter faded, and the festive vibe cut out instantly.
―What the hell is your problem, Davenport?!― Dean Di Laurentis’s deep, furious voice boomed through the space, instantly drawing everyone's attention.
You stood on your tiptoes to peer over the students' heads and saw everything. In the center of the pool hall stood Dean and Hunter Davenport, the star player from the rival university. Tension between Briar and opposing teams was always high, but Davenport seemed to especially enjoy provoking the guys.
You didn't know exactly what Hunter had said to Dean—probably something stupid and baiting about the team or about Allie—but Dean no longer had his usual lazy, amused look. He was livid. Davenport gave him a hard shove to the chest, and that was all it took for chaos to break out.
Dean launched forward like lightning, landing a clean right hook square on Hunter's jaw. The bar erupted into shouts. A classic college bar brawl ensued: shoves, glass cups shattering against the floor, and friends from both sides jumping in to tear them apart before the police or the pub's bouncers could show up. Garrett Graham appeared out of nowhere, using his massive frame to yank Dean back by his jacket, while Logan and other players held back the rival university guys.
―Let me go, Garrett! I’m gonna break his face!― Dean roared, his knuckles bloody and his adrenaline running a mile a minute, as Malone’s security finally pushed Davenport and his group toward the back exit to keep things from escalating any further.
The fight dissolved in a couple of minutes, leaving behind a trail of broken glass and a room heavy with whispers. Garrett and Logan dragged Dean toward one of the booths in the most secluded, darkest corner of the pub, trying to get him to calm down before the owner of Malone's decided to kick them out too.
You walked at an easy pace back toward the bar, where Gracie had just returned with two glasses of beer and eyes as wide as saucers.
―Well, welcome to Malone's...― your friend said, still processing the fight. ―Those hockey guys are actual lunatics.―
―They just have way too much pent-up energy,― you said with a soft, sweet little laugh, shaking your head. ―Hey, watch my glass for a second, will you? I think one of them needs a quick check before he infects those knuckles on the bar floor.―
You asked the bartender—who knew you from your shifts—for a couple of clean napkins and some ice wrapped in a towel, and he handed them over right away. With your supplies in hand, you wove through the tables toward the dim corner where the three athletes were gathered.
Dean was sitting on the leather sofa, breathing heavily, his bottom lip subtly split and the knuckles of his right hand scraped and dripping a bit of blood. Garrett stood right in front of him, lecturing him in a low voice with his arms crossed.
―I told you, Dean, you can't take the bait that easily. We're gonna get suspended if—―
―Hey, boys,― you interrupted softly, your melodic, super relaxed voice cutting right through the tense masculine conversation.
All three of them turned at the exact same time, as if they had rehearsed the movement. The moment Garrett and Dean saw you under the pub's dim, warm lighting, with your pastel sweater and your angelic smile, their expressions changed completely. Dean's fury vanished in a blink; his eyes widened, and a mix of total surprise and absolute devotion flooded his face. Garrett went completely speechless mid-sentence, totally disarmed by the sight of the girl he had been hunting for all over campus for the last two weeks.
―...You?― Garrett managed to say, his tough tone suddenly turning soft and self-conscious as he scratched the back of his neck. ―Hey. I... I didn't think I'd run into you here.―
―It's a college bar, Garrett. I'm twenty-one, I like to go out for a drink every now and then,― you replied in a playful, incredibly sweet voice, highly amused by how quickly they got nervous around you. ―Hey, Logan.―
―Hey,― Logan smiled, crossing his arms with a look of pure amusement, knowing exactly the kind of effect you had on his friends. ―What a miracle to see you without a lab coat.―
―I know, it's nice to be on the civilian side for one night,― you laughed softly. Then, you took another step toward the table and looked directly at Dean, who was gazing up at you from the sofa with a goofy smile, completely ignoring the pain of his injuries. ―But I see you guys can't seem to have a quiet weekend, can you?―
You sat down with total ease on the edge of the sofa, right next to Dean. The boy caught his breath as your proximity enveloped him in a soft scent of vanilla. You took his right hand with extreme gentleness, turning it over carefully to inspect his scraped knuckles.
―Let's see, let me take a look at that hand,― you said in a very cute, nurturing tone, using one of the clean napkins to gently wipe away the surface blood. ―Oh, Dean... you really are a piece of work. Every single time I see you, one of you ends up injured. Is this like a hockey team hobby, or is it just bad luck?―
Dean let out a husky laugh, completely infatuated by the touch of your soft hands against his rough skin. He felt his heart pounding right out of his chest because of how playful and cute you were being with him.
―I think from now on I'm gonna pick a fight every Friday night if it means you'll magically show up to heal me, beautiful,― Dean answered in his signature drawl, staring straight into your eyes, completely captivated. ―I swear it doesn't even hurt anymore.―
You pressed the ice pack against his knuckles with a tiny bit more firmness, making him let out a soft wince, though he didn't break eye contact with you for a single second.
