Amaris @amaris-whisperer - Tumblr Blog

My Familiar Stranger l Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst, romance, hurt/comfort Summary: You fell in love with your neighbor Peter without knowing why he looked at you like you were his entire world. It takes a sniper bullet, a hospital trauma room, and a stolen letter to realize that even with a wiped memory, you fell in love with the exact same boy twice. Note: My masterlist 1 & 2

My life as a hospital intern is a blur of fluorescent lights, long hours, and cold coffee. I leave my apartment before sunrise and return long after dark. My feet always ache, and my mind feels heavy from the endless quiet stress of the wards. But three months ago, Peter Parker moved into the tiny apartment right across the hallway from mine.

It started with small things. At first, it was just a quick nod in the dim corridor. Then, it turned into quiet conversations by the stairs. Slowly, Peter became a bright spot in my daily routine.

One night, I drag myself up the steps after a grueling sixteen-hour shift. I'm so tired that my hands shake as I try to fit my key into the lock.

"Let me help with that," a soft voice says.

I turn to see Peter stepping out of his door. He wears a faded grey sweater. His hair is messy, and his eyes are full of gentle concern. He gently takes the key from my fingers and unlocks the door for me.

"You look like you're about to collapse," he says with a light smile.

"I think my legs forgot how to work," I mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

"Wait here for a second," he tells me.

He vanishes into his room and comes back holding a warm plastic container. "I made extra rice and chicken. You need to eat something real, not just vending machine snacks."

"Peter, you don't have to do this," I say, though my mouth waters at the smell.

"I want to," he replies softly. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Actions like this become our normal. On days when I leave early, I find small sticky notes on my door with silly jokes or reminders to drink water. Whenever we sit on the fire escape together, we talk for hours. We bounce off each other's words easily, like we have known each other for years instead of months.

I don't understand why he treats me with such deep warmth and tenderness, as if I am something precious he is terrified of losing. But my heart does not care about the mystery. I fall for him completely and naturally. I find comfort in the gentle boy next door who always makes sure I never feel alone.

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Peter is sitting on my couch while I brew tea in the tiny kitchen. The apartment is warm, filled with the soft light of the late afternoon sun. While I wait for the kettle to boil, Peter leans over the low coffee table. His eyes catch on my open sketchbook, where charcoal drawings of Spider-Man fill the pages.

He flips through the paper slowly, his fingers hovering just above the dark lines.

"I didn't know you drew him," Peter says quietly.

I bring two mugs over and sit down beside him. "It is just a habit. I draw when I need to clear my head."

He turns to look at me intensely and seriously. "Do you like him? Spider-Man, I mean."

"I admire him," I answer and look down at a detailed drawing of the hero perched on a ledge. "He's so selfless. He saves people every single day without asking for anything in return."

Peter stares at the page. His expression is unreadable. "Most people just think he is cool or crazy."

"I think about what is under the mask," I say softly and trace the outline of the suit on the paper. "I wonder if he endures his pain all by himself. I wonder if he's lonely, or if he's truly happy. I just hope he has someone to lean on when the day is done."

A heavy silence fills the room. When I look up, Peter is completely still. His throat works as he swallows hard, and his eyes glisten with sudden moisture. A single tear escapes and trails down his cheek, but he quickly raises his sleeve to wipe it away.

"Peter? What's wrong?" I ask and reach out to touch his arm.

He flinches slightly at my touch, then looks at me with a look so full of sorrow it takes my breath away.

"Maybe he loved someone," Peter whispers, his voice trembling. "Maybe he loved them more than life itself, but he had to let them go to keep them safe."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my heart sinking in my chest.

Instead of answering, Peter stands up abruptly. He moves toward the front door before I can even stand.

"I have to go," he says quietly, his hand already on the doorknob.

He steps out into the hallway and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. I was alone in the sudden, painful silence of my apartment.

Three days pass, and Peter completely disappears. I knock on his apartment door every morning before my shift and every night when I get back, but nobody answers. My texts stay unread. Worry sits like a heavy stone in my stomach, making it almost impossible to focus during my long hospital shifts.

The chaos starts on a rainy Thursday night. Alarm bells ring across the Emergency Department, and paramedics rush through the automatic doors pushing a blood-soaked stretcher.

"Gunshot wound to the torso!" a paramedic yells over the noise. "It's Spider-Man! I repeat, Spider-Man is down!"

Doctors and nurses swarm the trauma bay. They block my view. Panic surges through me. I don't know why, but a strange instinct drives me to move closer. I slide past the busy staff and squeeze into the back of the crowded treatment room.

Through the gaps between the medical team, I watch them cut away the red and blue fabric. Then, a doctor unlaces the fabric over his head and pulls off the mask to clear his airway.

My heart drops into my stomach. My breath catches in my throat.

The pale, bloodied face on the pillow belongs to Peter.

I take a step backward in pure shock. I nearly stumble into a tall, grim man who stands near the corner of the room. He wears dark military clothes and has a terrifying stare. He steps forward to block my path. His sharp eyes narrow as he looks down at my yellow intern badge.

"You do not belong in here, kid," the man says, his voice low and dangerous. "Who are you?"

I force my hands to stop shaking and stand up straight. I try to look like a real medical professional despite the terror screaming inside me.

"I'm Dr. (Y/L/N). I'm an intern here." I lie smoothly and keep my voice as steady as possible. "I was sent from the trauma team to check his vital signs and monitor his chest tube."

The imposing man stares at me for a long moment as he is assessing every detail of my face. Finally, he steps back just an inch, though his intense gaze never leaves me as I carefully approach Peter's bedside.

I step closer to the bed, pretending to adjust the vital monitors near Peter's pale form. My hand trembles against Peter’s chest as I pretend to listen to his heartbeat with my stethoscope. The quiet hum of the hospital hallway feels too loud.

That is when I see it. A small, carefully folded piece of paper slips out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket placed on the footboards. It rests right on the edge of the fabric, ready to fall.

Acting on pure instinct, I slide my hand over the paper and palm it tightly against my fingers before sliding it into my coat pocket.

"Everything looks completely fine," I say and step back to break the heavy silence between us. "His heart rate is just a bit fast. Give me a moment to check his paperwork, okay?"

The man just nodded. "Take your time. He isn't going anywhere."

I nod quickly and walk away before my composure breaks. I turn down the corridor and push open the heavy metal door to the deserted stairwell. The chill in the air hits me immediately. I lean my back against the wall, pull the folded paper from my pocket, and smooth it out with shaking hands.

I instantly recognize the precise handwriting. I take a deep breath and begin to read.

"Hi Y/N, my name is Peter Parker, and you don't remember me, but I have something to tell you that's going to sound crazy. But it's the truth, and I know you're going to believe me, because you're very good at telling when I'm lying.

We used to know each other. We were together.

But something bad was going to happen to the world. And the only way to stop it was to make everyone forget me, including you. Doctor Strange cast a spell, and suddenly I became a ghost to everyone I loved.

Because I'm not just Peter Parker. I'm Spider-Man.

And sometimes, Spider-Man has to do the hard thing. Even if it breaks Peter Parker's heart. I tried to stay away, Y/N. I really tried. But I loved you too much to remain a complete stranger forever.

Maybe I'll never give this to you. Maybe I'm just writing this for me. Maybe that's my responsibility, to live alone with the truth.

But the truth is I love you. And I hope that deep down, something inside you remembers you love me too."

The paper sways in my grip as tears fill my eyes. The letter is addressed to me. The words blur into soft spots of ink on the page. My chest feels painfully tight, like all the air in my lungs is suddenly gone.

Memories don't come rushing back. I don't see old dates or hear old conversations in my head. But my heart aches with a sudden, overwhelming truth.

Everything finally makes sense. The strange familiarity I felt the second he walked into the clinic, the way my pulse raced whenever he smiled, the quiet warmth in his eyes that felt like home. That's why he feels like a familiar stranger to me.

I press the letter against my chest and slide down the cold wall until I sit on the concrete step. Hot tears run down my face as a quiet sob escapes my throat.

Even with a clean slate, even with my mind wiped completely clean, my heart still fell in love with the exact same person all over again.

I fold the paper carefully, wipe the tears from my cheeks, and stand up. Peter's still waiting for me, and I'm not going to leave him alone anymore.

I wait until late at night, when the busy hospital corridors finally grow dark and quiet. I slip back into Peter's private recovery room. Ny heart is pounding against my ribs. The low hum of the heart monitor fills the room, and Peter lies asleep on the bed. He looks small and exhausted under the white blankets.

The tall man stands near the window. His expression is no longer harsh. As I step closer, he turns to look at me, his eyes soft with a deep, quiet understanding. He looks down at my hands and notices the paper folded neatly between my fingers.

"You read it," he says softly.

"I did," I whisper and swallow the lump in my throat.

The man takes a slow step toward me. "I'm sorry for acting like a jerk earlier. My name is Frank. I don't trust anyone in this place, especially with the kid in this condition."

"It's alright, Frank," I say and keep my voice low so I do not wake Peter. "You're just looking out for him."

Frank glances over at Peter's sleeping face and sighs. "Loving someone like him at such a young age is not an easy life. He carries the weight of the entire city on his shoulders, and he almost died tonight. But looking at you, I know he isn't alone. You're going to protect him, aren't you?"

"With everything I have," I reply without hesitation.

Frank nods approvingly. "You should head home now. You're an intern here, and you can't risk getting caught sneaking around this late. Peter would hate it if his mess ruined your career."

"I don't want to leave him," I admit and stared down at Peter's bruised face.

"Go home," Frank tells me gently. "I'll stay right here until he wakes up. I promise I'll tell him you were here. He's tough, and he'll find his way back to your doorstep as soon as he can walk."

"Thank you, Frank," I say and feel a wave of relief wash over me.

I step closer to the edge of the bed and lean down over Peter. His skin feels warm under my touch. I gently press a soft kiss against his cheek and let my lips linger for a moment.

"If you want the answer you craved so much," I whisper softly into his ear, "you have to come to my apartment. Come back to me, Pete..."

I put the letter back to his suit. I give Frank one last quiet nod and turn to walk out into the cool night air.

The next few days pass in a blur of restless, quiet agony. Since I am on my official days off from the hospital, I spend every waking hour pacing the small floor of my living room. I try to read, I try to cook, but my mind refuses to stay in the present. I keep thinking about the missing years of my life, the incredible sacrifice Peter made all by himself, and the terrifying realization that he almost bled out in a cold hospital bay without me ever knowing the truth.

Every slight noise in the hallway makes me jump. My phone sits on the table, completely silent, and the heavy uncertainty weighs on my chest until it feels hard to breathe.

Around three o'clock in the afternoon on the third day, a sharp, loud knock echoes through the quiet apartment.

I startle and nearly drop my mug of cold water. "It must be the delivery package I ordered," I mutter to myself. I try to calm my racing heart as I walk toward the entrance.

I unlock the deadbolt and pull the heavy wooden door open without thinking.

Standing on the welcome mat is Peter. He looks terrible and wonderful all at once. Dark purple bruises cover his jawline, a fresh bandage sits taped across his temple, and he leans slightly to the left to favor his injured side. But despite the pain clearly visible in his dark eyes, his lips curve into a tender, hopeful smile the moment he sees me.

"Peter," I gasp. My voice breaks on his name.

Before he can speak, I throw my arms around his shoulders and pull him close to me. I am careful not to squeeze his bandaged torso too hard, but I hold on with everything I have. I bury my face into the warm crook of his neck.

Peter lets out a shaky breath, wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tight against his chest. He rests his cheek against my hair. He trembles slightly as he holds me back.

"I believe I owe you a letter," he whispers emotionally against my shoulder.

I pull back just enough to look at his face. Tears already sting my eyes as I open the door wider to let him inside.

Peter gently guides me inside and closes the apartment door behind us. His movements are slow and careful, but his hand feels warm and solid in mine. He leads me over to the small couch in the living room, and we sit down side by side in the quiet afternoon light.

He turns his body to face me. He searches my face with intense focus.

"Frank told me you found it," Peter says softly. His voice is steady despite his pale appearance. "I know you already read the letter, but I need to say these words to you myself."

I nod, unable to speak through the tight knot in my throat. I place my hands over his and feel the faint trembling in his fingers.

Peter takes a deep breath, looking straight into my eyes. He doesn't reach into his pocket for a piece of paper. He doesn't look down for a single second. Instead, he begins to speak from memory and recites every word he wrote in the letter.

"Hi Y/N, my name is Peter Parker, and you don't remember me," he begins, his voice soft and full of emotion. "We used to know each other. We were together. But something bad was going to happen to the world. And the only way to stop it was to make everyone forget me, including you."

My eyes fill with tears as I listen to him speak. Every sentence flows smoothly from his lips, proven by the fact that he has rehearsed this in his head a thousand times during his loneliest nights.

"I am so sorry for taking those memories from you," he whispers, his eyes glistening with tears of his own. "Do you hate me for doing that? I just wanted to keep you safe, but living without you was breaking my heart. I love you so much, Y/N. I love you more than anything, and I just hope that somewhere deep down inside, you still feel the same way about me."

He stops speaking. The room falls completely silent once more. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as he waits. He is watching me with agonizing anxiety for my response.

The tears finally trace warm paths down my cheeks as I gaze at his nervous, bruised face. The silence between us stretches for a heartbeat. It is heavy with years of unspoken longing and painful isolation. I don't let him suffer through the silence for another second.

I reach up to cup his warm cheek with my palm, and lean in to press my lips softly against his.

The kiss is gentle at first, sweet and trembling with all the words I can't bring myself to voice right away. Peter gasps softly against my mouth. His entire body goes completely still in sheer disbelief before he relaxes under my touch. When I pull back just an inch, my eyes lock onto his with absolute certainty.

"You wiped my brain," I tell him softly. My voice trembles with raw emotion. "You wiped away every memory, every date, and every conversation we ever shared. You left my heart completely hollowed out for years, Peter. But do you want to know something funny?"

Peter swallows hard. His brown eyes search mine with a mixture of hope and fear. "What?"

"My heart still chose you," I say and press my hand over his chest where his pulse races wildly under my fingers. "It didn't care that my brain forgot your name. The very second you moved into the apartment across the hall, my heart fell in love with the exact same person all over again. It knows what it wants. It wants you. I want you...No...I need you, Peter Parker. "

A soft sob escapes Peter's throat.

"I'm never letting you make a choice like that alone again," I continue and tighten my grip on his shirt. "You don't get to protect me by pushing me away. From now on, if things get dangerous, you give me the choice to stand by your side. Do you understand me?"

"I promise," Peter whispers in tears. "I promise, Y/N."

Overcome with a wave of emotion, Peter leans forward and kisses me back deeply. He completely doesn't care about the sharp pain from his broken ribs and the gunshot wound in his side. He wraps both arms firmly around my waist to pull me flush against his body. The kiss grows intense, full of desperate love and years of buried grief finally melting away into pure joy.

My fingers weave through his soft brown hair and hold him close as the quiet living room fades into the background.

When we finally break apart for air, we don't move far. Peter presses his forehead against mine. Our warm breaths fan across our lips while happy tears spill down both of our faces. A small, genuine smile breaks across his mouth against mine as he speaks.

"Starting today," Peter murmurs softly against my lips. His hands rest gently on my hips, "we begin again. Just you and me, together in a brand new day."

I smile back through my tears. I slowly close my eyes and rest in the quiet safety of his arms. I know that no matter what the world throws at us next, we will face it side by side.

Woven Into You l Peter Parker x Grey!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Grey!Fem!Reader Genre: Angst, romance, hurt/comfort, slow-burn romance Summary: You were never meant to be part of his story. As Jean Grey's twin, you kept your head down, content to help Peter Parker heal from afar while keeping your own heart carefully guarded. But when you walk away to save your family, fate refuses to let you go quietly. Note: My masterlist 1 & 2

Warning: Spoilers ahead I’ve changed some parts from the actual movie, but I still kept the original storyline. Hope you enjoy it!

I'm the twin sister of Jean Grey. We don't look much alike, and my power is not as strong as Jean and Sarah's. They always protect me at all costs because I'm the fragile one in our family. When Jean left without me to search for Sarah, she left me behind to keep me safe.

I couldn't just sit around and do nothing. I went out to look for her, and that was how I met Peter Parker.

One night, I accidentally discovered his secret when I caught him slipping his Spider-Man mask off in a quiet alley. He freaked out at first, but then I showed him my own secret. I lifted a small pebble from the ground. It floated gently between my hands.

I didn't show him the full extent of my power, but it's enough to make him realize we were both carrying burdens. He smiled at me, and from that moment on, we shared an unspoken bond.

