#youngblood

Why can’t we choose them?

Cuz we can feel something’s broken

Shaft (Dylan O'Brien)

Badrock (Jacob Bertrand)

Die Hard (Lee Pace)

Chapel (Trevante Rhodes)

Vogue (Imogen Poots)

roomates_band: Ay lads @5sos

ashtonirwin: Love ya guys this is beautiful

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ Champions & Cheap Beer

girlfriend!reader x Dean Youngblood

˙⋆✮ ˙ summary: After such a great game for Dean, you and the team go to celebrate…but you’re far from sober

˙⋆✮ ˙ warning: fluff, drunk!Dean, drunk!reader, drinking

˙⋆✮ ˙ a/n: this was lwk so fun to write. i loved this idea sm. and tyyy! you are amazing, my friend! enjoy!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The locker room was absolute chaos.

Music blasted from an old radio, towels flew through the air, and someone had already sprayed half the room with champagne.

"We did it!" Derek shouted, wrapping an arm around Dean before nearly knocking both of them over.

"The Mustangs win!" Heaver yelled from across the room.

Dean laughed so hard he could barely breathe.

His eyes searched the room until they landed on you standing by the doorway, wearing one of his team jackets.

The second he saw you, his grin somehow got even bigger.

"There she is!"

Before you could react, Dean jogged over and swept you into a hug, lifting you off the floor.

"We won!" he laughed.

"I noticed!" you giggled.

"I told you we'd do it!"

"You absolutely did."

He set you down, kissed your forehead, and proudly pointed at himself.

"Winner."

"So humble."

"I try."

"You really don't."

Later that night, the whole team crowded into a local bar to celebrate.

The place was loud, full of laughter, clinking glasses, and terrible singing from one corner.

Dean sat beside you with his arm lazily around your shoulders.

Derek slid two drinks across the table.

"For the happy couple."

Dean looked at the glasses suspiciously.

"...What's in these?"

"No idea," Derek admitted.

"Perfect."

You laughed.

"That's reassuring."

Dean lifted his glass.

"To the Mustangs!"

"To the Mustangs!" everyone echoed.

Two drinks became three.

Three became...

Neither of you were keeping count anymore.

Dean rested his chin on your shoulder.

"...Y'know..."

"Hm?"

"You're real pretty."

You smiled.

"Thank you."

"No."

He shook his head dramatically.

"I mean... really pretty."

"I got it the first time."

"I don't think you did."

He gently squished your cheeks together with one hand.

"So pretty."

You burst into laughter.

"You are so drunk."

"I am not."

"You just called the jukebox 'sir.'"

"I was being polite."

Across the table, Derek snorted into his drink.

"I actually watched him apologize to a chair ten minutes ago."

"It was my fault," Dean defended.

"The chair wasn't even touching you," Heaver pointed out.

Dean frowned.

"...You don't know that."

Everyone erupted into laughter.

A little while later, you found Dean staring very seriously at a bowl of pretzels.

"What are you thinking about?" you asked.

He pointed.

"Those are tiny bread."

"They're pretzels."

"Tiny... fancy bread."

"You're adorable."

"I know."

He leaned closer and whispered as though sharing a huge secret.

"I think I love you."

You smiled softly.

"I think you do too."

"No..."

He gently took your hand.

"I know I do."

Your heart melted.

Even tipsy, he managed to make you blush.

"Aww," Derek groaned dramatically from nearby.

"Don't encourage him," Heaver laughed.

Dean ignored them completely.

He was too busy smiling at you.

"You've got pretty eyes."

"You've said that three times."

"They're still pretty."

You reached up and brushed a piece of hair off his forehead.

"So are yours."

Dean blinked.

"My eyes?"

"Mhm."

He gasped dramatically.

"Boys!"

The entire table looked over.

"My girlfriend says I'm pretty!"

Derek buried his face in his hands.

"We know!"

"I've peaked," Dean announced proudly.

"You won a hockey game today," Heaver reminded him.

"No."

Dean squeezed your hand.

"This is better."

You couldn't stop laughing.

By the time everyone decided to head home, Dean was adorably exhausted.

He insisted he wasn't tired...

Right before nearly walking into the wrong truck.

"Dean."

"Hm?"

"That's not your ride."

"...I knew that."

"You tried to unlock it."

"I was... checking."

"For what?"

"...Security."

You laughed so hard you had to wipe tears from your eyes.

He looked at you with a sleepy smile.

"I like making you laugh."

"You do it without even trying."

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the two of you slowly walked toward his truck.

The cool night air helped a little, though Dean still leaned into you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

"You know," he murmured.

"What?"

"Best part of today wasn't winning."

"No?"

He shook his head.

"It was seeing you waiting for me after the game."

You smiled, resting your head against his shoulder.

"I'm always going to be there."

Dean pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

"Good."

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanna celebrate every win with my favorite person."

You laughed quietly.

"Even if you end up apologizing to furniture again?"

He looked genuinely thoughtful.

"...Only if the furniture deserves it."

Rob Liefeld — Youngblood #4 page 25-25 double page splash pencil preliminary (2026) Source

Published spread. Colors by Juan Manuel Rodriguez.

Youngblood live at Lollapalooza 2026