―Don't talk nonsense, don't push your luck,― you shot back with a playful smile, blinking innocently. ―I'm not your personal nurse, I'm just a friendly intern who happened to be passing by. Besides, Davenport has huge hands, you could have walked away with something way worse than a few scrapes.―
Garrett, feeling entirely ignored and consumed by jealousy at seeing how sweet you were being to Dean, took a step closer to the table, leaning his hands on the back of the sofa to tilt in toward you.
―I jumped into the fight too,― Garrett said, dropping his voice to a lower register to catch your attention, flashing a smile he clearly thought was charming. ―I took a couple of shoves saving this idiot. Don't you think I deserve a little attention from Briar's best psychology student too? I've been looking for you all over campus, by the way.―
You turned slightly toward Garrett, adjusting the stray lock of hair falling over your bare shoulder, and gave him a highly mischievous, relaxed side-eye.
―Oh, Garrett, please. You're the team captain, you have the entire campus looking after you,― you said in a soft, teasing little voice, making him smile instantly. ―Besides, I heard Hannah Wells takes pretty good care of you these days, doesn't she? I don't think you need a hospital intern to coddle you over a few shoves.―
Garrett froze for a second, his cheeks flushing a sweet shade of pink as he realized you knew about Hannah. He absolutely loved that you were so well-informed and that you brought it up with such effortless ease, without a hint of awkwardness.
―Well... yeah, Hannah is awesome,― Garrett admitted with a shy grin, scratching his neck. ―But that doesn't mean your voice doesn't still sound like the prettiest thing in this entire university.―
Dean snorted, trying to move his hand to entrelace his uninjured fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him. ―Forget about Garrett, he's retired from the game. I'm the one who's single and wounded here. I need more ice... and maybe your phone number to report if my knuckles turn purple tomorrow.―
You let out a clear, melodic, and incredibly sweet laugh that made all three boys' hearts skip a beat. You finished wiping his split lip with a napkin, brushing against his skin so softly that Dean closed his eyes for a second, completely hypnotized.
―Nice try, Di Laurentis,― you told him coquetishly, leaning in just a fraction with an intelligent look in your eyes. ―But as far as I know from campus gossip, Allie Hayes has you breathless pretty often. I don't think she'd appreciate you using your injuries as an excuse to get numbers at bars.―
Dean blinked, completely disarmed, a guilty but absolutely fascinated smirk spreading across his face. The fact that you were so laid-back, that you knew exactly where everyone stood, and that you still maintained this light, sweet, and zero-pretension flirtation was driving both of them insane. You looked so beautiful under the bar lights, so confident and speaking with such natural sweetness, that they felt utterly defenseless against you.
―Wow... you're dangerous,― Dean admitted in a breath, his eyes never leaving your lips. ―You know everything.―
―I study psychology, Dean. My job is to observe and listen,― you replied with a sweet wink as you stood up, leaving the used napkins on the table. ―Alright, your knuckles are officially done bleeding and the ice will take the swelling down. My job as a civilian for the night is done.―
Garrett reached out instinctively, as if to keep you from leaving. ―Are you leaving already? Stay with us for a bit, we'll buy you whatever you want to drink.―
―My friend Gracie is waiting for me with some beers at the bar,― you said with an angelic smile, taking a step backward but keeping your eyes on them with that playful aura. ―Plus, I have to make sure you guys don't break anything else in this pub. Take care of yourselves, okay? And please... try to go at least one full week without ending up in the ER or in a bar fight. My internship schedule is pretty booked.―
You threw one last coquettish glance at Dean, a bright smile at Garrett, and a friendly nod to Logan before turning around and walking back toward the bar with a light, confident stride, your pastel pink sweater shifting softly with your movements.
The three athletes sat in total silence at the table, watching your back as you walked away. Dean ran his good hand over his face, letting out a long sigh of pure defeat.
―My god...― Dean muttered, completely spaced out. ―That girl is absolutely perfect. She talks so sweetly it makes me want to get my other hand broken just so she'll come back.―
―Shut up, Dean,― Garrett said, his eyes glued to the bar, his heart racing a mile a minute. ―But you're right. She's incredible. Next time I see her on campus, I don't care who's watching, I'm making her stay and talk to me for a whole hour.―
Logan took a sip of his beer, laughing at the completely lovesick faces his friends were making. ―I told you guys, you idiots. You play a lot of hockey, but that psych girl has you right in the palm of her hand, and she didn't even have to try.―
You stood up from the leather sofa with an enviable lightness, leaving Dean and Garrett with dilated pupils and a silly grin that would take hours to wipe off their faces. You adjusted your oversized, pastel knit sweater as it slipped slightly off your shoulder, shifting your purse strap with total calmness.