For months, we get to know each other little by little, piece by piece. We spend late nights sitting on cold rooftops, sharing warm drinks and quiet thoughts.

I never talk much about Jean or Sarah. I keep their names hidden to protect them and to protect Peter from our dangerous world. But on one rainy evening, as we sit under the cover of a small building ledge, I finally let my guard down.

"I just miss them," I say quietly and look down at my hands. "I'd love to sit in the park peacefully with my sisters again. No running, no hiding. Just us, sitting on the grass."

Peter looks at me with those gentle brown eyes of his. He reaches out and softly places his hand over mine and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I promise you, I will help you find them," he says. "You're going to get that peaceful day in the park, and I'll make sure you're all safe."

Hearing those words from him makes my chest ache in a way I can't explain. He is so kind and so sincere that I feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. I nod slowly and lean my head against his shoulder.

I never get in his way because I know how much the city needs him. He spends every single night saving strangers and putting everyone else before himself. I don't expect to fall in love with him, but it's impossible not to. He is too good, too gentle, and too caring. He never asks me for anything, and he never pressures me to share things I'm not ready to say.

The problem is his past. I know about his ex-girlfriend, MJ. He told me she said she didn't know him at all. It got much worse when she added she didn't love him anymore after reading the letter he wrote her. In that letter, he explained everything about Doctor Strange erasing everyone's memories of Peter Parker. Hearing those cold words from MJ broke him completely.

He stays heartbroken for a very long time. I watch him bleed inside, night after night, and slowly I realize that I'm bleeding too. Loving a man who is still deeply in love with someone else feels like cutting my own heart into pieces and trying to paste it back together. I make up my mind right then to stop myself from falling any deeper. I know I have to leave him for good.

Now, Peter is sitting with his knees pulled tight to his chest. He stares blankly at the crumpled piece of paper in his hands. It's the letter he wrote for MJ, the one that destroyed his last bit of hope.

I sit right beside him on the cold metal. My shoulder barely touches his as I use a tiny thread of my power to shield his skin from the freezing wind. He looks so small and broken in the dark.

"I thought maybe if she knew," Peter whispers. His raw voice cracks in the quiet air. He doesn't look up at me. His thumb just brushes repeatedly over the worn black ink. "I thought if she understood why I had to ask Doctor Strange to do it, it would fix things. But you can't force someone to remember a love that isn't there anymore."

My heart bruises at his words. Every tear he holds back feels like a sharp blade turning deep in my chest. I love him so much it terrifies me, but sitting beside him while his heart belongs to a ghost is a slow torture.

"Sometimes, you have to accept the consequences of our decisions even when it hurts us deeply, Peter," I breathe softly and reach out to touch his shaking arm.

He leans into my touch instantly and rests his forehead against my shoulder. He doesn't mean to hurt me. He is far too gentle to do it on purpose. But as I stroke his dark curls. I watch him break for another girl, my choice becomes clear.

I swallow the hard lump in my throat as tears prickle my eyes. I pull my hand back very slowly and rest my palms flat on my lap. I stand up while he closes his eyes and step quietly toward the fire escape stairs, so I can disappear into the dark night before my heart breaks completely.

The smoke hangs heavy in the night air. My feet feel heavy as I fight my way through the wreckage left behind by Damage Control. Every step hurts, but I keep moving forward. I have spent days following the fading energy traces of Jean. It's a desperate trail, but it finally leads me right into the middle of this chaotic battle.

And there he is. Spider-Man. Peter Parker.

I drop into the fight beside him. I use every bit of my strength to clear a path. Together, we push through the agents, striking hard until we finally reach Jean. She sat on the bed, near the edge of the collapse.

She was ready to crush William Metzger, the director of Damage Control. Her power holds him pinned to the chair as jagged mirror pieces hover dangerously close to his skin. Her power also controls the citizens in the town.

"Sarah died here," she says. "They experimented her. He used her."

Heat and rage explode inside my chest. Sensing my breaking state, Peter reaches out and grabs my hand tightly to anchor me to the ground before I can collapse. He places himself in front of me. I want to scream, to demand justice, but the words choke in my throat. I can't speak.

"Look at her," Peter says softly. He squeezes my trembling hand to draw Jean's glowing eyes toward me. "Look at what this is doing to your sister."

She pauses. Her fiery gaze shifts from Metzger to my tear-streaked face.

"If you cross this line," Peter continues, "you aren't just taking his life. You're tearing her apart, too. She fought so hard to track you down because she couldn't bear to lose you. She can't handle losing you to this dark path."

The floating mirror shards quiver in the air. Metzger whimpers, but Peter doesn't look at him. His eyes stay locked on her.

"Sarah wouldn't want this for either of you," Peter urges softly. "Don't force her to watch you become a killer now. Let us take you home. Please."

She stares at how tightly Peter holds my hand. The harsh red glow in her eyes slowly fades. The jagged pieces of mirror lose their hover and clatter harmlessly to the concrete floor.

Slowly, her shoulders drop, and she begins to look calmer.

Once the immediate threat falls back, I turn to Peter. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I try to explain why I am here, why I had to track her down.

But before I can finish my clumsy sentences, Peter raises a hand gently. He looks at me with understanding eyes. He knows without me having to lay out every painful detail. We're both carrying heavy burdens by losing people we love without warning.

I breathe a small sigh of relief and turn to Jean. "Come on," I say softly. "I'm taking you home."

Before I can grab her hand, Jean’s eyes glow with a blinding light. She doesn't want to be saved as she wants to control the outcome. She lunges forward telepathically and dives straight into Peter’s mind to seize his body and force him to act as her weapon.

"No!" I scream.

Without thinking, I jump into the psychic link right behind her.

Inside Peter’s psyche, the world is a swirling tempest of harsh red and gold energy. Jean’s power feels strong enough to crush anyone who gets in her way. I throw my own mind directly between her glowing power and Peter’s core consciousness. My power is nowhere near as strong as hers, but I stand like a shield anyway.

"Get out of his head, Jean!" I cry out in the psychic space. "Please! Don't hurt him! He helped me!"

I beg her with everything I have. We already lost Sarah to the chaos of our lives. The pain of that loss still tears at my chest every single second. I can't bear to lose Jean too, and I refuse to let her break Peter.

Jean’s mental projection stops. The fierce red light around her softens into a painful, sorrowful glow as she looks deep into my wide-open thoughts. She sees right through every wall I have built. She lets out a bitter chuckle.

"Oh, my sweet sister," Jean’s voice echoes in the psychic space, thick with pity. "You fell for him, didn't you? You gave your heart to the one who will never love you back. Someone who is already broken by another."

A sharp, violent gasp echoes through the red dust of his mind. It doesn't come from me or Jean.

It comes from Peter.

He is fully conscious right behind my psychic shield. He heard every single word. His shock radiates through the link like a physical blow. My heart hammers against my ribs. He was never supposed to find out like this, in the middle of a battle, exposed and pathetic.

I panic. I force the mental connection to snap shut. I shove both Jean and myself back into our physical bodies.

My eyes snap open in the real world. The air is cold against my face. I stand trembling beside Jean, my hand gripping her forearm so tightly my knuckles turn white. I strictly refuse to look up. I keep my eyes glued to the dark pavement, unable to face the pity or shock I know is waiting in his gaze.

"I'm sorry," I choke out uncontrollably. I quickly change the subject. "Jean and I will disappear. We won't bother you anymore. Thank you for everything, Peter."

I pull Jean toward the shadows of the alley.

CRACK.

A terrifying rifle shot shatters the night from a rooftop far across the street.The scope has locked onto my power signal from the shadows, firing a kill-shot meant to take me down instantly.

Before the sound can fully travel to my ears, a force slams into my side.

Peter moves faster than light. He throws his own body directly in front of mine, wrapping his arms around me as the heavy bullet tears through the air. Instead of striking my chest, the metal tears deep into his shoulder and upper torso.

The violent impact knocks us both off our feet, crashing hard onto the pavement.

"Peter!" I shriek.

I scramble to my knees, horror flooding my veins as dark blood begins to pool rapidly through his suit.

"No, no, no, Peter!"

He collapses onto his back, gasping wildly for air. His face is ghost-pale under the flicking streetlight. I drag his head into my lap, my hands shaking violently as I hover them over his chest. I push every drop of my subtle power into his body, struggling to keep his heartbeat steady and slow the internal bleeding.

"Why did you do that?!" Tears stream down my face, dropping onto his cheek. "You stupid, selfless spider! Why would you take a bullet for me?!"

Peter winces, a small cough wracking his chest, but his hand moves slowly, weakly rising to brush a tear from my cheek.

"Because..." he rasps, his voice barely a breath. "Because you were hurt enough today. And I couldn't... I couldn't let you get hurt again. Not on my watch."

"You're an idiot," I sob, holding his bleeding chest tightly. "I'm not leaving you to die!"

"I won't die," he whispers. He forces a tiny, reassuring smile through the sharp pain. "I'm strong... I'll survive this. You have to go... take Jean and go."

"Peter, please..."

"I'll find you again," he promises softly and traces my jaw line. "I promised, right?"

I hold his hand against my cheek. In the distance, heavy footsteps echo down the alley. The man is coming down to check his target.

"Go," Peter urges one last time.

I press my hands against his chest one last time and extend my power into a invisible thread. I lock my energy onto his heart. I keep it beating steady from afar even as I force myself to stand up. I drag Jean into the deep shadows just as the man steps out into the alley with a rifle in hand. I watch from the darkness as the man kneels beside Peter and check his pulse. He takes Peter out of the building.

Only when I see the flashing lights of the ambulance in the distance do I let go of the bond, I step away into the night and hold his promise tightly in my chest.

Peter slowly opened his eyes. His chest felt tight with bandages, but the tearing pain was surprisingly gone. A steady beep echoed from the heart monitor beside his bed.

He turned his head slowly and saw the man napping silently on a chair next to his bed. Frank Castle aka The Punisher woke up when he heard Peter shift.

"Easy, kid," Frank told him after Peter had taken off his oxygen mask.

"Where are they?" Peter rasped out. His voice was barely a whisper, but the question came out immediately. "Where is she?"

Frank looked at Peter with stern eyes before letting out a low grunt.

"They are gone, kid," Frank says plainly. "And the girl you're mentioning left the scene the second she saw me coming for you."

Peter tried to sit up. "Did they... were they okay? Did you hurt them?"

"I didn't chase and shoot them, if that is what you're asking," Frank replied. "In fact, that girl is the only reason you're sitting there breathing right now."

Peter frowned and asked, "What do you mean?"

"The bullet tore straight through your back. I'm so sorry for that," Frank explained. "By the time I reached you in that building, your heart should’ve stopped completely. But it didn't. I felt a strange energy around you. A thread of power holds your organs together. It literally pumps air into your lungs from somewhere far away."

Peter stared at Frank. He remembered the warmth of your hands on his chest before everything went black. He remembered your tears falling onto his face.

"She used her magic voodoo shit to keep you alive until you can breathe by yourself now," Frank continued. A rare smirk touched the corner of his mouth. "A girl doesn't burn through that much of her own energy unless she cares about you a whole lot. She risked exposing herself just to keep your heart beating."

Peter stayed silent. He thought back to the red and gold space inside his own head. He remembered Jean revealing the truth that had been hidden for so long. He remembered the panic and shame in your eyes when the link snapped shut, and how you tried to run away to protect him.

"Sounds to me like someone is giving you a second chance," Frank says quietly. "Most people in our line of work don't get those, Spider. You shouldn't waste it sitting in a hospital bed."

Peter sat quietly and immerses himself in deep thought. The room felt completely still as the truth settles into his chest. He spent so long holding onto the memories of the past. He clutched at ghosts and broken pieces of a life that no longer existed. But sitting here now, feeling the lingering pulse of your power still humming beneath his skin, he realized something clearly.

You're not just a friend who helped him. You had become a part of him. You stayed when things got dark, and you took care of his shattered heart without asking for anything in return. You were his second chance.

Peter looked up. The hesitation was completely gone from his face.

"I need to get out of here," Peter said firmly. "I need your help."

Frank raised an eyebrow. "You just took a high-caliber bullet to the chest less than twelve hours ago. You can barely stand."

"I'm a fast healer," Peter insists. "She is leaving the city soon. If I don't go right now, I'll lose her forever. Please, Frank."

Frank stared at him for a long moment. Finally, Frank let out a heavy sigh and reached into his duffel bag near the chair. He pulled out a loose, grey oversized hoodie and tosses it onto the bed.

"You are an idiot, kid," Frank grunted. "Make it quick. The police and the news crews are already swarming the front entrance."

Ten minutes later, the hallway outside the hospital room was clear. Peter snuck out through the back service exit, past the busy nurses and security guards.

At the same time, near the front of the hospital, a large crowd of fans, reporters, and citizens gathers on the sidewalk below. They shouted and cheered. They were holding up signs of support for their local hero. Up on the third-floor window, a tall, slender figure wearing the Spider-Man suit stands clearly against the glass. The fake Spider-Man, a stunt setup arranged by Frank to distract the press, waved energetically down at the crowd. The entire street erupted in loud cheer.

Meanwhile, the real Peter Parker stepped out into the cool air. He smiled after knowing that Spider-Man was loved so much like this. He then headed where his heart led him to since he was determined to find the girl who saved his life.

The cold wind cuts across the open city park, but I barely feel it. I pull my dark hoodie lower over my eyes. I close my eyes and focus every drop of my strength. Miles away, inside a bright white hospital room, my power reaches out like an invisible thread. I breathe for him. I gently push air into his lungs to keep him alive.

Guilt twists in my chest like a knife. He lies in that hospital bed because of me.

"You're straining yourself," Jean says quietly. She stands a few steps behind me. "He is strong. He will survive."

"I have to make sure," I whisper. I don't dare loosen my focus. "He took a bullet meant for my heart, Jean. He almost died because I was too weak to react."

"He didn't take it just to be a hero," Jean says. I feel a teasing smirk in her words. "The spider protects his web, sister."

"What are you talking about?" I turn my head. I was so confused by her words.

Before Jean can explain, I feel a quiet thud on the grass, followed by a familiar, warm presence that sends a sudden shockwave straight through my chest.

I pause. My mind tells me I'm being delusional. I'm just so tired that my brain is playing tricks on me. There is no way. He is supposed to be hooked up to monitors right now.

"You really should listen to your sister," a raspy, soft voice says from behind me.

My heart stops.

I spin around. Peter is standing just a few yards away. He wears an oversized grey hoodie. His face is marked with soft purple bruises. But despite the pain clearly visible in his eyes, he is smiling at me. It's that same warm smile that always makes my pulse race.

He actually comes here. He sneaks out of the hospital and walks all the way to find me.

"Peter..." My voice catches in my throat. I stare at him in pure disbelief. "You... you are supposed to be in a hospital bed!"

"I promised I'd find you, didn't I?" Peter says softly. He carefully step forward. "I'm not very good at breaking promises."

I turn back to my sister. She smiles gently at me, stepping back toward the deeper shadows of the trees to give us space. "We can't stay in the city for long," she reminds me softly. "I'll give you two some privacy. Take a moment."

She turns and walks away to leave us alone under the canopy of green and gold leaves.

The moment she is out of sight, I lose all my composure. Tears spill over my eyelashes and stream down my cheeks. I rush forward and throw my arms gently around his waist. I bury my face right into his chest. I take in his comforting warmth.

He lets out a small, sharp breath as his injuries take the impact, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he wraps his arms tightly around me. He rests his chin on top of my head and gently running his fingers through my hair to calm my shaking shoulders.

"You total idiot. You almost died," I sob against his chest. I clutch the fabric of his hoodie.

"I survived," he murmurs softly into my hair. "Just like I said I would. I'm right here."

He slowly pulls back and rests his hands gently on my shoulders, so he can look down into my face. His gaze is completely tender. But something changes. His gaze lacks the heavy grief that used to hide in his eyes whenever he thinks about his past.

"In my head..." Peter starts. "When Jean jumped in... when she revealed how you felt about me..."

A wave of intense heat rushes to my face. My cheeks burn bright red. I instantly look down at the grass. I bite my lower lip as shame and panic return.

"Peter, please," I cut in quickly. "You don't have to say anything about that. It was a mistake. I know your heart was broken, and I know how much you were hurting. It's okay. Maybe... maybe next time. In another life, when things aren't so chaotic."

Peter reaches out and places two warm fingers under my chin. He gently tilts my face back up until my eyes meet his clear brown ones.

"There doesn't need to be a next time," Peter says softly. "I don't think I should stick in the past anymore. You saved me, in more ways than you know. You pulled me out of the dark."