However, before taking more than three steps toward your best friend Gracie, you noticed that the hockey boys' dark corner wasn't as isolated as you thought.
Just a few yards away, near the edge of the dance floor, two girls were watching the scene with a mix of absolute surprise and very obvious flashes of jealousy in their eyes. It was Hannah Wells and Allie Hayes. Both had noticed the fight with Davenport and were heading toward the table to check on the guys, but they had frozen halfway through upon witnessing your entire interaction with them.
Hannah stared at the napkin you had used with such sweetness and playfulness to clean Dean's knuckles. Her arms were crossed, and her eyebrows were slightly raised, astonished to see the usually untamable and arrogant Garrett Graham behaving like a scolded puppy, blushing and stammering at your relaxed comments. For her part, Allie Hayes had an expression of pure bewilderment; she knew all too well Dean Di Laurentis's bad-boy, smooth-talker persona, and seeing her guy looking at another college girl their own age with eyes of total devotion—completely hypnotized by how sweetly you spoke—gave her an inevitable twist in her stomach.
As a psychology student, you read their body language instantly. But far from taking it badly or getting defensive, your nature was simply too sweet and mature to fall into absurd tensions. You flashed them a radiant, genuine, and super friendly smile as you walked toward them.
―Hey, girls,― you said in your soft voice, stopping by their side with total freshness. ―Don't worry, the guys are totally fine. It was just a little scare with Davenport, but the adrenaline is already wearing off.―
Hannah blinked, caught a bit off guard by how incredibly polite and sweet you were being, and slowly lowered her arms.
―Hey...― Hannah replied, softening her expression. ―Thanks for checking on him. Garrett usually acts like an impulsive idiot when it comes to defending the team.―
―Oh, not at all, they just look out for each other,― you said with a sweet little laugh, glancing at Allie, who was still processing the scene. ―And I already cleaned up Dean's knuckles and left him some ice, Allie. It's going to be a bit swollen tomorrow, but he'll survive. Just try to make sure he doesn't use his right hand to lift anything heavy tonight, okay?―
Allie cleared her throat, feeling her jealousy dissolve under your empathetic and charming tone. It was impossible to dislike someone who spoke with so much warmth.
―Thanks... really,― Allie managed to say, flashing a more sincere smile. ―Good thing you were close by.―
Just then, a towering figure appeared behind Hannah and Allie. It was Beau Maxwell, the star wide receiver for the Briar football team. Beau sported his usual broad shoulders, a relaxed grin, and the classic magnetic energy of the athletes from his department.
The moment his eyes met yours, his face lit up with pure joy and recognition.
―Hey! Look who we have here!― Beau exclaimed in his deep voice, stepping past the two hockey girls without ceremony.
You stepped a bit closer, and Beau didn't hesitate: he leaned down and planted a super affectionate kiss on your cheek, wrapping an arm around your shoulders for a second in a gesture full of long-standing trust and warmth.
―It's a miracle to see you out at Malone's, little one,― Beau told you with a massive smile, leaving his arm casually draped over your shoulders. ―I thought you had officially moved into the hospital's emergency room.―
―Hey, Beau,― you laughed, a clean, melodic laugh, giving him a playful little nudge in the ribs. ―You know perfectly well my internship shifts are insane, but they forced me to go out and breathe a little tonight.―
Hannah and Allie widened their eyes, completely speechless. They looked back at the table in the corner and noticed that Garrett and Dean had gone rigid as statues in their seats. If they were smitten before, seeing Beau Maxwell—one of the campus's football legends—greeting you with such intimacy, kissing your cheek, and hugging you with that natural ease made the two hockey guys' jaws drop completely. Garrett had his eyes narrowed, taking in the scene, and Dean was gripping his ice pack so hard his knuckles turned white, consumed by a new, massive wave of college sports jealousy.
What they didn't know, of course, was that your connection to the sports world went way beyond the ice rink. You were the sister of one of the star players on the Briar football team; Beau had been playing on the same offense as your brother for years, spent entire weekends at your house, and had known you since you were practically teenagers. To Beau, you were a mix between a spoiled little sister and one of his favorite people on campus, with zero hidden intentions. But the visual effect in the bar was simply devastating to the hockey team's ego.
―Didn't your brother come with you?― Beau asked, looking over the crowd. ―That slacker promised me he'd come to Malone's after practice today.―
―No, he stayed back at the apartment sorting out some moving stuff, you know how he is,― you answered in a completely relaxed, sweet manner, waving it off. ―He left me in Gracie's care for tonight.―
―Wow, then I guess I'll have to take over the honors of looking after you,― Beau teased, winking at you before looking at Hannah and Allie, who were still a bit astonished by your campus network. ―Do you guys already know the star doctor of the family? She's the only one of us who actually has a brain in this school.―
―Yeah... we were just talking to her,― Hannah commented, glancing back toward the corner table, where Garrett was still glaring daggers at Beau. ―Seems like she knows half the world at Briar.―
―It's impossible not to love her,― Beau stated proudly, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze. ―Well, go find Gracie before she drinks your shots. See you Monday for lunch, alright? Tell your brother I said hey.―
―Of course, Beau. Behave yourself, and don't let the hockey guys break anything else,― you said with a playful, teasing tone that echoed down the space.