He gives me a small smile that makes my breath hitch.

"Besides," he adds with gentle humor, "you're woven into my web now. And I'm not letting you go."

A soft laugh escapes my lips despite the tears still wet on my cheeks. I stand up on my tiptoes and gently press a soft kiss against his bruised cheek.

"Find me again, Peter Parker," I whisper against his skin.

"Always," he promises. He is holding my gaze as I am slowly stepping back.

I take a deep breath, give his hand one last gentle squeeze, and turn to walk toward the shadows where Jean is waiting for me. For the first time in a long time, I'm not afraid of what lies ahead.

Our Fake Pact l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Fake dating, enemies to lovers, fluff/angst, forced proximity, secret softie Dean Summary: An eight-hour flight, one tropical destination wedding, and an overbooking error at the resort are all it takes to throw you right back into the orbit of Dean Di Laurentis, who is the smooth-talking Briar hockey player you’ve sworn to hate since a disastrous morning-after months ago. When overbearing exes push both of you to your limits, you and Dean strike a deal: play the madly-in-love couple for seven days to keep everyone off your backs. But as fake touches turn into real heat under the sun, the lines between an act and the truth start to blur fast. Note: My masterlist & 2

I clutch my iced latte and walk into the busy airport terminal. The air smells like burnt coffee and jet fuel. I take a deep breath to prepare myself for this week in paradise. I'm ready for sunny beaches, tropical drinks, and zero stress.

Then I see him.

Dean Di Laurentis leans against a large marble pillar near gate B12. He wears dark sunglasses and a black leather jacket. A designer duffel bag sits at his feet. He looks effortlessly gorgeous, like he just stepped off a fashion runway instead of an early morning flight.

My stomach drops into my shoes. I pull my sun hat down and try to walk past him fast.

"Well, well. Look who couldn't stay away from me."

His smooth voice cuts through the noise of the crowd. I freeze and look over. Dean slides his sunglasses down his nose. His bright blue eyes lock onto mine. He wears that signature arrogant smirk that makes me want to punch him.

"In your dreams, Di Laurentis," I say. "I'm here for a wedding. I plan to ignore you for seven full days."

"That is going to be pretty hard," Dean says. He holds up two boarding passes with a chuckle. "The bride just texted me. The group booking messed up. You and I are sitting together."

"No," I say instantly. "No way. Switch with someone."

"Everyone else is spread out across economy," Dean says. He steps closer and drops his sunglasses back into place. "It's an eight-hour flight to paradise, sweetheart. Get ready to love every second of it."

Twenty minutes later, we sit in row 14. The plane is packed and hot. Dean takes the window seat, and I sit in the middle. The space between us is tiny.

I immediately plant my elbow on the middle armrest.

Dean looks down at my arm. He raises an eyebrow. He places his thick forearm right next to mine and shoves slightly.

"My armrest," I whisper sharply.

"I have broad shoulders," Dean whispers back. He nudges my elbow off the plastic edge. "Share the space, darling."

I shove his arm back with my shoulder. He leans his weight right into me. We sit there in silence, playing a childish game of arm-wrestling over three inches of plastic. My shoulder bumps his chest. His muscles feel like solid rock under his jacket. I refuse to back down.

"You're relentless," Dean mutters, but his voice sounds amused.

"And you're annoying," I reply. I dig my elbow back into the middle spot.

Two hours into the flight, the plane cabin darkens. The hum of the engine makes my eyelids heavy. I fight the sleep because I don't want to let my guard down around him. My head nods forward twice.

"You can rest your head on my shoulder," Dean says quietly. His voice sounds unexpectedly soft in the dim light. "I don't bite. Unless you ask nicely."

"I would rather rest my head on the tray table," I say. I pull my sweater tight around my shoulders. "Don't touch me."

"Suit yourself," Dean says. He rolls his shoulders and leans back.

I close my eyes and promise myself to stay awake.

When I open my eyes again, the cabin is completely dark. I feel warm. Very warm. A steady, slow beat hums under my cheek. My nose smells expensive cologne and fresh soap.

I blink awake slowly. My head is resting right on Dean's chest. His left arm is draped casually over my shoulders, holding me close to his side. My hand rests against his ribcage.

I freeze. I look up slowly.

Dean is looking down at me in the dark. He is wide awake. A tiny, victorious smirk plays on his lips.

"Good nap?" he whispers softly. His thumb gently strokes my shoulder once before he pulls his hand away.

My face burns hot. I quickly sit up straight and fix my hair.

"You moved in your sleep," I lie. "You pulled me over."

"Right," Dean says softly. He leans closer to my ear. "You were practically purring, sweetheart. Admit it. You love my chest."

I glare at him, but my heart races so fast I can barely breathe.

The resort lobby is huge and bright. Palm trees sway outside the tall glass walls. Ocean breeze blows through the open doors. It looks like absolute paradise.

The front desk manager looks stressed. He taps fast on his computer keyboard. He looks up at our group with a nervous smile.

"I'm so sorry, everyone," the manager says. "There was a system glitch. The villa is short by one full suite."

The bride groans loudly. Everyone in the wedding party starts talking at once. People complain about the heat and the long flight.

I rub my temples. I just want to lie down and take a shower.

Then I hear a familiar, unwanted voice behind me.

"Hey, it's no problem at all," Hector says. He was my ex. He steps out of the crowd and walks over to me. He gives me a soft, charming smile that used to make me melt. Now it just makes my stomach turn.

"You can stay in my suite," Hector says softly. He reaches out and grabs my suitcase handle. "It has two rooms. I can save you the hassle of waiting for another place. We can catch up properly."

I tense up. I start to open my mouth to say no.

Suddenly, a heavy arm drops over my shoulders. Strong fingers pull me firm against a broad chest. Dean pulls me tight to his side. The scent of his rich cologne fills my nose instantly.

"Appreciate the offer, man, but she is staying in my suite. We are together," Dean says. His voice is deep, confident, and completely smooth.

Hector freezes. His eyes widen as he looks from Dean to me. "Since when?"

"Since a while ago," Dean says with a sharp, casual grin. He squeezes my shoulder gently. "So you don't need to worry about her. I take very good care of what is mine."

My jaw almost drops, but Dean nudges me subtle with his hip. I force a fake, tight smile and nod at Hector.

"Right," I say quickly. "We share a room now. Thanks anyway."

Hector looks furious, but he grabs his bag and walks away fast.

Dean grabs the keycard from the manager. He leads me down a long hallway toward the last room at the end. He keeps his heavy arm wrapped around my waist the entire walk. Every touch feels warm and electric.

He taps the card against the door scanner. It clicks open. He pushes the heavy door open and guides me inside.

The suite is giant. Light fills the space from huge balcony windows.

My eyes fall right on the middle of the room. There is only one massive king-size bed. White silk sheets cover it. Off to the side, the open-concept bathroom has a totally clear glass shower. No curtains. No privacy walls at all.

"Are you serious?" I gasp out loud.

The solid wooden door shuts behind us with a loud click.

The moment the lock engages, Dean drops his arm from my waist. The fake boyfriend act disappears in a single second. He tosses his duffel bag onto a chair. He struts over to the giant bed and flops down flat on his back. He clasps his hands behind his head and looks at me.

I grab a heavy decorative pillow off a armchair. I throw it right at his stupid face with all my strength.

Dean catches the pillow easily with one hand. He sits up slow. A huge, triumphant grin spreads across his face.

"Hey, watch the face," Dean laughs. "I just saved you from your ex."

"You lied to everyone!" I yell, crossing my arms tight over my chest. "Now everyone thinks we are dating. And look at this room, Di Laurentis. One bed. A glass shower."

"You're welcome, by the way," Dean says coolly. He pats the soft mattress beside him. "The bed is huge. I promise I won't kick in my sleep."

"I'm sleeping on the sofa," I say sharply.

"Suit yourself, sweetheart," Dean says, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I think you just lost round one."

He flops back down onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh. I drag my heavy suitcase over to the small velvet sofa near the window. I sit down and stare at him. I realize this week is going to be far more dangerous than I thought.

The sun sets low over the ocean, painting the sky in deep orange and pink shades. Party lights glow near the edge of the large infinity pool. Music plays softly from the speakers. Everyone in the wedding party wears fine clothes and holds fancy drinks.

I sip my cocktail and try to stay cool in the warm evening air.

Hector stands near the bar. He keeps glancing over at me every few seconds. He looks like he is waiting for the perfect moment to corner me alone.

Near the pool lounge, Kierra talks loudly to a group of guests. I hear someone say she was Dean's ex.

"Dean never really does commitment," she says with a fake laugh. "He just gets bored after a week. He isn't the settling type."

I roll my eyes. I turn around and find Dean walking toward me. He looks unfairly handsome in a crisp white shirt with the top buttons open.

"Our audience is watching," Dean whispers and steps right into my personal space.

"They sure are," I reply under my breath. "So what's the plan?"

Before I can react, Dean wraps his hand firm around my waist. He pulls me flush against his solid chest. Heat radiates from his skin right through my clothes. My hands land flat against his broad shoulders to steady myself.

He leans back slow and dips me gently over the edge of the infinity pool deck. The blue water glimmers just inches beneath my back. My heart jumps straight into my throat from the sudden drop.

Dean tilts his head down. He whispers an overly sweet line right into my ear.

"You look so beautiful tonight, my lovely girl," Dean says out loud, his deep voice dripping with dramatic romance.

To the crowd around us, I look totally flushed and breathless from his words. But my mind is racing fast.

"Smile, sweetheart. Your ex is looking at me like he wants to fight," Dean whispers softly against my neck.

"If you dip me any lower, Di Laurentis, I'm pulling you into the pool with me," I whisper back through fake, cheerful smiles.

"I'd like to see you try," Dean says with a low laugh.

He pulls me back up slow, bringing my body right against his again. The heat between us is thick and heavy. I can feel the fast, hard beat of his heart right against my palms.

Dean turns his head slightly. He does not pull away like I expect him to. Instead, he leans close to my face.

He presses a softly planted kiss right onto my temple.

His lips are unbelievably warm and gentle against my skin. It isn't quick or dramatic for the audience. It's slow, tender, and lingers for a long second.

My breath hitches in my chest. The noise of the party suddenly fades away completely.

When Dean pulls back, his bright blue eyes look dark and intense. The smug grin is totally gone from his face. He stares down at me and looks slightly shaken and stunned by his own action.

I stare right back at him. My cheeks are burning hot and my pulse pounding wild in my ears.

"They're both walking away," I manage to say in a quiet voice.

"Good," Dean says softly. His hand is lingering warm on my waist. "That was the point, right?"

Neither of us moves away. The heat between us feels far too real now.

The wind picks up fast as the boat rocks heavily over the dark waves. Rain begins to pour down in heavy sheets. The sudden storm turns our peaceful late-night boat party into total chaos. Crew members run around the deck, securing loose ropes and shouting instructions.

Guests crowd inside the main cabin, looking worried and tense.

I step outside onto the covered side deck to get some fresh air. The loud engine groans as the captain tries to navigate through the rough water. The boat sways hard again.

I hold onto the cold metal railing to keep my balance.

Then I notice a tall figure standing alone near the stern.

Dean stands tucked away in a quiet, dark corner. His usual cool posture is gone. His hands grip the railing tightly, his knuckles turning completely white. He stares straight out at the churning dark ocean. His shoulders look stiff and tense.

I step closer quietly. I hear a soft, low sound coming from him. Dean is quietly humming a very fast rhythm. Then he begins to softly whisper words to himself.

"Staring at the blank page before you... open up the dirty window..."

My eyes go wide. Dean Di Laurentis is quietly singing Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten" to himself in the middle of a storm.

"Is that... Unwritten?" I ask, stepping into the dim light.

Dean flinches hard. He snaps his head around to look at me. His cheeks flush a bright red, visible even in the dark. He lets go of the railing fast and clears his throat. He is trying to instantly look cool again.

"No," Dean says quickly. "I was just checking the wind."

"You're singing," I say with a small laugh. "The smooth, confident hockey star sings cheesy 2000s pop music when he gets nervous?"

"I'm not nervous," Dean insists. He crosses his arms over his chest. "I just like the beat."

"You were clutching that railing like a lifeline," I say while teasing him. "Don't tell me you're scared of a little rain, Di Laurentis."

"It isn't the rain," Dean mutters, looking away. His voice loses its sharp edge. "I just hate being stuck on open water when the engines struggle. Okay? It makes my head spin."

I stop laughing immediately. I look at his tense jaw and dark eyes. He is completely serious. The playboy mask has slipped off, revealing someone surprisingly human.

"Hey," I say gently and step closer to him. "It actually works?"

"It gives my brain something else to focus on," Dean admits quietly. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to keep."

"Your secret is safe with me," I promise softly.

An hour later, the storm dies down, but the boat is stuck waiting for the harbor crew to clear the dock. Everyone inside the cabin is cranky, tired, and complaining loudly. The mood is tense and miserable.

Dean sits beside me on a plush lounge bench. He looks stiff, his jaw tight as the boat rocks gently in place. He rubs his face with both hands, clearly stressed and overwhelmed by the crowd's loud complaints.

I lean in close to him. I tilt my head until my lips are right near his ear.

"Feel the rain on your skin," I whisper softly into his ear. "No one else can feel it for you."

Dean freezes instantly. He turns his head slowly to look at me. The tight strain around his eyes vanishes.

"Are you singing to me?" Dean asks, his voice low.

"Only the express yourself part," I whisper back with a small wink. "Releasing your inhibitions."

A slow, genuine smile breaks across his face. It's not his fake playboy smirk. It's a warm, real smile that lights up his whole face. He shakes his head and chuckles softly. He lets his heavy shoulders finally relax. He leans his shoulder lightly against mine in the dark cabin. He no longer looks stressed at all.

The loud wedding rehearsal party downstairs finally dies down around midnight. I step out onto the quiet villa balcony to escape the noise. The cool night air feels good against my warm skin. The ocean waves crash softly against the dark shore below.

I rest my arms on the smooth wooden railing, holding a cold glass of white wine.

The heavy glass door slides open quietly. Dean steps out onto the balcony, carrying two small glasses of amber liquor. He wears a soft black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He walks over and leans against the railing right next to me.

"Thought I might find you out here," Dean says softly. He sets one glass down on the wide railing for me.

"It was getting too loud inside," I reply. I take a small sip of my wine.

"Yeah," Dean says. He stares out at the dark water for a long moment. "Tomorrow is the wedding. And then we fly back home on Sunday."

My heart heavy drops in my chest at his words. The week flew by far too fast. Acting like his girlfriend felt so easy, so natural. Now the looming reality hits me hard. Once we land back home, our fake pact officially ends.

"Back to real life," I say quietly, trying to keep my voice light.

"Is that what you want?" Dean asks suddenly.

I turn my head to look at him, surprised by his serious tone. Dean drops his head slightly. His witty, impenetrable guard completely falls away. He looks raw and honest in the dim balcony light.

"That morning months ago destroyed me," Dean admits in a low, quiet voice. "When you walked out after our first night together, I felt like an absolute idiot."

"You made it seem like just another hookup," I say softly.

"Because I was terrified," Dean says, looking right into my eyes. "I fell hard for you that night. I was ready to give up everything to be with you. But I got scared, so I played it cool, and then you left."

I stare at him in total shock. My throat feels completely dry.

"I'm great on the hockey rink," Dean says, taking a step closer to me. "I know how to win games. But right now, I'm terrified. I'm scared that this entire week was just a silly game to you."

"Dean," I whisper, my breath catching in my throat.

"I can't go back to pretending I don't care about you," Dean says. His voice is thick with deep emotion. "I don't want this act to end."

He reaches out and cups my face in his large warm hands. He pulls me close and presses his lips against mine in a desperate, heated kiss.

The kiss is deep, urgent, and full of intense passion. My wine glass almost slips from my fingers as I wrap my arms tight around his neck.

He pulls my body flush against his. He lifts me slightly off my feet. His hands slide firmly down to my waist and hold me with a fierce, possessive grip that leaves no space between us.

"You are mine," Dean mutters against my lips between hot, heavy kisses. "No more fake games. Say you feel it too."

"I feel it," I gasp against his mouth and kiss him back with all the built-up hunger from the entire week. "I love you, Dean."

He groans softly and buries his face in the crook of my neck. He kisses the sensitive skin there until I tremble in his arms. He holds me tight against his chest as he refuses to let me go as the dark ocean waves crash below us.

Six months later, the cold air at Briar University’s hockey arena stings my cheeks. The crowd roars loudly as the final buzzer sounds. Briar wins again.

Down on the ice, Dean pulls off his helmet and runs a hand through his sweaty hair. His bright blue eyes search the crowded stands until they land right on me. A huge, victorious grin lights up his face.

He skates fast toward the glass barrier right in front of my seat.

I lean over the glass as he steps up on his skates to reach me. He wraps his heavy gloved hands around my waist and pulls me down into a deep, breathless kiss right in front of thousands of screaming fans.

"Great game, Di Laurentis," I say with a laugh when he finally lets me breathe.

"I had extra motivation," Dean says smoothly. "My girl was watching."

His hockey teammates skate past us. They shake their heads and laugh at him. Garrett Graham yells something about Dean becoming a total sap, but Dean completely ignores them. He just pulls me closer over the glass. His hands hold me tight.

No fake dating. No pacts. Just us.

#dean di laurentis #off campus #off campus series #the score #dean di laurentis x reader #dean di laurentis x you #fanfic #fanfiction #stephen kalyn #briar u #off campus x reader #off campus prime #off campus fanfic #off campus imagine #off campus dean #dean di laurentis fanfic #dean di laurentis imagine #fake dating #enemies to lovers

Unmasked l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Slow burn, mutual comfort, hurt/comfort Summary: To keep college playboys at arm's length, you put on an exaggerated, intensely exaggerated persona. It drives everyone at Briar U crazy. But the star defenseman like Dean Di Laurentis, who sees right through the act doesn’t. But when a malicious campus rumor threatens to break you, you are forced to drop the shield and find out if the campus playboy is the one person you can actually trust. Note: My masterlist & 2

I sit on the cold metal bench in the Briar U ice rink lobby. My jacket is zipped up to my chin. I'm waiting for Grace to finish her post-practice routine.

Heavy footsteps echo down the hallway. I look up and see John Logan and Dean Di Laurentis walking my way. They carry their massive hockey duffel bags over their shoulders. Their hair is still damp from the showers.

I feel a familiar panic in my chest. Dean is entirely too handsome and entirely too popular. To keep guys like him at a distance, I rely on my favorite shield. I put on my best exaggerated persona to make myself too annoying to pursue.

As they get closer, I clasp my hands together. I widen my eyes and put on a high-pitched voice.

"Oh my gosh, hi boys!" I chirp. I fake a dramatic shiver. "I was just watching the ice. I could never skate, honestly. I'm way too fragile! I just prefer to sit here and look pretty for the boys."

Logan stops in his tracks. He looks completely baffled. His eyebrows knit together, and he blinks at me like I'm speaking a foreign language. He glances at Dean, then back at me. I internally smirk. I think my shield is absolutely foolproof.

Dean doesn't look baffled at all. He stops next to Logan and adjusts the strap of his hockey bag. A knowing smirk spreads across his face. He crosses his arms over his chest.

He doesn't buy the act for a single second. Instead of walking away or looking annoyed, he finds my blatant sarcasm highly entertaining.

"Is that so?" Dean asks. His voice is smooth and full of humor.

"Absolutely," I say and nod quickly. I lean into the performance even more. "All that sliding around looks so dangerous. My poor little ankles could never handle it."

Logan lets out a confused grunt. "Right. Well, I'm gonna wait by the car." He shuffles past us. He clearly wants no part in this conversation.

Dean stays right where he is. He steps a little closer to my bench. The smirk never leaves his lips. He looks down at me, his eyes dancing with mischief. He clearly sees right through the theatrical routine I just put on.

"You're really something else," Dean says softly.

"I'm just a simple girl, Dean," I reply in the same high voice. I bat my eyelashes for extra effect.

He lets out a low chuckle. It's a warm, genuine sound that sends a strange shiver down my spine. He shakes his head and turns to follow Logan toward the exit.

"See you around," Dean calls back over his shoulder.

I drop the high-pitched smile the moment his back is turned. My face returns to normal. I let out a long breath and slump against the metal bench. My heart is beating a little too fast. I thought my ridiculous act would drive him away, but it feels like I just handed him a challenge.

Rain pours down in steady sheets, turning the gravel alleyway behind the diner into a muddy mess. The cold water soaks right through my canvas jacket. I don't care about my clothes right now. My knees are dug straight into the wet dirt.

I lean forward and look into the narrow gap behind the heavy grease dumpster. A small, shivering stray dog is wedged in the tight space. Its fur is matted and soaked. Its dark eyes are wide with absolute terror.

"Come on, you stubborn little pup," I mutter under my breath. I wipe a mix of rain and sweat from my forehead. "Get your furry butt out of there before you freeze to death."

The dog whimpers and tucks its tail tighter. I sigh and open the plastic container in my hands. I bought a grilled chicken breast from the diner specifically for this. I tear off a piece of the warm meat.

My voice shifts entirely. The high-pitched, fake persona vanishes completely. I speak in a low, gentle, and deeply calm tone.

"Hey, it's okay," I whisper softly. "I'm not going to hurt you, sweet boy. Look what I have. It's just food. Come on, take a step forward."

I stretch my arm into the dark gap, holding out the chicken. The dog sniffs the air. Its nose twitches. It takes one hesitant step toward my hand.

"That is it," I encourage gently. "You're doing so well. Just a little further."

The dog reaches my hand and gently takes the chicken. I use the moment to carefully slide my hands under its chest. I pull the trembling animal out into the open alley. I wrap it tightly inside the dry side of my jacket. I hold it close to my chest to share my body heat.

A heavy metal door slams open a few feet away. I flinch and look up quickly.

Dean steps out from the back exit of the diner. He holds a black trash bag in his hand. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees me.

I freeze on the muddy ground. My heart drops into my stomach. I'm caught completely red-handed.

There is no high-pitched voice. There are no batted eyelashes. My expensive jeans are coated in dark sludge, and my hair is plastered to my face. I'm holding a stray dog like it's the most precious thing in the world.

Dean slowly walks over to the large dumpster and drops the trash bag inside. He turns his full attention back to me. He folds his arms over his chest. He looks completely unbothered by the pouring rain.

He looks at my muddy knees. He looks at the chicken container. Finally, his eyes meet mine, and he slowly raises a single eyebrow.

A knowing smile touches the corners of his lips. He lets out a quiet, amused huff. He looks at me for a long moment to take in the sight of the real girl underneath the performance.

He gives me a small, silent nod. Then, he turns around and walks back toward the diner door, leaving me alone in the quiet rain.

The lecture hall is packed and loud. Students are talking over each other as the professor shuffles his papers at the front of the room. I sit near the back. I hope to remain invisible.

The professor taps his microphone. The loud screech echoes through the room, silencing everyone. He announces that we are starting our final project today. This single assignment dictates our entire semester grade.

My heart sinks when the professor starts calling out pairs. He reads the names off his laptop.

"Dean Di Laurentis and," the professor pauses and squints at the screen, "our resident writer."

I stiffen in my seat. I look down the row. Dean is already looking back at me from across the room. He gives me a bright, cheerful wave. I feel a sudden wave of nerves hit my stomach.

The class ends quickly. We pack up our things and head over to the university library. We find a quiet wooden table in the back corner, surrounded by heavy textbooks.

I decide to use my usual defense mechanism immediately. I sit down and slump back in the wooden chair. I put on my best helpless expression.

"Oh, Dean, thank goodness I'm paired with you," I say in my fake, high-pitched voice. "I'm honestly so terrible at research. Libraries confuse me so much. You'll just have to do the heavy lifting and protect my GPA!"

Dean pulls out his chair and sits down across from me. He opens his laptop. He doesn't look annoyed. Instead, a massive grin spreads across his handsome face.

"Nice try," Dean says and lean forward on his elbows. "But I saw you in the mud last week. I know you have a brain, and I know you are tough. Drop the act. We are splitting this fifty-fifty."

I blink at him, completely stunned. The high voice drops instantly. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Dean says. His eyes flash with a playful challenge. "I read your last essay for this class. It's brilliant. You're smart, so don't play dumb with me. Let us get to work."

My face burns. Nobody usually calls me out like this. I open my own laptop without saying another word.

Hours pass by in a blur. The library grows completely empty around us. The initial tension vanishes as we dive deep into the research.

To my absolute surprise, Dean isn't just a shallow hockey player. He is incredibly sharp. He analyzes the data with ease and suggests excellent points for our thesis. He is focused, attentive, and genuinely brilliant.

During a small break, the conversation shifts away from the project. The academic talk turns into something much deeper.

We start talking about our actual lives. I find myself telling him about my family, my secret writer goals, and the intense fears I have about the future. I usually keep these things locked away behind tight walls.

Dean listens to every single word. He does not interrupt. He tells me about his own pressures, his family expectations, and his plans for Harvard Law School.

The walls I built up completely crumble into dust. For the first time, I'm just being myself, and Dean is doing the exact same thing.

The post-game party is loud and incredibly crowded. Music blasts from the speakers, shaking the floor beneath my feet. The air is warm and smells like spilled drinks. I walk through the living room, looking through the sea of unfamiliar faces.

I'm looking for Dean. After our long night at the library, I finally feel ready to talk to him outside of class. My heart beats with a nervous excitement. I want to see if the connection we shared was real.

I turn the corner into the large kitchen. I spot him instantly, but my feet freeze in place.

Dean is standing by the counter. He is completely surrounded by a flock of gorgeous, laughing girls. They lean in close to him, hanging onto every single word he says. One girl touches his arm while another flips her perfect hair.

Dean smiles his usual charming smile. He looks like a king in his natural kingdom.

The sight hits me like ice water. The warm excitement in my chest vanishes, replaced by a cold, heavy panic.

My deepest insecurities flare up instantly. I look down at my simple clothes, then look back at the beautiful girls surrounding him. I tell myself that I was being completely foolish.

I convince myself that I'm just another girl to him. He is the popular Dean Di Laurentis, and I'm just a temporary project partner. I feel certain that if I let my guard down, he will eventually break my heart.

I turn around and walk out of the party before he can see me.

The next morning, I see Dean walking toward me in the campus quad. The sun is bright, but my mood is dark. I immediately pull my armor back on. I put on the exaggerated mask.

"Hey," Dean says as he reaches me. His voice is warm, and he smiles gently. "I looked for you at the party last night."

I clasp my hands together. I widen my eyes and use my highest and most annoying fake voice.

"Oh, Dean!" I chirp loudly. "I could never handle a big party like that! I'm way too pure and innocent for college nightlife. I just went home to drink warm milk and write in my diary!"

Dean stops walking. His smile disappears instantly. He looks at me with complete confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asks. His voice drops, and he steps closer to me. "Why are you talking like that again? I thought we past this."

"I have no idea what you mean,Di Laurentis!" I say with a fake, plastic smile. I step backward to keep the space between us. "I'm just a simple girl."

Dean looks genuinely hurt by the sudden whiplash. The confusion in his eyes changes to a deep frustration.

"Stop it," Dean says softly. He reaches out to touch my arm. "Don't do this. I know who you are now, and I want to talk to you. I know exactly what I want. I want you."

His words terrify me. I pull away from his touch before he can connect.

"I have to get to class," I say in the fake voice and turn on my heel.

He tries to call my name and follow me, but I speed up my pace. I merge into a large crowd of students. I deliberately stay away from him.

The campus hallway is loud and crowded between classes. I'm carrying a heavy stack of textbooks, walking toward my locker.

Suddenly, a tall figure steps right into my path. I stop quickly to avoid bumping into him. It is Luther. He is an arrogant guy from my political science class who thinks everyone loves him.

His friends are standing a few feet away, leaning against the lockers and watching us. Luther smirks and crosses his arms.

"Hey," Luther says loudly and makes sure his friends can hear. "You're going out with me this Friday. I'll pick you up at eight. Don't be late."

I look at his smug face. I feel a wave of intense annoyance. I don't bother using my fake, high-pitched persona. I drop the act entirely. I look him dead in the eye, and my voice is freezing cold.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Luther," I say clearly. "Not this Friday, and not ever. Leave me alone."

Luther laughs, but his face turns a bright, angry red. His friends start laughing at him, making mocking noises. Luther looks completely humiliated. He glares at me with pure hatred.

"You think you are better than me?" Luther snarls, stepping closer.

"I just have standards," I reply calmly. I walk right past him and leave him fuming in the middle of the hallway.

Luther doesn't let it go. He decides to get his revenge in the most toxic way possible. That night, he uses an app to fabricate a series of fake text message screenshots.

The fake messages make it look like I'm desperately begging to sleep with him. They contain explicit, disgusting language that I'd never use. Luther sends the screenshots to the massive campus group chats.

By the next morning, the rumor spreads like wildfire across Briar U.

I walk into the campus cafeteria to grab a coffee. The moment I enter, the room seems to go quiet. People turn their heads to look at me. They start whispering to each other and pointing. A group of guys at a corner table look at their phones and laugh loudly.

I feel a sudden spike of panic. I pull out my phone and open the campus chat. My stomach completely twists when I see the fake screenshots.

I try to use my usual defense mechanism to survive the day. When a girl in my class asks me about the texts, I put on a bright, sarcastic smile.

"Oh, absolutely!" I say in a loud, fake voice. "I am just so obsessed with him! I write his name in hearts all over my notebooks!"

My sarcastic joke does not work this time. The girl just looks at me with pity and walks away. The whispering doesn't stop.

Everywhere I go, people look at me like I'm a joke. The sheer malice of the defamation starts suffocating me. It feels like a heavy weight is pressing down on my chest. It's impossible to breathe.

The heavy metal doors of the sports complex slam shut behind me. The noise echoes through the empty hallway. I walk quickly, my vision blurred by hot, angry tears. I need to find a place where nobody can see me.

I open the door to the secondary locker rooms. This area is usually empty during the afternoon. I walk past the rows of metal lockers and find a dark, isolated corner near the back benches.

I slide down the cold wall until my knees hit the floor.

The weight of the past twenty four hours finally crushes me completely. I press my hands against my face, but I cannot stop the tears. They stream down my cheeks, hot and fast.

My breathing becomes shallow and rapid. I try to take a deep breath, but the air catches in my throat. I am hyperventilating. The walls of the locker room feel like they are closing in on me. The whispers, the laughing faces, and the disgusting rumors spin around in my head.

The door to the locker room swings open. I hear hurried footsteps on the concrete floor.

"Hello?" a voice calls out. It is Grace. She sounds worried. "Are you in here?"

She turns the corner and spots me curled up on the floor. Her eyes widen in pure panic. She drops her sports bag onto the bench and rushes over to my side.

"Oh my god," Grace says, dropping to her knees. She wraps her arms around my shaking shoulders. "Hey, look at me. Breathe. Just try to breathe."

I can't do it. I tremble so violently that my teeth chatter. I clutch the fabric of her sweatshirt, squeezing my eyes shut. I feel completely broken. The fake, sarcastic armor I wore for months is entirely gone.

Grace rubs my back in quick, anxious circles. "Tell me what to do. Do you want me to get a nurse? Should I call Logan?"

Through the fog of my panic, a sudden realization hits me. I do not want a nurse. I do not want to hide anymore. The only person I want right now is the one boy who saw right through my foolish masks. I want the boy who looked at me in the mud and saw the real me.

I need Dean.

I force myself to take a ragged, gasping breath. My voice is small and cracked.

"Grace," I sob. "Grace, please. Call Dean. I need him."

Grace freezes. She pulls back slightly to look at my face. She looks completely startled.

"Dean?" she repeats, her voice full of confusion. "Dean Di Laurentis? But I thought you hated him. You always put on that weird act around him."

"Please," I beg, another wave of tears hitting me. "Just call him. Please."

Grace is visibly confused, but she sees how desperate I am. She pulls her phone out of her pocket with shaking fingers. She doesn't have Dean's number, so she immediately dials Logan.

"Logan, listen to me," Grace says into the phone, her voice urgent. "I'm in the old locker room. Your friend Dean needs to get here right now. No, don't ask questions, just tell him to run."

She hangs up the phone and pulls me back into a tight hug. I bury my face in her shoulder, still shaking. I'm waiting for the only person who can make the world stop spinning.

Minutes feel like endless hours as I shake on the cold floor. Grace keeps her arms wrapped tightly around me.

Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the locker room slam open with a loud bang. The sound echoes sharply against the walls.

Dean bursts into the room. His chest heaves up and down as he gasps for air. He obviously ran the entire way here. His face is a mask of absolute, terrifying rage. His fists are clenched tight at his sides.

"Where's she?!" He asked. Then, his eyes scan the room and land on me.

The anger vanishes from his face instantly. It is replaced by pure, raw concern. He does not say a single word to Grace. He drops his hockey bag on the floor and moves toward me.

Dean drops to his knees right in front of me. He reaches out and pulls my shaking body off the cold concrete. He lifts me easily and settles me straight onto his laps.