You said goodbye to the girls with a highly polite and sweet gesture. ―It was so nice talking to you both, seriously. Enjoy your night.―
You walked with an elegant, easy pace back toward the bar where Gracie was waiting with the glasses of beer ready. As you arrived, you cast a subtle look over your shoulder; Hannah and Allie had already approached the table, but Garrett and Dean weren't even looking at them. Their eyes were fixed entirely on you, completely spaced out, processing the fact that you weren't just the sweetest, most beautiful psychology intern they had ever met, but that you were entirely in a league of your own, surrounded by the football elite, and carrying such a relaxed, magnetic aura that it was going to keep them awake for the rest of the semester.
WILDEST DREAMS || DEAN DI LAURENTIS X GRAHAM!READER
“no one has to know what we do.. his hands are in my hair, his clothes are in my room” 𐔌❤︎ ͡𐦯
໑ৎ ׁ ׅ♡ PAIRING: graham!reader x brothersbsf!dean
໑ৎ ׁ ׅ♡ BLURB: Dean Di Laurentis was never supposed to want her.
Not when she’s Garrett Graham’s little sister. Not when crossing that line could cost him one of the most important friendships he’s ever had.
But some people become impossible to resist. Hidden away in whispered moments and carefully kept secrets, what exists between them grows into something neither of them knows how to name. Something real.
The only problem is that Dean can’t give her what she truly wants. And no matter how desperately they reach for one another, some things were never meant to be held without breaking.
໑ৎ ׁ ׅ♡ CONTAINS: swearing, arguing, angst, mentions of sexual acts and drinking, garrett graham’s sister, abuse, violence
AUTHOR NOTE: first off campus fic! i hope i did the characters justice.. but pleaaase feel free to request anything & everything!!!
- also written mainly for mai&sami <3 also sami i took pins from u to make this.. sorry i love u
Dean Di Laurentis should have known Garrett Graham was up to something the second he walked into the hockey house kitchen and found his friend waiting for him with folded arms.
“Uh-oh,” Dean said, reaching into the fridge for a beer. “That look usually means I clogged the shower with a condom again.”
He winked at a puck bunny who was in his bed a couple hours prior to the party.
Garrett didn’t smile. That should’ve been the first warning sign.
The second came when Garrett followed him out onto the back deck, where Beau Maxwell was currently arguing with several teammates about whether birthday shots counted if he had taken some the day before as well.
The house was already packed. Music rattled the walls. People streamed through the front door in clusters, carrying cases of beer and cheap liquor. Tonight was Dean and Beau’s shared birthday party, which meant the entire campus had apparently received an invitation.
Dean twisted the cap off his beer. “What the hell is going on?”
“Okay, and why are you telling me that like it’s a fucking threat?”
Garrett stared at him.
Dean sighed.
“Oh. Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
Dean lifted his hands. “G, I have no interest in your sister.”
The statement came easily enough. Mostly because it was true. At least for now.
Dean had a slight idea of what Garrett’s sister looked like based on how he would describe her. But his little sister existed firmly inside the category labeled Absolutely Not.
The same category that included dating teammates’ exes and sleeping with professors.
Garrett didn’t look reassured.
“If I hear you even looked at her—”
Dean barked out a laugh. “You cannot be fucking serious.”
“I’m serious.”
“You mean I can’t even look at her?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“That’s psychotic, man.”
Suddenly Dean wasn’t laughing anymore.
Because underneath the irritation in Garrett’s voice sat something else. Something sharper.
The expression crossed Garrett’s face so quickly Dean almost missed it.
“She’s been through enough,” Garrett said quietly.
Dean frowned.
Garrett wasn’t usually the overprotective brother type. Annoying? Yes. Bossy? Absolutely. But this felt different.
This felt personal.
The problem was that Garrett’s expression made it abundantly clear that further questions would not be welcome.
“Fine. I’ll stay away from her.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah, fine. I said I’d stay away from her. I swear on my incredible fucking good looks.”
“No fuckin’ jokes.”
“Garrett, come on.”
“Dean.” Then he walked away.
Leaving Dean standing on the deck with a beer in his hand and a strange feeling lodged somewhere beneath his ribs.
Because Garrett hadn’t sounded protective. He’d sounded afraid.
And Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Garrett Graham afraid of anything.