I don't try to push him away. I don't put on a fake voice. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I bury my face deep into the crook of his neck.

I sob uncontrollably. The tears soak into his shirt. My whole body trembles against him.

Dean wraps his strong arms tightly around me. He presses me close against his chest. He places one large hand on the back of my head. He is holding me securely against his shoulder.

He doesn't take advantage of my vulnerability at all. He just holds me like I'm the most precious thing in the world. He begins to rock me gently back and forth on the floor.

"Ignore them. They don't know anything about you," Dean whispers into my damp hair. His voice is low, steady, and full of fierce protection. "I don't believe a single word of it. I know exactly who you are, sweetheart. I've got you."

The heavy weight in my chest begins to lift slightly. The world stops spinning so fast. I grip his shirt tightly. I let myself feel completely safe in his arms.

Dean goes on an absolute tear over the next week. He doesn't sleep much. He walks across campus with a fierce determination in his eyes.

Alongside Logan and the rest of the hockey team, Dean hunts down the digital paper trail. Nobody wants to get in the way of the hockey team when they look this angry.

Dean brings the screenshots to a tech savvy friend in the computer science department. The friend easily proves that the text messages were completely photoshopped. They find the digital markers that show the images are fake.

Next, Dean tracked down the exact guy Luther got the text templates from. Dean corners the guy in the student lounge. He towers over him until the guy admits to everything.

Dean takes all the undeniable proof straight to the university administration building. He hands the files over to the dean of students.

He doesn't stop there. Dean wants to make sure everyone knows the truth. He posts the official proof and the confession in the exact same campus group chats where the rumor started. He publicly exposes Luther in front of the entire student body.

The reaction is instant. Luther is utterly humiliated. Nobody wants to sit with him in the cafeteria anymore. The university administration hands down a heavy punishment. Luther is suspended for his actions. He faces total social exile on campus.

True to his word, Dean doesn't use his heroism to force his way into my life. He doesn't show up at my dorm room demanding a thank you. He knows that I still need time to process everything.

He gives me my space to heal. He stays on the sidelines. He watches over me from a distance. He just waits patiently for me to be ready.

The heavy doors of the arena click shut behind me. The noise sounds incredibly loud in the empty building. I walk down the dark hallway toward the main ice rink.

The stadium lights are mostly turned off. Only a few dim lights shine down on the center of the ice. The air is crisp and freezing cold.

I hear the sharp sound of metal blades cutting into the ice. I walk to the edge of the rink and look through the darkness. Dean is out there skating completely alone.

He moves with incredible speed. He vents all of his built-up energy into the empty arena. He skates in tight, powerful circles, spraying ice into the air as he turns.

I step up to the clear plexiglass barrier. My hands rest against the cold plastic.

Dean glides around the far corner of the rink. He looks up and catches sight of me standing there. He stops on a dime. His skates throw up a massive cloud of white ice shavings.

He doesn't hesitate. He pushes off the ice and skates straight over to where I'm standing. He stops right in front of me, separated only by the tall glass barrier. He is breathing heavily, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold air.

There are no masks left tonight. There is no satirical persona, no high-pitched voice, and no fake smiles. The armor is completely gone.

"Hey," Dean says softly. His voice echoes slightly in the quiet arena.

"Hey," I reply. My voice is steady and real.

We look at each other for a long moment. I take a deep breath. I let the freezing air fill my lungs. I know it is time to say the truth.

"I'm sorry," I say and look directly into his eyes. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away. I was acting ridiculous."

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head gently. I need to finish.

"I was terrified," I admit honestly. My heart beats fast against my ribs. "You're so popular, and everyone loves you. I convinced myself that I was just another girl to you. I was terrified of how much power you had over my heart."

Dean listens to every word. The tension leaves his shoulders. A soft, incredibly gentle smile spreads across his handsome face.

He pull the glove off his right hand before reaching his hand over the top of the plexiglass barrier. He rests his hand against my cheek. His touch is warm against my cold skin.

"You're not just another girl," Dean says. His voice is thick with emotion. "I don't care about anyone else. I've been completely yours since that rainy night in the alleyway with the stray dog."

A tear slips down my cheek, and he wipes it away with his thumb.

"I was just waiting for you to realize it," he whispers.

Dean leans his body over the top of the glass barrier. He reaches out and pulls me closer to the edge. He tilts my chin up and presses his lips against mine.

The kiss is deep, breathless, and completely authentic. It's the realest thing I've ever felt. All my fears melt away into the cold air as I wrap my hands around his neck. I finally let myself love him back.

10 Things I Hate About Dean Di Laurentis l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Enemies to lovers, rom-com Summary: Dean needs a date to the athletic gala to win a bet, and you refuse to be another conquest. But when Briar's star defenseman starts doing his homework on her niche interests, the ice starts to crack. Note: My masterlist

Grace Ivers’ older brother plays for the Briar University hockey team, which means her dating life is constantly under lock and key.

He made a ridiculous rule for the upcoming spring athletic gala. She’s strictly banned from attending unless her fiercely independent roommate like me finds a date first. Her brother knows very well that I despises the athletic department, so he thought his plan was foolproof.

John Logan has a massive crush on Grace. He realized the only way to get her to the gala was to break the system Grace’s brother made. He decided to enlist the help of the most confident guy on campus.

Logan waited until the post-practice chaos fills the Briar locker room. Steam rose from the showers and heavy gear thudded against the floor. Dean Di Laurentis sat on the wooden bench, casually unlacing his skates. Logan walked over and stops right in front of him.

"I need a massive favor, Di Laurentis," Logan said and wiped sweat from his forehead. "It involves the gala."

Dean looked up and gave a lazy smirk. "If this is about your love life, Logan, I am not your romance consultant."

"It is about Grace's roommate," Logan explained. "The rule states that Grace can’t go to the gala unless her roommate gets a date first. And you know how much she hates us."

Dean let out a loud laugh and shook his head. "So you want me to play sacrificial lamb? No way. I heard she has a tongue like a paper cut. I value my peace."

"I'll give you my vintage, signed 1980 Miracle on Ice jersey," Logan said quietly.

Dean stopped unlacing his skates. He looked at Logan with sudden interest. That jersey was a collector's dream, and Logan had guarded it for years.

"The signed one?" Dean asked with a sharp grin spreading across his face. "The one your dad gave you?"

"Yes," Logan sighed. "Just get her to say yes to one date."

Dean stood up, towering over the bench. The skepticism was completely gone, replaced by his usual competitive drive. He considered Logan's deal now, a puzzle that no one else could solve. He patted Logan on the shoulder with a heavy hockey glove.

"Keep that jersey clean for me," Dean said with the voice full of supreme confidence. "I'll have her laughing by tomorrow afternoon."

Logan nodded with relief, though he still looked nervous about the deal. Dean grabbed his towel and headed toward the showers. He was already planning his opening lines for the girl who supposedly couldn't be tamed.

The campus coffee shop is quiet and low-lit on a Tuesday afternoon. I sit at a small corner table, pretending to study my psychology textbook, but I'm actually watching the door.

Grace sits just two tables away from me. She has a thick paperback book open in front of her and a cup of black coffee at her elbow. She looks completely focused, entirely cut off from the rest of the world.

The bell above the door chimes, and Dean Di Laurentis walks in. He looks incredibly confident in that leather jacket. He flashes a brilliant smile at the barista. He spots me, adjusts his posture, and struts over to my table. Without asking, he pulls out the empty chair opposite me and sits down.

"That looks like a heavy read for a beautiful day," Dean says. He leans forward and rests his chin in his hand.

I don't look up from her page. I turn the page slowly. My expression is completely blank.

"I'm Dean, by the way," he continues. His voice is smooth and effortless. "But you probably already know that."

Finally, I raise my eyes and stare at him for three long seconds. Her gaze is cold enough to freeze the ice rink.

"I know exactly who you are," I say with my flat voice. "You're the guy whose ego requires its own zip code. I'm trying to read a masterpiece, so please take your corporate white boy energy somewhere else."

Dean freezes. The smooth smile completely vanishes from his face. He blinks, utterly stunned by the sharp delivery of her words. No girl on this campus has ever spoken to him like that. He opens his mouth to reply, but she's already looking back down at her book, and completely ignoring his existence.

Dean stands up slowly and clears his throat. He walks away from her table and stops right next to Grace. He looks shocked.

"Did you hear that?" Dean whispers to her excitedly. "She's absolutely terrifying. I love it."

He walks out of the coffee shop with a massive grin on his face. I watch him go. I realize that my brutal rejection didn't scare him away at all. It just made him completely hooked.

The hockey house kitchen was bright and noisy even at midnight, but tonight it felt different. Dean sat at the far end of the long wooden table. He was hunched over his laptop. He frowned deeply at the screen. A pair of large headphones rested around his neck.

Dean scratched his head, completely out of his comfort zone. He clicked on an article. His eyes were scanning a summary of a famous feminist literature book. He's working harder right now than his friends have ever seen him study for his actual university classes.

"What are you listening to?" Garrett asked as he was walking into the kitchen with Tucker right behind him.

Garrett opened the refrigerator, grabbed a carton of milk, and looked over at Dean’s laptop screen. He blinked in confusion.

"Is that a research paper on underground music festivals?" Tucker asked as he was leaning over Dean’s shoulder. "Since when do you care about nineties riot bands, Dean?"

Dean snapped his laptop shut, but he didn't look embarrassed. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"It's called expanding my horizons," Dean said smoothly. "You guys should try it sometimes. Your playlists are basic."

"You usually listen to commercial rap and aggressive techno before games," Garrett laughed and took a swig of milk. "Now you're reading essays about patriarchal structures. Did you get hit in the head during practice today?"

"She is different," Dean says. He looks past his teammates. "She doesn't care about the hockey team. She doesn't care about my car. If I want to talk to her, I have to actually know something."

Tucker shakes his head and laughs. He is heading toward the hallway. "Good luck with that, philosopher. Let us know when you finish your homework."

Garrett follows him out. Dean sighs and opens his laptop back up. He types something into the search bar, completely focused on his new mission.

Logan watched him flip through another article and realized that this bet was no longer just a joke to him. He's genuinely becoming fascinated by the way Grace's roommate's mind worked, and he's willing to do the reading to prove it.

The vintage record store downtown is crowded and dusty on a Saturday afternoon. I stand near the front counter and pretend to flip through a box of classic rock cassettes, but I keep my eyes on the back aisle. I'm hunched over a crate of rare punk records, totally in my zone.

Suddenly, a tall figure steps into the narrow aisle. Dean wears a simple green hoodie, which makes him look a lot more casual than usual. He moves a crate of indie rock vinyl and gently bumps his shoulder against mine.

"Oh, sorry about that," Dean says.

I roll my eyes and try to step away. "Do you follow me everywhere, Di Laurentis?"

"Actually, I'm just looking for the original 1994 press of the Bikini Kill split single," Dean says. His tone is completely casual. "The one on pink vinyl. But they probably only have the boring reissue here."

I freeze. I slowly turn her head to look at him. My eyebrows raise in absolute shock.

"You know Bikini Kill?" I ask with full of suspicion.

"Of course," Dean says. He leans against the wooden shelf. "Though honestly, I think their early cassette releases had a much better, raw energy than the later studio albums."

"The studio albums have better production value," I argue immediately. "The raw energy is great, but you lose the basslines in the cheap cassette recordings."

"The messy bassline is the entire point of punk," Dean counters with a sharp grin. "If you want clean production, go listen to pop music."

I watch from the front counter as they debate back and forth. The banter is fast and sharp, but the cold hostility on my face slowly melts away. A reluctant smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. I'm genuinely amused that the star defenseman actually knows his stuff.

After ten minutes of arguing about tracklists, I grab a record and heads to the register. Dean follows me and carries a jazz album he picked up.

"Alright, hockey boy," I say as they walk out the front door together. "You're slightly less boring than I thought. You can walk me back to campus, but only if you promise not to talk about sports."

"Deal," Dean says with his easy smile as he opens the door for her.

I follow them out at a distance and smile to myself. Dean's homework definitely paid off, and the ice is finally starting to crack.

The Briar University Athletic Gala is incredibly glamorous. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, and the ballroom is filled with students in formal attire. I stand near the refreshment table, watching Dean and my roommate arrive. They look absolutely stunning together. Dean wears a sharp black tuxedo, and I wear beautiful in a navy velvet dress.

For the first time all semester, my defensive walls are completely down. Dean is a perfect gentleman. He ignores his teammates and fans to focus entirely on me. He guides me out to the quiet balcony, away from the loud music and the crowded dance floor. Through the glass doors, I throw my head back and share a genuine, beautiful laugh with him.

The happy moment doesn't last long. I walk back inside alone to find the restroom. As I pass a quiet alcove near the hallway, I stop. Logan's standing there with Tucker, and they're talking loudly over the music.

"I can't believe Dean actually pulled it off," Tucker laughs. "He really got her to come tonight."

"He wanted that vintage Miracle on Ice jersey bad," Logan says and shakes his head. "I had to promise it to him just to get her on a single date, so I could take Grace tonight."

I freeze in the hallway. The color completely drains from my face. My hands shake against my dress as the truth hits me. The shared interests, the record store, the long conversations, they were all a paid bet.

I march right back out to the balcony with angry tears in my eyes. Dean turns to smile at me, but his expression drops when he sees my face.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asks and take a step toward me.

"Did you enjoy the homework, Dean?" I ask. My voice cuts through the cool night air. "Was the vintage jersey worth all the fake conversations about punk rock?"

Dean’s eyes go wide. His mouth opens in shock. "Wait, let me explain. It started like that, but I swear..."

"You're a total fake," I spit out loud enough that people near the doors turn to look. "You're exactly what I thought you were on day one. A massive, pathetic ego."

I turn on my heels and storm through the ballroom crowd. I leave Dean standing completely alone on the balcony. He looks totally devastated. He realizes his mistake too late as the entire room stares at him in silence.

I'm walking with Grace across campus on Monday morning. I'm quiet as staring straight ahead with my backpack slung tightly over one shoulder.

She knows I'm still furious about the gala. Our path takes us right past the heavy double doors of the Briar University ice arena. The hockey team just finished their morning practice, and the faint smell of cold air and ice drifts out into the hallway.

Suddenly, the overhead arena speakers screech to life with a loud burst of static. The sound echoes down the hallway, making my roommate stop in her tracks.

"Testing, testing. Is this thing on?"

Dean's voice booms through the speakers and echoes off the concrete walls. I frown and step toward the open arena doors. Grace follow right behind me. We look inside the massive, chilly stadium.

Dean stands inside the announcer's box up in the stands. He's clutching the heavy microphone. Down on the ice, his teammates are sitting on the bench. They’re all looking up at him with wide eyes and grins.

"I know you're out there," Dean says into the microphone. His voice echoes loudly across the empty ice. "And I know you probably want to punch me in the face. Honestly, I deserve it.”

I stand by the rink doors. My arms tightly cross over my chest. I don't move.

"Logan offered me a vintage jersey to get you to go out with me," Dean says, his voice booming through the stadium. "It was a stupid, arrogant bet. I thought it’d be an easy challenge. But I was completely wrong."

The hockey players on the bench start cheering and banging their sticks against the boards, but Dean waves his hand to shut them up.

"I did the homework because of the bet," Dean continues, looking directly toward the entrance where we are standing. "But I stayed because of you. You are the smartest, sharpest person I have ever met. I fell for you completely, and I don’t care who knows it. I’m sorry for being a jerk."

He drops the microphone, leaving a loud ring of feedback in the air. The team breaks out into wild cheers, yelling and slamming their sticks. Dean looks down at the entrance, waiting for her reaction. My roommate stands frozen for a long moment, her angry expression slowly softening into utter disbelief at how chaotic, embarrassing, and wildly sincere he just was.

I stare at the ice for a long time. My mouth slightly opens. The team is still slamming their hockey sticks against the boards.

I look up at the announcer's box where Dean is watching me, then Grace looks at me. A tiny, reluctant smile finally breaks across my face, but I quickly shake my head to hide it. She turns away and walks out of the arena without saying a word. She leaft Dean hanging in suspense.

For the rest of the week, I don't talk about him, but she sees me listening to that pink vinyl punk record on my phone every night.

The following Monday, the creative writing lecture hall is completely packed. Students fill every single wooden desk, whispering and shuffling their notebooks. Grace's sitting in the middle row, watching me walk up to the wooden podium at the front of the room. I adjust my papers, clears my throat, and looks out at the crowd.

Just as I open my mouth to speak, the heavy back door of the lecture hall creaks open. Dean slips into the room. He is dressed in a simple grey sweater, his hair still a bit messy from practice. He leans casually against the doorframe and folds his arms across his chest. He looks straight at the podium.

I take a deep breath. My eyes narrow slightly when I spot him, but I don't stop. I look down at her paper and begins to read.

"10 things I hate about Dean Di Laurentis," I say clearly and strongly.

A collective gasp and a few chuckles ripple through the classroom. Everyone turns to look at Dean, but he just keeps his eyes on me, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"I hate the way you drive that ridiculously loud truck around campus," I read sharply. "I hate your messy hockey hair and the way you always know exactly how good you look. I hate your relentless confidence that takes up the entire room, and I hate that you think a smile can solve any problem."

I turn the page. The room is completely silent now.

"I hate that you forced yourself to listen to punk music just to break my walls down," I continue. My voice softens just a little bit. "I hate that you made me laugh on the balcony, and I hate that you made a total fool of yourself on the arena microphone in front of the entire team."

I pause. I lift my head and completely ignore my notes now. I look past all the students. I just look directly at the back of the room where Dean stands.

"But mostly, I hate the way I don't hate you," I say. My voice drops to a gentle whisper that carries across the silent room. "Not even close. Not even a little bit."

Dean’s smirk melts into a genuine, beautiful smile. He pushes himself away from the doorframe and starts walking down the long carpeted aisle. The professor doesn't even try to stop him. The students watch in total silence as Dean stops right in front of the podium.

"Not even a little bit, huh?" Dean teases. His voice is low and full of that familiar charm.

"Shut up, Di Laurentis," I murmur.

Dean reaches out, pulls me gently away from the podium, and kisses me right there in front of the entire class. The lecture hall absolutely erupts into loud cheers and applause, and I can't help but laugh. I know the hockey player finally won the challenge.

The Kissing Booth l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Enemies-to-lovers, secret romance, rom-com Summary: Your brother Tucker has one strict rule: his teammate, star defenseman Dean Di Laurentis, is completely off-limits. You and Dean are sworn enemies who love to bicker, but a blindfolded campus charity night snaps two years of hidden tension into a breathless kiss. The enemy line blurs entirely. Note: My masterlist

Just rewatched this series and immediately thought of Dean!

I spend most of my free time at the Briar hockey house because of my brother, John Tucker. I know the entire team. They're like a group of loud older brothers to me, except for one person. Dean Di Laurentis is the star defenseman, a rich playboy, and my absolute enemy.

To the rest of the campus, Dean is a god. To me, he's an annoying inconvenience. Tucker has an absolute rule for his teammates. Nobody touches his sister. Dean always keeps his distance because of that rule, but he never misses a chance to irritate me. We argue every single time we are in the same room.

Tonight, the whole team is gathered in the living room. They're sitting on the giant couches, surrounded by empty pizza boxes. They're stressed because the big game against the Hurricanes is next week.

"We need a distraction," Logan says. "The pressure's getting to everyone."

"We need something to boost team morale," Tucker agrees. He looks at his notebook. "And we need to raise funds for the new sports equipment anyway."

Jules sits up quickly on the armchair. She looks at the team with a wide grin.

"I have the perfect idea," Jules says. "Let us set up a charity event on campus this Friday. We can do a kissing booth."

The living room goes quiet for a second, and then the boys burst out laughing.

"A kissing booth? Are you serious, Jules?" Tucker asks.

"Think about it," Jules says. "If the hockey team stands in a booth for charity, we'll make thousands of dollars in an hour."

Dean leans back against the sofa cushions. He slowly turns his head toward me. He has a smug smile on his face.

"Well, that sounds like a lot of work for me," Dean says. He looks directly at me and speaks in a loud voice, so I can hear him. "I'm going to be incredibly occupied. The line for my booth will stretch across the entire campus."

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. I look back at him with a cold glare.

"Don't flatter yourself, Di Laurentis," I say. "People will probably pay you to keep your mouth shut."

The rest of the team lets out a loud collective sound, laughing and cheering at my response. Tucker smiles and claps my shoulder.

Dean doesn't look angry at all. His smile only grows wider. He tilts his head and keeps his eyes locked on mine.

"Are you sure about that?" Dean asks. His voice drops a little lower. "Maybe you should be the first one in line to test it out."

"I'd rather kiss the rink ice after a game," I say.

"We'll see," Dean murmurs. He winks at me. My stomach twists in irritation.

The student committee changes the kissing booth idea to a Blindfolded Casino Night fundraiser. The campus ballroom is dark and packed with people. Soft music plays, and the energy in the room is high. Every guest wears a silk blindfold for the mystery card games. I stand near a blackjack table. I can't see anything around me.

Then I see Dean taking the stage. I can barely see him but it’s not that hard to spot that annoying blonde hair. He grabs the microphone with a lazy smirk, instantly commanding the attention of the entire room.

"Come on, Briar," Dean projects into the mic, his voice smooth and dripping with playful arrogance. "It is all for a good cause. Don't be shy with your wallets. I promise you the kissing booth is worth every single penny."

The crowd cheers, and a few girls in the front row actually squeal. Dean chuckles, then his eyes scan the room until they land directly on me. His smirk widens into a wicked grin. He is holding my gaze as he speaks right into the microphone.

"In fact, some people are too proud to admit they want a spot in line," he says, his eyes locked onto mine. "But the offer stands. Don't miss your chance."

I roll my eyes dramatically, letting out a loud sigh so he knows exactly what I think of his performance.

Within minutes, a massive line forms across the room as people rush to get a queue number. It’s ridiculous. Dean watches the crowd gather, flashes one last charming smile, and then steps down from the stage, disappearing behind the velvet curtains.

With Dean finally out of sight, the annoying tension in my chest vanishes. The rest of the fundraiser gets underway, and without his constant smirking and teasing remarks to distract me, I actually manage to relax and enjoy myself at the event.

Suddenly, a tall figure steps up close behind me. I feel the warmth of a broad chest press lightly against my back. Before I can speak, a strong hand grips my waist. The touch sends a sudden jolt of electricity straight down my spine. The stranger pulls me back into the dark shadow of a stone pillar, away from the loud crowd.

"Who is this?" I ask. My voice shakes slightly.

The person doesn't answer. Instead, a warm hand cradles the back of my neck. He tilts my head up and presses his lips firmly against mine.

The shock lasts for only a second. The kiss is deep, breathless, and incredibly heated. His mouth moves over mine with a fierce hunger that catches me completely off guard. It's intense, desperate, and intoxicating.

I melt into his touch. My hands instinctively reach up to clutch his shirt. The scent of expensive cologne fills my senses. It's a familiar scent, but my brain can't focus because the kiss consumes everything.

The tension that built up between us for two full years completely snaps. His tongue brushes against mine, and a soft gasp escapes my lips. He pulls me even closer, grounding me against his solid frame. The heat between us is wild and electric.

Suddenly, the overhead ballroom lights begin to flicker. The game session is ending.

My survival instinct kicks in. I push hard against his chest to break the kiss. I pull the silk blindfold off my face and blink against the bright light.

I look up and catch my breath. Dean stands in front of me, his own blindfold dangling from his fingers. His lips are slightly swollen, and his breathing is just as heavy as mine.

"Dean?" I whisper. My heart batters against my ribs. I'm utterly confused.

"I told you that you would want to test it," Dean says. His voice is a rough growl. His eyes burn with an intensity I've never seen before.

"Are you crazy?" I hiss. "Anyone could see us. Tucker is in this room."

I step backward, away from his heat. The damage is already done. I can no longer look at him as just an annoying playboy. That kiss changed everything, and it terrifies me. I turn around and run into the crowd. I leave him by the pillar.

I don’t care if he would be booked as he had teased me before.

The next morning, I walk into the hockey house holding a box of fresh breakfast pastries. I try to act normal, but my hands are shaking. I walk into the kitchen and see Tucker sitting at the island.

Dean is there too. He wears nothing but grey sweatpants. His hair is messy from sleep, and he leans against the kitchen counter, sipping from a mug.

"Hey, little sis," Tucker says with a smile. "Are those the cinnamon rolls from downtown? You are a lifesaver."

"Yeah, I thought you guys needed some sugar before practice," I say. I set the box down on the island.

My eyes accidentally meet Dean's. The air in the kitchen instantly feels thick and heavy. Dean takes a slow sip of his coffee, and his gaze locks onto my face. The contrast between Tucker's clueless chatter, and the simmering tension between Dean and me is overwhelming.

"Thanks for the food," Dean says. His voice is smooth, but his eyes are dark and full of a lingering heat. "You're surprisingly sweet today."

"Don't get used to it, Di Laurentis," I reply sharply. It's hard because my lips still feel tingly from last night.

"Can you pass the coffee cream?" Dean asks. He steps closer to the island. His arm brushes against mine.

The brief contact feels intimate. We both freeze for a split second. Our skin is burning where we touch. I hand him the small carton. Our fingers linger together on the cardboard for a moment too long.

"Here," I whisper and look up at him.

"Thanks," Dean murmurs and smiles. "I always like a little extra sweetness in my morning."

Tucker continues to talk about the upcoming Hurricanes game, completely unaware of the silent storm happening right in front of him.

Three days pass after the kitchen incident. Dean keeps sending me private messages, trying to schedule a secret meetup. I ignore most of them. I tell myself that the blindfolded kiss was a one-time mistake. We're enemies, and Tucker is my brother. I can't do this to him.

On Thursday night, I'm studying late in a private study closet at the campus library. The desk is covered in heavy textbooks. Suddenly, the door clicks open. Dean steps inside and shuts the door behind him. The small space instantly feels tiny.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss. "You can't be here. This is a public library."

"You ignored my texts," Dean says. He leans his back against the door, crossing his arms. "We need to talk about what happened."

"Nothing happened," I say and turn back to my book. "It' a mistake. We are enemies, Dean. You need to follow the brother code and stay away from me."

"I'm tired of the brother code," Dean says. He steps forward and pull my chair around so I have to face him. His eyes are dead serious. "And we aren't enemies. I've wanted you for months, and you know it."

"Tucker trusts you," I say. "If he finds out, it'll destroy him."

"Then we don't tell him," Dean whispers. He leans down, his face inches from mine. "Just give me a chance. A secret arrangement. No one has to know."

His proximity ruins my logic. The argument fades into a second, completely intentional kiss against the library wall. We agree to the secret.

Our double life begins. We sneak around constantly. Dean pulls me into the empty rink supply closets after late-night practices. We meet up in the hidden back rows of the campus library. At the hockey house, I watch him act like his usual carefree self around Tucker, while my phone buzzes under the dinner table with his hidden messages.

Everything changes during the away game against Michigan. I am at home, watching the live stream on my laptop. Dean makes an incredible, game-winning defensive play. My heart leaps, and I realize I'm genuinely rooting for him, not just my brother.

A minute later, my phone lights up.

DD: Did you see that?

Little Tucker: Lucky shot, Di Laurentis.

DD: Admit it, you're cheering for your boyfriend.

Little Tucker: You aren't my boyfriend. You're an arrogant jock.

DD: An arrogant jock who is completely hooked on you.

I smile when replying him. My chest warms. I'm falling for him.

But the secret romance hits a wall a week later. At a campus party, a guy from the football team tries to flirt with me. Dean sees it and completely loses his temper. He crosses the enemy line, stepping in and getting aggressively jealous in public. It causes a scene.

Later that night, we argue fiercely behind the gym.

"You can't act like that," I yell. "People will suspect us! It will reach my brother’s ears!”

"He would think I protect you from that jerk. I'm tired of watching other guys touch you while I have to pretend I don't care," Dean snaps, his face flushed.

"This was your idea," I say. "If you can't handle it, maybe we should stop."

"Maybe we should," he says coldly. We separate ways that night with wounded hearts. It leaves a painful silence between us.

The next evening, Tucker realizes he forgot his car keys at the ice rink. I offer to fetch them just to get out of the house. When I arrive, the rink is dark, except for the bright lights over the ice. Only one person is left. Dean is skating alone to practice his drills with intense focus.

He notices me standing by the plexiglass. He stops and skates over to the boards. He looks exhausted. His hair is damp with sweat. There are no masks, no crowds, and no distractions.

"I didn't think you would want to see me," Dean says and leans against the barrier.

"I came for Tucker's keys," I say softly, but I don't leave. "You look tired."

"I'm tired," Dean says honestly. He takes off his gloves. "I'm tired of the playboy label. Everyone thinks I don't care about anything, but I care about this. I care about you. I want to be better for you, if you let me."

He opens the rink gate and extends a hand. "Skate with me."

I hesitate, then take his hand. I slide onto the ice in my sneakers and lose my balance instantly. Dean catches me by the waist. He laughs softly. He guides me across the ice carefully.

"I don't want this to be a game anymore," Dean murmurs. "I want to be with you. Really be with you."

My heart melts a little. I look up at him and nod. "Okay. But if you break my heart, I'll steal your hockey skates and dump them in the campus river."

"Fair enough," Dean chuckles. He leans down and kisses me right there on the center ice.

Now, we're officially dating in secret. A few days later, I'm hanging out in Dean's bedroom upstairs at the hockey house. We're sitting on his bed and share a bag of chips. Downstairs, Tucker and the rest of the team are playing loud video games.

Suddenly, heavy footsteps echo on the stairs.

"Hey Dean," Tucker's voice shouts from the hallway. "I need to borrow a clean shirt. I spilled soda on mine."

Adrenaline hits me like a truck. I freeze, a chip halfway to my mouth.

"Oh my god," I whisper with panic. "He is coming up."

"Hide under the bed," Dean whispers back.

"I'm not hiding under the bed like a cliché," I hiss and scramble off the mattress. "There are dust bunnies down there."

"The closet, go," Dean says then shoves me toward his messy closet.

"Your closet smells like old hockey gear," I complain.

"Just get in," Dean whispers. He shoves me inside and shuts the door just as the bedroom door flies open.

"Man, you took forever to answer," Tucker says and walks into the room.

Through the slats of the closet door, I see Dean quickly sit back on the bed. He picks up a textbook upside down.

"Yeah, I was just studying," Dean says. His voice is a little too high.

"Since when do you study on a Saturday?" Tucker asks suspiciously. He walks right toward the closet.

Through the wooden slats of the closet door, I hold my breath. Tucker stops just inches away, his hand reaching out for the doorknob. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I pray I don't sneeze from the dust.

"Don't open that!" Dean yells suddenly.

Tucker's hand hovers in the air. He turns to look at Dean, "Why? Are you hiding a dead body in here?"

"No," Dean says quickly. He rushes over and blocks the closet door with his broad shoulders. "It's just a total mess. You know how I am. I'll get the shirt for you."

Dean cracks the closet door open just an inch to slip his hand inside. He blindly feels around until his fingers grab a random t-shirt from a hanger. He yanks it out and slams the door shut, nearly catching my nose in the process. He shoves the shirt into Tucker's chest.

Tucker looks down at the neon green shirt and shorts. "You really have zero style when you're single. You know, the guys downstairs were just talking about it. You haven't had anyone attached to you recently. The great Dean Di Laurentis is entering a dry spell."

Dean clears his throat loudly. His face turns a slight shade of pink. He glances toward the closet doors, then forces a shrug. "I'm just focusing on my hockey drills, Tucker. The Hurricanes game is important."

"Right. Hockey," Tucker teases. "The girls on campus must be crying. Seriously, man, it's weird seeing you alone. You usually have a new date every weekend."

"People change," Dean mutters awkwardly. "Anyway, aren't you in the middle of a video game tournament? Your team is probably losing without you."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Tucker says. He flings the neon shirt over his shoulder. "Thanks for the shirt. Go back to your upside-down textbook, professor."

The bedroom door finally clicks shut. We listen closely until Tucker's heavy footsteps fade all the way down the stairs.

The closet door flies open. Dean lets out a massive sigh of relief. He reaches in and pulls me out into the light.

"You can breathe now," he whispers. A huge grin breaks across his face.

"I almost died of suffocation in there," I complain, though I'm laughing as I brush a stray piece of lint off my sweater. "And a dry spell? Really?"

"Hey, it's a very exclusive dry spell," Dean chuckles and press a quick kiss to my lips.

Standing in the center of his room, the distant sounds of shouting and video games drift up from the living room below. The adrenaline is still humming in my veins, a sharp reminder of the dangerous game we are playing. As long as we are under this roof, every single moment is a hilarious, terrifying tightrope walk right under my brother's nose.

It is six o'clock in the morning. Dean pulls his expensive car up to the curb right in front of my dorm building. I'm wearing one of his oversized hockey hoodies, completely exhausted but smiling.

"I had a great time tonight," I say and unbuckle my seatbelt.