—
Y/N Graham hated college parties.
Not because she disliked people.
Not because she disliked drinking.
And definitely not because she disliked fun.
She hated them because they reminded her that everyone else seemed to understand how to exist effortlessly.
Meanwhile, she spent most of her life feeling like she was constantly waiting for something bad to happen.
Old habits died hard. Especially the ones carved into you during childhood.
The thought surfaced uninvited as she climbed the porch steps of the hockey house.
Music blasted from inside and laughter spilled through open windows.
Some drunk idiot was already butchering a song at the top of his lungs.
Tonight was about Garrett.
Her brother had been pestering her for weeks to attend the birthday party.
His exact words had been: You spend too much time hiding in your apartment.
She’d informed him that reading books and avoiding idiots wasn’t hiding.
He’d called her antisocial.
She’d called him obnoxious as hell.
The argument had ended with Garrett threatening to physically carry her to the party.
Which, unfortunately, sounded like something he’d actually do.
The front door opened before she could reach for the handle.
“Holy shit,” a guy exclaimed.
Y/N recognized him instantly.
Beau Maxwell. Birthday boy number two.
“Garrett’s sister?”
She laughed. “Is that my official title now?”
“Pretty much. I don’t think anybody knows your actual name.”
“Good to know?” She says playfully.
Beau stepped aside dramatically. “Welcome to the party. Try not to die.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The music intensified the second she stepped inside. Bodies crowded every available inch of space.
People danced.
Shouted.
Laughed.
Someone nearly ran into her carrying a bottle of vodka. A familiar hand landed on her shoulder.
“There you are.”
She smiled immediately.
Garrett.
“Happy now?” she asked.
His answering grin was quick.
“Ecstatic. I was about five minutes away from sending out a search party.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told.”
His gaze swept over her.
Checking. Making sure she was okay.
Y/N pretended not to notice.
“I’m fine,” she said softly. “You can stop looking at me like I’m about to get attacked. He’s not here, G.
Garrett’s expression shifted. Just slightly.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Good.”
Before Y/N could respond, somebody shouted Garrett’s name from across the room.
His teammates.
Garrett groaned.
“Duty calls.”
“Go.”
“You sure?”
She snorted.
“I’m twenty years old, Garrett. I think I can survive a damn party.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Then he disappeared into the crowd.
And from across the room, Dean Di Laurentis looked up from the girl that was currently kissing down his neck.
Their eyes met. Only for a second.
Meaningless.
But not to him.
Dean immediately looked away and immediately turned back towards the puck bunny.
Because he remembered exactly what he’d promised Garrett.
The problem was that he found himself looking back.
Just once. Or maybe twice. He’s lost count by the end of the night.
—
That was just the beginning.
A few weeks became a month.
A month became two.
And somehow, despite every reason they had to stay away from each other, neither of them ever did.
The deception grew easier with time.
Or perhaps they simply grew accustomed to carrying it, letting the weight of the lie settle onto their shoulders until it felt like something they could no longer put down.
There were countless nights spent in Dean’s room, hidden from the rest of the world. Times where they’d both attend a party and spend the entire time wishing they were alone together rather than pretending to hate one another.
Nights filled with laughter, arguments over ridiculous movies, and conversations that stretched far beyond midnight. Moments that felt perilously close to normal, close enough that they could almost pretend none of the complications existed.
Normal people didn’t have to pretend they hated each other in public.
Normal people didn’t have to carefully monitor every glance across a crowded room.
Normal people certainly didn’t have to worry about one of their closest friends discovering a secret capable of detonating their entire lives.
“Y/N, could you help with table six? I’ve got my hands full!” Hannah asks, holding three plates.
Y/N is pulled out of her thoughts immediately. She nods toward Hannah and begins to help clean up table six.
The bell of Malone’s door dings.
She looks up and her eyes meet another pair that she has recently begun to memorize.
Dean pulls his phone out and without hesitation, Y/N does as well. She already knew he was about to send her a text.
Mr. Six Flags: want me 2 tell the guys to sit at one of ur tables?
Y/N: im cleaning table six. come sit here and i’ll serve u guys in a second!
Mr. Six Flags: got it, babydoll. come over tonight? u don’t need to sneak in since the guys are gonna stay out late tonight ;)
Y/N: can’t wait <3
After Y/N sends her text, they both look up and make eye contact. She catches herself before smiling.
She walks over to the table she had secretly told Dean to sit at.
“Hey guys, how was the game?”
She tries her hardest not to glance at Dean, who is doing an awful job at pretending he hates her. She can feel his gaze burning into her skin.
“We won! You should’ve been there, Graham!” Logan exclaims.
She laughs softly. “Next time, I guess. I can’t miss any more of my brother’s wins or else he’ll murder my ass.”
After taking their order, she walks over to put it in, but she pauses when she notices her phone vibrating.
Dad.
She hangs up immediately, but that doesn’t stop him from texting.
Dad: you can’t ignore me forever, Y/N.
Her face drops and she puts her phone on silent. Her breathing becomes heavier as she can feel panic seeping through her bones.
Out of instinct, her eyes try to find Dean’s immediately.
Of course, his were already on her, but his expression was now covered by worry.
Dean was aware of her past with her dad before moving out for college, but she never told him details. He knew she could come to him whenever she was ready.
In only two months, Y/N had become his number one priority. She’d become under his radar 24/7. She was under his protection now whether he wanted it or not. But he knew he wanted it.
His eyes furrowed before sending her another text.
Mr. Six Flags: you ok?? you need me?? we can go outside
The hardest part wasn’t fooling her brother.
For her, it was fooling Dean. It was pretending that she was alright with only hooking up.
For the first time in a while, there had been one person in her life that truly understood what was underneath the act she put up for everyone else. He saw the true nature of her.
Because somewhere along the way, Y/N Graham had ceased being Garrett's little sister.
She had eventually became his favorite part of his day and the realization should’ve terrified him.
Instead, it ruined him in ways he hadn't anticipated, unraveling carefully guarded pieces of himself he had spent years keeping under control.
Dean had spent years constructing his life around certainty. Hockey. His future. Everything existed in neat, manageable compartments.
Y/N obliterated every single one.
She slipped beneath his defenses with alarming ease, settling herself into places he hadn't realized were empty until she occupied them.
The sound of her laugh lingered in his thoughts long after she'd gone home.
And God help him, he was beginning to crave her presence with a dependence that bordered on pathetic.
Dean Di Laurentis, Briar U’s well-known fuck-boy had officially been tied down by one girl who hadn’t even been his girlfriend yet.
The problem was that none of it changed reality.
No matter how badly he wanted her, no matter how much of himself seemed to belong to her now, reality remained stubbornly unchanged.
He knew what she truly wanted. What she truly needed.
The only problem? He also knew he couldn’t give her it.
Every time that thought surfaced, a bitter taste settled in the back of his throat.
Because for the first time in his life, Dean wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be the guy who walked away first.
But the idea of losing the girl he now couldn’t imagine his life without or one of his best friends is what terrified him.
—
Y/n’s fingers traced along Dean’s bicep. Lately, it didn’t take sex to get them to spend time together. Hookups turned into hangouts, but she had no complaints.
She'd spent years building walls sturdy enough to survive anything life threw at her. Years teaching herself that dependence was dangerous and expectations were even worse.
Then Dean Di Laurentis looked at her like she was something worth protecting.
Like she was worth choosing.
“Will you come to the game again tomorrow?”
She smiled softly. “I can’t wear your jersey number again. Garrett almost caught us last time.”
Dean groaned. “Too bad. You looked fuckin’ marvelous in it. I can’t imagine you wearing anyone else’s.”
“Not the point! He spent ten minutes interrogating me!”
“Well.. what did you say?”
“That your jersey was comfortable and I found it in his laundry”
“It is comfortable.”
“Whatever. Moral of the story, I can’t go tomorrow.”
He lifts a brow. “What, because you can’t wear my number? Come anyway. You know I always play better when you’re there, baby.”
A blush creeps onto her cheeks. “I guess, but you can’t point at me after scoring again. You have the survive instincts of a rock.”
He scoffs, but still grinning widely. He pushes the hair out of her face slowly and grips her face with both hands, then placing a kiss on her forehead.
“I have the best survival instincts, for your information.”
She roll my eyes playfully. “You’re secretly dating Garrett Graham’s little sister. He’d beat your ass”
Dean was smiling until he realized what she had said. “Dating?”
The idea of dating her warms his soul more than he’d like to admit, but the more he feels himself fall for her, the more he thinks about Garrett. Girlfriends are a distraction from his future. They never work out and he always ends up accidentally hurting their feelings.
What’s worse than Garrett finding out that Dean’s hooking up with his sister? Garrett finding out he had hurt his sister. He can’t risk that because it would hurt his own heart more than a physical punch from her brother would.
“Are we not?” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Her nervousness is shown through her eyes instead.
“I spend more nights in your bed than my own, Dean. I know you’re opposed to telling Garrett, but—“
“You.. you know I don’t have much I can offer right now, Y/N”
“Well, yeah. I genuinely like you, Dean. I just thought maybe—“
summary - reader is at the party and almost immediately gets into a fight with tucker. ₊˚⊹ᰔ
contents - black!fem!reader, suggestiveness, use of y/n, swearing, crack. reader uses she/her pronouns.
taglist - open!
prev || next
wc: 1.9k
You walk into the hockey house with Hannah and Allie. As soon as you walk in you almost regret it immediately. You’ve had what feels like the longest day ever and now you’re here to stand around and party for a few hours. You’d much rather be in your bed right now, sleeping.