"Me too," Dean says. He leans across the console. His hand slides into my hair to pull me into a slow goodbye kiss.

Suddenly, a loud knock bangs against the driver’s side window. We both jump apart in shock.

I look over and my heart completely drops. Tucker is standing on the sidewalk with travel mug of coffee in his hand. He was clearly leaving early for the rink, but now he is staring through the glass at us. His face is completely pale with shock, and his jaw is tightly clenched.

Dean unlocks the doors, and we both step out into the chilly morning air.

"Tucker," I murmur nervously. "Let me explain, please."

"Explain what?" Tucker snaps with pure anger. He looks at me, then glares at Dean. "How long has this been going on?"

"It's been a few weeks, Tuck," Dean says and steps in front of me. His usual cocky attitude is completely gone. He looks completely serious. "It's not her fault. I'm the one who pushed for this."

"You broke the rule, Dean," Tucker says and steps right into Dean's personal space. "You're my best friend. You're my teammate. I told you she was off limits, and you lied to my face for weeks."

"I didn't do it to hurt you," Dean says firmly. "I did it because I genuinely care about her."

"No, you did it because you are Dean Di Laurentis, and you get whatever you want," Tucker yells. "You are a playboy, Dean. This is just a game to you, but this is my sibling."

"It is not a game!" I shout and get between them. The guilt eats at my stomach as I look at my brother’s hurt expression. "I chose to be with him, Tucker. I lied to you too. Don't just blame him."

Tucker looks at me with deep betrayal in his eyes "I trusted both of you more than anyone else on this campus. And you both treated me like an idiot."

He throws his coffee mug into a nearby trash can, turns around, and walks away toward the athletic facilities.

A painful week of absolute silence follows. Tucker refuses to look at me or take my phone calls. He ignores Dean completely at practice, causing a massive, icy rift through the entire hockey team.

The locker room is completely divided, and the coach is furious about the lack of teamwork. I spend my days crying in my dorm room. I feel entirely responsible for ruining their friendship.

On Friday afternoon, Dean decides he can't live like this anymore. He corners Tucker alone in the team locker room after everyone else leaves.

"Get out of my way, Dean," Tucker says.

"No," Dean says, blocking the exit. "You can punch me if you want. You can kick me off the team. But you are going to listen to me."

"I have nothing to say to you," Tucker says coldly.

"I went to the athletic director today," Dean says, his voice steady. "I told him that if my presence is ruining the team chemistry before the playoffs, he can bench me. I offered to give up my starting spot."

Tucker freezes, looking up in genuine disbelief. To a hockey player like Dean, giving up a starting spot is the ultimate sacrifice.

"Why would you do that?" Tucker asks.

"Because losing your friendship hurts, but losing her would completely destroy me," Dean says honestly. "I'm done playing the field, Tucker. I'm completely committed to your sister. I'm not the guy I used to be. I want a real future with them, and I need you to know that I'm serious."

Tucker stares at him for a long time, scanning Dean’s face for any sign of a joke. Finally, he lets out a long breath. "If you bench yourself, the team loses. Do not do that."

"Are we okay?" Dean asks.

"We aren't okay yet," Tucker says and sling his bag over his shoulder. "But you just proved you actually care about something other than yourself. Go find her. She's been miserable all week."

An hour later, I'm sitting at a crowded table in the university campus center. I'm staring blankly at my laptop. The room is filled with dozens of students studying and chatting.

Suddenly, the microphone at the front podium squeaks loudly. Everyone stops talking and looks up.

Dean is standing at the microphone. He loos incredibly nervous but handsome in his team jersey.

"Sorry to interrupt everyone's study session," Dean says into the microphone. His voice is echoing through the large hall. "But I need to make a public announcement."

My eyes go wide, and my face burns hot as everyone in the room starts whispering.

"For the past few weeks, I've been hiding the best thing that ever happened to me," Dean says, looking directly across the room until his eyes lock onto mine. "I hid it because I was a coward, and I was afraid of breaking rules. But I'm done hiding."

He steps out from behind the podium and walks right down the center aisle toward my table. Dozens of students turn their heads to watch him.

"I'm completely retired from my old lifestyle," Dean says loudly. He stops right in front of my chair. He drops to one knee, so we're at eye level. He completely ignores the gasps from the crowd. "I only want one person. I want you. I don't care if the whole world knows it, and I don't care about the rules anymore. You're worth all the trouble."

The entire room goes completely silent. They are waiting for my reaction.

A huge smile breaks across my face, and the heavy weight in my chest instantly disappears. I stand up from my chair and wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

"You are a total idiot, Di Laurentis," I whisper into his ear as the crowd suddenly bursts into loud cheers and applause.

"Maybe," Dean murmurs and holds me tight against his chest. "But I'm your idiot now."

He pulls back just enough to look at me with a soft, genuine smile. For the first time since I met him, he doesn't look like the untouchable campus god or the arrogant enemy I tried so hard to hate. He just looks like the guy who gave up everything to hold my hand in the light.

"Let's get out of here," I whisper against his lips. My cheeks still burn from all the staring eyes in the room.

Dean laughs and takes my hand. We walk out of the crowded campus center together. Our fingers tightly intertwined and leave the secret behind us for good.

The Rink and The Ranch l Dean Di Laurentis x Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Reader Genre: Ranch AU, brother's best friend, fake dating/rumors, fluff, slow burn, angst Summary: When Dean Di Laurentis trades the ice rink for his family's upscale property for the summer, he keeps finding excuses to hang around your weekend equestrian lessons. When an innocent question from a little trainee convinces the entire property that you two are secretly dating, avoiding him becomes completely impossible. Note: My masterlist

Summer Di Laurentis has been my absolute best friend since our freshman year of college. We do everything together. Because we are so close, her family feels like my second family. They are incredibly generous, and they even let me use a section of their massive, upscale ranch every single weekend.

I run a weekend equestrian mini-camp for local little kids on the property. It's my favorite part of the week. I teach seven and eight-year-olds how to brush horses properly, hold the reins, and stay safe in the saddle. It's a lot of work, but seeing their excited faces makes it completely worth it.

For years, I've heard Summer tell me about her older brother, Dean Di Laurentis. He's a smooth-talking heartbreaker who changes girls as often as he changes his hockey stick tape. He is famous for his charm, his looks, and his total lack of commitment. I've actually never met him.

But this summer is different. Dean trades the ice rink for the ranch.

Instead of staying at school for summer training, he comes home to the property. Suddenly, the notorious city boy is living right next to the stables. And honestly, I'm seeing a completely different side of him than the player Summer described.

Right now, I'm in the middle of an afternoon lesson with five energetic kids. We're working on basic trotting inside the dirt arena.

I look up from adjusting a little girl's stirrup and completely lose my train of thought.

Dean is standing by the wooden arena fence. He is leaning against the top rail, watching us with an amused smile.

He is not wearing his usual college athletic gear. Today, he is wearing a tight white tank top that shows off his broad, athletic shoulders. He has on a pair of fitted leather riding pants that hug his legs perfectly, and a dusty cowboy hat sits low on his brow. He looks entirely too good, like he walked right off a movie set.

This is the third time this week he has coincidentally found a reason to hang around my lessons.

"Keep your heels down, Leo," I call out to one of the boys, trying to force my eyes away from the fence. My cheeks feel incredibly warm, and it is definitely not just from the afternoon sun.

Dean chuckles as he's adjusting the brim of his hat. "You are pretty tough on them, sweetheart."

I walk over to the fence. "They need structure, Dean. If they do not learn the basics now, they get messy later."

"Is that so?" He leans forward, crossing his muscular arms over the wooden beam. The white fabric of his tank top stretches tight. "Maybe I need some lessons too. My form could use some work."

I roll my eyes, but a small smile slips out anyway. "You already know how to ride. Your dad told me you were on horses before you could even walk."

"True," Dean says with pure amusement. "But I never had a teacher like you. I think I would be a very attentive student."

"You are a major distraction," I say and lower my voice so the kids do not hear us. "Summer said you usually sleep until noon. Why are you out here every single afternoon?"

Dean tilts his head up. "Maybe I just like the view out here."

My heart does a strange, heavy flip in my chest. I immediately remind myself of everything Summer told me. This is what Dean Di Laurentis does. He flirts naturally. It is like breathing to him, and I can't let myself get caught up in it.

"Go back to the main house, Dean," I laugh, turning my back to him to face the arena again.

"I think I'll stay right here," he says softly. "The kids seem to like having an audience."

I roll my eyes and turn my focus back to the small dirt ring. The five children are still circling around on their gentle ponies. Leo is bouncing slightly too much in his saddle.

"Fix your posture, Leo," I call out. "Sit up tall like a superhero."

Leo instantly straightens his spine and grins. From the fence line, I hear the low, deep sound of Dean chuckling again. It sends a tiny shiver down my back, but I refuse to look at him.

Instead, I walk over to a young girl named Sadie. Her pony, a sweet paint named Biscuit, is trying to lower its head to eat a rogue patch of grass near the edge of the rail.

"Keep his head up, Sadie," I instruct gently and place my hands over her small ones to guide the reins. "You are the boss of the horse, remember?"

"I'm trying," Maya squeaks. "But Biscuit is really hungry today."

"He is just lazy," a masculine voice says from right behind us.

I jump slightly. I don't even hear Dean unlatch the arena gate and step inside the dirt ring. He is standing just a few feet away now. The leather of his riding pants makes a faint rustling sound as he moves. Close up, he looks even taller. The scent of cedarwood shaving cream and warm skin reaches me.

"Dean," I hiss under my breath. "You aren't supposed to be inside the arena without a helmet."

He pushes his dusty cowboy hat back a little, exposing his messy blonde hair. "Biscuit and I are old friends. He knows better than to act up around me."

As if on cue, the pony nudges Dean's white tank top with his nose. Dean laughs and pats the its neck. The muscles in his forearm flex with the movement.

Maya looks at Dean with starstruck eyes. "Are you a real cowboy?"

"Something like that, kiddo," Dean winks at her. "But she's the real boss around here." He points a thumb toward me.

My heart thumps heavily against my ribs. I look away from his bright blue eyes and check my wristwatch. The hour is almost up, and the parents will be arriving at the main gate soon to pick up their children.

"Alright, everyone," I announce loudly. "Let us bring the ponies to a walk. It is time to cool them down and head back to the cross-ties."

The kids follow my directions and guide their horses toward the center of the ring. Dean doesn't leave. He walks slowly beside me as I lead Sadie and Biscuit toward the exit gate. Every time his shoulder accidentally brushes against mine, a jolt of electricity zaps through my arm.

We reach the grooming stalls just as the first car honks in the distance. The parents are here. For the next fifteen minutes, I'm a whirlwind of activity. I help the kids dismount, hand them their backpacks, and say goodbye to each parent.

Dean stays in the background the entire time. He actually helps, lifting Leo down from his horse and leaning against the stable wall while I chat with the moms and dads. He plays the role of the helpful ranch hand perfectly, even though he is a wealthy college athlete.

Finally, the dust settles. The last car drives down the long gravel driveway. The only sounds left are the horses munching on their evening grain inside their stalls.

I lean against the wooden counter of the tack room. I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead.

Dean walks into the dim, cool shade of the tack room. He pulls off his dusty hat and sets it down on a plastic stool. He looks incredibly handsome, framed by the golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the dirty window.

He grabs a cold bottle of water from the mini-fridge in the corner and holds it out to me. Our fingers brush as I take it from him. The plastic is freezing against my warm palms.

I take a long, grateful sip. My eyes fix on the concrete floor. The silence between us stretches out. I can hear his steady breathing just two feet away from me.

Dean steps closer. He reaches out and gently tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. His fingers are warm, lingering against my skin for just a second too long.

He gives me one last, lingering look before turning on his heel. He walks out of the tack room and disappears down the barn aisle. I'm alone in the quiet shade with a racing pulse and a mind full of thoughts I can't escape.

The next Saturday afternoon is even hotter than the last one. I'm standing in the middle of the dirt ring with six young students this time. They're all sitting on their ponies and listening to me explain how to safely guide the horses around a set of blue plastic cones.

Dean is leaning against his usual spot on the fence line. He is wearing that same tight white tank top and fitted leather pants. His dusty cowboy hat is tilted back on his head. He looks completely relaxed. He is holding an apple slice in his hand and tossing it into his mouth.

I try my best to ignore him, but it's almost impossible. Every time I glance toward the rail, his bright blue eyes are already fixed on me.

Suddenly, Leo pulls his pony to a stop. He turns around in his saddle and points a sticky, juice stained finger right at the fence.

"Hey," Leo says loudly. "Is that pretty cowboy your boyfriend?"

The entire ring goes completely silent. My breath hitches in my throat. A wave of intense heat rushes straight up to my face. My cheeks are probably the color of a ripe tomato.

"Oh, no," I stammer out quickly. I wave my hands in the air. "No, Leo, he isn't my boyfriend."

Before I can finish my sentence, Dean shifts his weight. He pushes himself away from the wooden fence and steps closer to the rail.

He reaches up, grips the brim of his dusty hat, and tips it toward the kids. Then, he looks directly at me and slowly winks.

"Well, what do you think, buddy?" Dean calls out to Leo, his voice full of pure mischief. "Do I look like her boyfriend?"

The chaos explodes instantly.

"Yes!" Leo shouts and claps his small hands together.

The other five children immediately join in. They don't care about the cones or the riding lesson anymore. They start giggling and chanting at the top of their lungs.

"Boyfriend! Boyfriend! Boyfriend!" the kids chant together.

I bury my face in my hands, wishing the dirt floor would open up and swallow me whole. Dean just stands there. He chuckles softly and looks entirely too proud of himself.

"What is all this noise about?" a familiar voice asks from behind the gate.

I look up and see Summer walking into the barn area. She is holding a clipboard, but she stops dead in her tracks when she hears the children chanting. Her eyes dart from the screaming kids, to Dean, and then finally to my bright red face.

A wicked grin spreads across her face. I know that look. It means absolute trouble.

"Oh, my goodness," Summer says and walks over to the fence with dramatic steps. "Are the kids finally speaking the truth?"

"Summer, please don't start," I plead. "They're just making things up."

"I think it's beautiful," Summer says and wipes an imaginary tear from her eye. "I'm already planning the wedding."

"We can hold the ceremony right here in the main pasture," she continues. "White roses everywhere. Dean, you can wear your fancy leather pants."

"I think that sounds like a great plan, little sister," Dean says. He is enjoying this far too much.

"He's playing with them," I tell Summer. "Tell him to stop."

"Why would I stop him?" Summer laughs. "This is the best day of my summer. I need to call my mom right now and tell her to start looking at caterers."

She turns around and jogs back toward the main house, laughing loudly the entire way. I turn around to face the kids, trying to regain control of my class. It takes me nearly ten minutes to get them to stop chanting and focus back on their ponies.

But the damage is already done. By the time the lesson ends, the rumor has spread across the entire property.

When I go to the feed room to grab some grain, one of the older ranch hands grins at me. He hands me an extra bag of sweet feed without me even asking.

"Dean said you like this brand," the ranch hand says with a knowing nod. "We have to keep the boss's girl happy."

I can only offer a weak smile and a nod. Everywhere I go on the ranch for the rest of the evening, people are giving me small winks and knowing smiles. Everyone is suddenly treating Dean and me like a package deal, and Dean is doing absolutely nothing to correct them.

I walk over to the main tack room to hang up the leather bridles. Dean is already sitting on a wooden bench inside, cleaning his boots with a damp cloth. He looks up as I step through the doorway, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"So," Dean says with a smile growing on his lips. "Are we picking out flower arrangements yet, or are you going to keep me waiting?"

I drop the bridles onto the cleaning hook with a loud clatter. "This isn't funny, Dean. Your sister is actually calling your mother right now."

Dean sets his boot down and stands up. He steps closer to me. The playful look in his eyes softens just a little bit. My heart is racing all over again.

I walk toward the back of the barn to grab a clean halter from the hook. I stop walking when I hear Summer and Dean talking loudly near the end stalls.

"Are you just playing around with her, Dean?" Summer asks. Her voice is completely serious for once. "I need to know your real intentions."

Dean goes completely silent. I peek around the wooden corner. He is staring at the dirt floor and rubbing his neck.

"If you play with her heart, I will end you myself," Summer threatens. She points a finger right at his chest. "I mean it, Dean. She is my best friend."

Dean clears his throat and looks up. "I'm not playing games, Summer."

"Good, because I see what is happening between you two," Summer says. She smiles a little, softening her voice. "I see how you look at her when she is not paying attention. I see how you watch out for her during her lessons."