Don’t be mistaken, you love yourself a good party. You loved everything about it, the dancing and getting to have fun with your friends. You’re a very social person and love talking to people. But it gets tiring at some point.
“Look who made it.” Logan says as he sees you making your way into the house.
“Shut up.” You smile at him.
“What? I’m just happy to see you.” He defends and engulfs you in a hug.
“I’m happy to see you too.” You roll your eyes trying to hide your smile.
“What? What was that? I didn’t quite catch that.” He teases you dramatically.
“I’m never being nice to you again.” You try walking away.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
“I’ve just missed you.” He says, sincerely.
“Aw, Jonny. I’ve missed you too.”
You’re pretty much the only one who calls him by his first name. You’re the only one who can actually. You also think John is kind of boring, so you prefer to call him Jonny.
You and Logan have been friends since your freshman year in college. You first met him at a party and you both found each attractive. One thing led to another and you ended up making out. You both immediately realized that you had no chemistry whatsoever. Kissing him felt weird. You both agreed to just stay friends. You’ve remained best friends ever since.
“Why have you been so busy lately?” He asks leading you over to sit on the couch.
Allie and Hannah disappeared into the crowd, probably going to see their boyfriends.
“I don’t know, I’ve just been picking up extra shifts at Malone’s. School work has also been keeping me. But I’m here now, aren’t I?” You sit down on the couch and face him.
“Finally.” He sighs dramatically.
“I just have a question though.” He asks hesitantly.
“What is it?” You look at him skeptically.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You always ask me weird questions, Logan. I’m allowed to be skeptical.”
“I don’t ask you weird questions!” He says, defending himself whole heartedly.
You narrow your eyes at him, as if you’re asking him “Are you serious?”.
“Okay, fine! I might ask you weird questions but this one isn’t weird.” He caves.
“What is it then?” You let out a small laugh at his antics.
“Was there no other reason for me not seeing you?”
“What do you mean?”
“There was no particular person, that you could be avoiding?”
“Stop asking me stupid questions.” You try getting up put he grabs you and places you back on the couch.
“That was hot.” You admit.
You’re a very flirtatious person and both of you flirt with each other all the time. You thought maybe you could change the subject somehow. You hate talking about the man who shall not be named.
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
“Ugh, fine.” You give up.
“Why would I put myself in a situation with a person I hate? So, I try to not be where he is.” You shrug your shoulders.
“So you are avoiding him?” He smirks.
“Whatever, Logan.”
“Why can’t you guys just be civil? I miss you.” Logan asks.
He’s tired of having to hang out with you two separately.
You always miss out on group outings just because of Tucker. He’s never understood why you two hate each so much.
“I miss you too, Jonny. I just really can’t stand him.” You answer truthfully.
“I understand.”
His big brown eyes looked way too sad, you couldn’t deny him.
“I’ll stop avoiding hanging out with you guys. Okay?”
“Really? I didn’t think that would actually work.” He says with the biggest smile on his face.
“Oh? Well then I’ll just take it back.” You say sarcastically.
“No, no. Please don’t take it back.” Logan begs.
“I don’t know, I think I might.” You say teasingly.
You get up and aim for the kitchen.
“Nope, not happening.” He follows after you.
Little did the both of you know, there was a pair of eyes staring at the two of you the entire time.
“Dude, you’re gonna burn holes into their heads.” Dean says standing next to Tucker.
“What are you talking about?” Tucker tries to act nonchalant.
“You haven’t stopped staring since she got here.”
“Why is she even here?” He tries changing the subject.
“Because she’s our friend?” Dean says like it was obvious, because it was.
You’ve been friends with Logan for forever and got even closer to everyone when Hannah and Allie started dating Dean and Garrett. The only thing not being obvious is why you and Tucker hate each other.
“She’s definitely not my friend.” Tucker says, almost disgusted.
“Why do you even hate her so much?” Dean asks genuinely.
“She’s just- dude I don’t even wanna talk about her.” He cuts himself off.
One thing he’ll never admit is, he actually doesn’t know why he hates you so much. It’s just a feeling he’s always had, even if he can’t place it.
“Right.” Dean says simply, trying to hide is smirk.
“What?” Tucker asks annoyed.
“Nothing, nothing.” He denies.
Dean can sense that there’s something Tucker isn’t telling him. He doesn’t wanna confront him about it just yet.
“You’re weird.” Tucker shakes his head and tries walking out of the kitchen.
He “tries” because he accidentally bumps into someone. That someone being you. You were looking at Logan beside you, not realizing someone was in front of you. Tucker was looking behind him, at Dean. He also didn’t see that you were walking towards him. This means it was both of your faults, but neither of you are gonna admit that.
You feel a cold sticky substance coat your feet and skirt.
“Watch where you’re going, you dick!” You yell at him.
Not only did he bump into you, but he spilt alcohol all over your brand new heels!
“Watch where I’m going? You were the one that bumped into me.” He scoffs in disbelief.
“Yeah? Well, whose drink is all over my new heels? Yours! You spilt your disgusting drink all over me, so don’t tell me I’m the one bumping into you.” You fume.
You know that that necessarily doesn’t have to be true. You could’ve bumped into him and he could’ve still spilled his drink on you. That didn’t matter to you though, you were furious. Your legs and feet being sticky also causes your anger to grow immensely.
“Am I supposed to care?” He walks closer to you, trying to intimidate you.
“I don’t give a fuck about what you care about. But maybe try opening your eyes and using your brain for once, so you don’t spill disgusting beverages on people. I think that’ll help next time.“ You seethe. You move closer to him, not letting him intimidate you.
“Woah, amazing analysis, princess. But I don’t think I need your help.” He takes a step closer.
“Ew, don’t call me that. And trust me when I say you need help.” You say with a disgusted expression on your face.
“Yeah? So you can teach me how to follow you like a lost puppy like Logan does?” He smiles mockingly at you, taking the last step before your bodies are touching.
“Hey!” Logan chimes in.
He’s been standing beside you the entire time, watching the interaction in 4K.
“Sorry, dude.” Tucker apologizes.
“It’s okay.” Logan accepts the apology and pats him on the shoulder.
He goes over to stand next to Dean instead, who also has been watching the whole thing go down.
“Maybe that’s what you need. Because you certainly need to be put in your place.” You say with pure rage, as you cross your arms over your chest.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He smirks down at you.
“Stop being such a perv you idiot.” You punch his shoulder.
“What’s happening?” Logan whispers to Dean, slightly scared.
“I don’t know, but i think this is like foreplay for them or something.” Dean answers, looking at you both intently.
“Dude.” Logan slaps Deans head.
“What? It’s true. Who even talks like that?”
“I guess that’s true.” Logan comes to a realization.
“You’ve gonna punch a little harder if you wanna hurt me, darling.” Tucker says smugly.
“Yeah? You think you’re all that?” You punch his shoulder even harder.
“A little harder.” He teases you.
“I bet you’d like that, you perv.” You spat.
“You hitting me? No. Other women who are actually hot, hitting me? Yeah, I’d like that.” He says smugly. It’s almost like the mere thought of you disgusts him.
“That’s lovely, now enjoy your pervert fantasies. I have to go clean the shoes you ruined.” You say faking being polite.
“Don’t worry, I bet your daddy will buy you new ones, princess.” He says mockingly.
You don’t have any energy left fighting with him so just flip him off.
Logan follows after you as you walk up the stairs.
“Wait.” He says, wanting you to slow down.
“What.” You say, irritated.
You’re all sticky and annoyed right now, you don’t really wanna talk to anyone.
“Let’s go to my room, I’ll give you new clothes.”
“It’s fine, Logan.”
“No it’s not, you’re covered in alcohol.”
“Okay, fine.” You agree and walk into his room.
“Here” he hands over a sweater and a pair of sweatpants.
“Thank you, Logan.” You say and walk out of the room to go to the bathroom. You desperately need to wash away the alcohol on your legs.
You come back into Logan’s room in new clothes.
“Welcome back.”
You just sigh in response, you’re already tired and you’ve only been here for less than an hour.
Logan just chuckles at you.
You throw yourself on his bed beside him.
“I didn’t even get to get a drink.” You say dramatically.
“I know, you immediately got into trouble instead.”
“That wasn’t my fault. If he would’ve just watched where he was going we wouldn’t be here right now.” You say defensively.
“You should’ve done that too.” He says quietly.
“What?” You say, glaring at him.
“I mean, you kinda walked into him as well. You walked into each other.” He tries saying himself from your wrath.
“Don’t ever say stupid shit like that again.” You say, almost offended.
“I’m just saying!” He says putting his hands up and laughing.
“Whatever.” You roll your eyes and laugh with him.
“The girls are probably mad at me right now though.” You realize.
“Why?”
“I promised them I’d dance and spend time with them today.” You say feeling guilty.
“They’ll be fine, they’re probably off with Dean and Garrett.” He reassures you.
“Yeah, but still.” You say feeling bad.
“It’s fine, you can dance with them at the next party. Now relax you’ve been through enough at this party.”
“You’re right.” You chuckle at his choice of words.
You feel your phone vibrate as you lay your head down, trying to relax like Logan told you.
“Speaking of the devil.” You say as you see Allie texting your group chat.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖
₊˚⊹ᰔ
a/n: reader and tuckers first interaction 😛😛 hope u like this so far!!! ily thank u for reading <333