Dean shifts his weight but he doesn't deny it.

"Just remember, she is the hottest target on this ranch," Summer teases him. "But she doesn't need a boy to make her happy. She's independent. She has a lot of self-love, and she's doing fine on her own. Don't mess this up."

Later that evening, we hold a small party by the main house. We are celebrating one of my little students who won a blue ribbon at a local show. Everyone is laughing, playing music, and eating barbecue.

A guy from a neighboring ranch walks up to me near the drinks table. He starts flirting heavily. I try to step back, but he reaches out and places his hand firmly on my waist.

"Let go of me," I say and push his hand away from my body. "I'm not interested."

The guy laughs and leans in even closer anyway. "Come on, do not be like that."

Suddenly, Dean appears out of nowhere. His face is dark with absolute anger. He grabs the guy by his collar and shoves him backward into the grass.

The guy recovers quickly and punches Dean in the jaw. Dean hits him right back much harder. They start swinging wildly in the dirt. Everyone starts screaming.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" I shout. I rush into the middle of the chaos and put my body directly between them. I push my hands against Dean's chest to hold him back with all my strength.

The other ranch hands quickly pull the creepy guy away. I grab Dean by his arm and drag him toward the quiet aisle of the stables.

"What is wrong with you?" I yell at him. "Why did you do that?"

"He touched you," Dean snarls. "I'm not going to just stand there and watch a guy disrespect you."

"It is none of your business!" I shout back. "You aren't my boyfriend!"

Dean freezes instantly. A cold, mocking smile crosses his face. "Right. I forgot. I'm just the fake boyfriend for the kids."

He turns on his heel and walks away into the darkness, leaving me completely alone in the aisle.

I can't sleep at all that night. Around midnight, I walk down to the stables to check on a young mare who has a mild fever. I sit in the straw inside her stall, wiping her neck with a damp towel.

The stable door creaks open softly. Dean walks in, wearing a dark hoodie. He looks tired, like he could not sleep either. He spots me and walks over to the stall. He steps inside.

"How is she doing?" Dean asks softlyas he's sitting down in the straw right beside me.

"Her fever is finally going down," I whisper. I don't even look at him.

Dean stays quiet for a long time. We listen to the mare breathe in the quiet night. The anger from earlier is completely gone.

"I'm sorry about tonight," Dean says quietly. "I just hate seeing people treat you poorly. You deserve the absolute best."

"Thank you," I say and finally turn to look at him. "I'm sorry I yelled. I just get scared of getting hurt by people."

We talk for a whole hour in the dark. We share our deepest feelings, our fears, and our past struggles.

The air feels incredibly heavy and warm between us. Dean leans in close to my face. His eyes drop down to my lips. My heart races fast, and I find myself leaning in too. Our lips are almost touching.

Suddenly, I pull back and collect myself. "We shouldn't do this," I whisper.

Dean nods slowly, clearing his throat as he stands up. "Right. Get some rest."

The morning after our talk in the stable, Dean is already waiting for me by the feed room. He does not say a witty pickup line like he used to. He just silently takes the heavy water buckets from my hands and carries them out to the dirt paddocks for me.

He starts showing up before the sun is even fully up. He sweeps the main barn aisle and cleans the muddy water troughs before I can even grab my morning coffee. He still wears his white tank top and fitted leather pants, but now the fabric is covered in real ranch dust and horse sweat. He looks like he truly belongs here.

"You don't have to do all this heavy lifting," I tell him one morning as he finishes stacking a fresh delivery of hay bales.

Dean wipes his brow with the back of his hand. He looks straight into my eyes with total intensity. "I know I don't have to. I want to. I want to make your day easier."

My heart does that familiar, dangerous flutter, but I just nod and continue brushing Biscuit. The casual, playful player is gone, replaced by someone who shows up and does the hard work.

During the next weekend lesson, the little kids notice the big change too. They stop chanting the word boyfriend because Dean's presence is just a normal part of the day now. He actually helps me coach them instead of just leaning on the fence.

Leo struggles to keep his balance during a fast trot, and he starts to look panicked. Before I can run over, Dean walks out into the center of the ring. He places a steadying hand on Leo's boot and walks calmly alongside the pony.

"You're doing great, buddy," Dean says. "Keep your weight in your stirrups. Just like a real cowboy."

Leo immediately smiles. Watching Dean connect so easily with the kids makes something shift deep inside my chest. It's getting harder and harder to remember the warnings Summer gave me.

Summer watches us from the porch of the main house during the afternoons. She doesn't make any loud jokes about wedding dresses or flower arrangements anymore. Instead, she just gives me a soft, supportive smile whenever she sees Dean walking the horses back to their stalls for me. She looks relieved to see this new side of her brother.

The other ranch hands completely accept us as a pair now. They leave the two evening horse feedings for us to do together.

The shift in Dean's energy keeps me constantly on edge. When we stand close together in the narrow tack room to hang up the bridles, he doesn't lean away to give me space. He stays right there with his blue eyes focusing entirely on my face.

"You're being very quiet today," Dean says as we clean the leather saddles together late on Sunday evening.

"I'm just thinking," I reply and keep my focus on the sponge in my hand. "You're very different lately, Dean. It startles me sometimes."

He sets his saddle soap down on the counter and steps closer to my side. "I'm just showing you who I really am. I want you to trust me. I want you to see that I'm not going anywhere."

My chest tightens with a mix of fear and excitement. I look at his calloused hands and then up at his serious face. I'm falling so deep into this new reality, and I don't know how to stop myself from completely giving in to him.

But somehow I want to get myself back together. It's delutional to feel such things toward Dean. I don't want to get hurt.

From the kids and Summer's side, they noticed the heavy distance between Dean and y/n after that emotional night in the stable.

They didn't like it at all. They suddenly started planning secret schemes to get them back together. Every single afternoon, they set up situations to force them into the exact same space. Summer made them organize the crowded tack room together, and Leo constantly asked them both to hold his pony's reins at the exact same time. It's exhausting trying to avoid Dean when the entire ranch was actively pushing them together.

The kids and Summer noticed the heavy distance between Dean and y/n after that emotional night in the stable. They didn't like it at all. They started planning secret schemes to get them back together.

Every single afternoon, they set up situations to force them into the exact same space. Summer made them organize the crowded tack room, and Leo constantly asked them both to hold his pony at the exact same time. It's exhausting trying to avoid Dean when the entire ranch was actively pushing them together.

On Saturday night, the ranch hosts a big campfire. A group of local teenagers and the older camp kids gather around the roaring flames. Everyone sits on logs, eating snacks and laughing. Eventually, the teenagers start playing a loud game of truth or dare. The atmosphere is full of loud giggles and teasing.

At one point, I see a local girl looking at Dean with a daring grin. She gives him his dare. She loudly tells him that he has to kiss whoever he wants out of the entire crowd.

My stomach drops instantly. I can't stand here and watch him choose another girl from the circle. I silently excuse myself from the group while everyone is cheering and clapping. I walk quickly away from the bright fire, heading to the stables.

I walk into the dim barn and go straight to the stall of my favorite horse, Cloud. I lean my head against his soft white neck. The tears finally spill over my cheeks.

"It's just a stupid game, Cloud," I whisper into his mane. My voice trembles with sadness. "But I can't bear to see him look at anyone else. I'm so tired of running away from these feelings."

The heavy wooden barn door creaks open. I wipe my face quickly with the back of my hand, but it's already too late. Dean walks down the aisle. The usual playful smirk is entirely gone from his face when he sees the wet tears on my cheeks.

He steps directly into Cloud's stall and locks the wooden door behind him.

"Why are you following me here?" I ask and try to push past his broad shoulders. I press my hands against his chest, trying to shove him away. "You should be out there at the campfire. Go back and kiss that girl who gave you the dare."

Dean doesn't move an inch against my hands. Instead, he reaches down and firmly grabs both of my wrists. He pulls my hands up and holds them tight against his beating heart. He looks down into my eyes, baring his soul completely.

"I'm done with the noise. Done with the games," Dean says.

"How do I trust that, Dean? Look at you, look at your life," I cry. I look up at him in frustration.

"Every word will be promise. It's real," he replies, squeezing my hands tighter against his skin. "There's no confusion."

"You don't know what you want from me," I whisper.

"You don't tell me what I want. You give me what I need," Dean says, his gaze locking heavily onto my lips. "Our connection. Unbreakable. Undeniable. With you, it's so simple."

He leans even closer, his warm breath fanning across my face. "The dare says I have to kiss whoever I want. It's you. It's only you. You're the one."

He drops my hands and wraps his strong arms around my waist, pulling me tightly against his hard body. His lips crash down onto mine in a fierce, deeply heated kiss. All the fear, longing, and hidden passion from the past weeks explodes between us. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss turns completely breathless.

When we finally part, my chest is heaving for air. He rests his forehead against mine, his hands still gripping my waist tightly.

"Are you still running away from me?" Dean whispers.

"No," I breathe out. "I think I'm completely done running."

"Good," he says and kisses my nose gently. "Because I'm never letting you go. I'll make you see loving me is simple."

We smooth down our clothes and walk out of the stables together. We head slowly back toward the campfire. My lips feel completely swollen and warm from the intensity of the kiss.

As we approach the light, Leo and a few other little kids run right up to us. Leo tilts his head with a thoroughly confused expression.

"Why are your lips so big and red?" Leo asks innocently. He points a finger at my mouth.

Summer quickly steps in front of the children. She gives Dean and me a knowing, triumphant look. She thinks it's definitely not proper for them to know about adult stuff.

"Alright, kids, time to go inside for marshmallow clean up," Summer says loudly. She quickly distracts them with stories of chocolate and leads them away toward the main house.

I feel a massive, hot blush creep up my neck. Dean just smiles softly. His arms are wrapping firmly around my waist. He stays glued to my side the entire time.

From this night on, everything changes between us. Our relationship turns into something steady, deep, and completely real. Dean doesn't go back to his old, careless ways. He stays exactly by my side, balancing his hockey life with the quiet rhythm of the ranch. He keeps his promise.

Loving him is simple.

#dean di laurentis #off campus #off campus series #the score #dean di laurentis x reader #dean di laurentis x you #fanfic #fanfiction #stephen kalyn #briar u #off campus x reader #off campus prime #off campus fanfic #off campus dean #off campus imagine #dean di laurentis imagine #dean di laurentis fanfic #summer di laurentis

With Jace l Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst to romance, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, canon divergence Summary: You grew up alongside Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, loving him in silence while believing your betrothal was nothing more than a cold political arrangement. Convinced he deserves a lady wife he can actually love, you leave a farewell letter behind and secretly join Lord Corlys’s fleet disguised as a common soldier. But when the Triarchy ambushes the ships at the Gullet and Jace flies ruthlessly low into danger, secrets are laid bare in the smoke of a brutal war. Note: My Masterlist

The first episode made me so down all day. Knowing what was going to happen didn't make it hurt any less, so I spent the entire day giving him the happiness he truly deserves.

I remember the salt air of Dragonstone from the day I arrived as a child. My mother was an Arryn, and her blood tied us to Lord Corlys Velaryon. Because of that proud connection, Princess Rhaenyra welcomed us into her court.

I spent my youth running through the stone corridors alongside the Princess's sons. While Luke and Joffrey laughed and played, I always found myself drawn to Jacaerys.

He possessed a solemn gravity even back then. I watched him protect his younger brothers and saw his deep desire to please his mother. I fell for him early on, long before I understood what love meant.

When the realm began to fracture, Rhaenyra called my mother and me to the Painted Table. The Queen needed to lock down her alliances. She utilized my mother’s Arryn blood and Velaryon ties to anchor the fleet and the Vale.

Rhaenyra formally offered a betrothal between Jace and me. I was secretly breathless with joy, but the heavily political nature of the match soon hardened a belief in my mind. I wasn't a woman to be loved. I was just a vital piece on a war council map.

Jace accepted the match flawlessly. He was the picture of a perfect, loyal gentleman. He always escorted me to feasts and spoke with immense kindness. He always put his mother’s wishes first.

But there was no fire between us. He kept a strict, maddeningly respectful distance. He never stole a private moment.

One evening, we walked along the high cliffs of the castle. The wind blew my hair across my face, and Jace reached out as if to tuck it away. Then, he stopped himself and dropped his hand.

"The wind is sharp tonight," Jace said, looking out at the dark sea instead of at me. "We should return inside. I wouldn’t want you to catch a chill."

"I don’t mind the cold, Jace," I told him, stepping closer to him. "And I don’t mind the wind."

He took a step back, maintaining that perfect distance. "A prince must care for his future lady wife. It’s my duty."

Always duty. Never desire. Throughout our adolescence, the cruel rumors about Jace being Ser Harwin Strong’s son grew louder. I loved him fiercely regardless of his hair color or his bloodline. The rumors didn’t matter to me.

But I watched the whispers deeply wound his pride. The more the court questioned his legitimacy, the more rigid and distant he became with me. He treated me like a fragile glass doll. It felt as though he feared his very presence would stain my high-born reputation.

When the war officially erupted, Jace flew off to secure alliances. The weight of his emotional absence finally crushed me. I looked at the impending violence and realized I couldn’t force him to marry a woman he only viewed as a chore. He deserved to find a lady wife he could truly love.

I sat at my wooden desk and dipped my quill in ink. My hand trembled as I wrote a final, deeply emotional farewell letter.

"You are free, Jace," I wrote in tears. "The alliance is secured regardless of our marriage. You deserve to find a lady wife you can truly desire when this war is won."

I left the letter on his desk where he would find it upon his return. I stripped out of my fine silk gowns and packed them away. In their place, I put on a suit of common sailor’s steel that I’d secretly gathered. The armor was heavy and cold against my skin.

I slipped into the dark of the Dragonstone docks, avoiding the castle guards. Lord Corlys’s war galleons were preparing to depart for the Gullet. Sailors were moving quickly in the dim torchlight. They were loading weapons and checking ropes.

I pulled my helmet low over my face to hide my features. I blended into the crowd of men and stepped onto the deck of a massive warship. My heart pounded against my ribs, but my mind was made up. I was fully prepared to serve the realm on the front lines. If I couldn’t have his heart, I would meet the Stranger as a soldier.

Now, all I feel is that the armor is too large for my shoulders. It chafs against my neck, and the heavy metal boots make it difficult to balance as the flagship rolled over the waves. I hold my breath, keeping my head bowed as footsteps echo down the wooden corridor.

Lord Corlys Velaryon is conducting his final inspection before we reached the Gullet. I stand in line with the other sailors. I hope the shadows of the lower deck would hide me.

The Sea Snake stops directly in front of me. His sharp eyes scan my oversized breastplate, then move up to my face. He frowns and steps closer. Before I can move, his large hand reaches out and knocks the helmet clean off my head.

My hair falls around my shoulders. The sailors around us gasp, but Corlys only stares at me. His face turns a deep, angry red.

"Get to my cabin," Corlys barks. "Now."

I follow him into his quarters. The door slams shut behind us. Corlys turns on me, his fists clenches at his sides.

"Are you completely mad?" Corlys yells. "You are the Prince's betrothed. You belong safe on Dragonstone, not hiding on a warship like a foolish thief. Have you lost your mind over some childish lovers' spat?"

I grip the hilt of my sword to keep my hands from shaking. I look him dead in the eye fearlessly.

"It is not a childish spat, Lord Corlys," I say. "I left because I am nothing but a political pawn to Jace. He doesn't love me. He only tolerates me because his mother commanded it."

Corlys scoffs, turning his back to me. "You threw your life away because you feel unloved?"

"I freed him," I shout back, the tears finally burning my eyes. "I wrote him a farewell letter. He deserves a lady wife he can actually desire, not an obligation. If I’m to be a piece on a war board, I choose where I’m placed."

I take a deep breath. The image of Princess Rhaenys who had always been my role model pops up in my mind.

"I have always admired Princess Rhaenys," I tell him. "She was the bravest woman I ever knew. When her time came, she did not hide in a castle. She flew into battle and died with her dragon. I want to be brave like her. If I am to die in this war, I want it to mean something. I want to die fighting."

The anger seems to drain out of Corlys at the mention of his late wife. His shoulders sag, and the hard lines on his face soften into deep grief. He looks at me for a long time, then he lets out a heavy, tired sigh.

"You are a fool," Corlys says quietly, crossing his arms. "You have completely misjudged the boy."

"I have not," I reply. "He always keeps his distance from me."

"He keeps his distance because he respects you," Corlys say. "Jace doesn't see you as a duty. Only a few weeks ago, before he flew north, the Prince came to my chambers in secret."

I freeze, watching the old admiral closely. "Why would he do that?"

"He begged me to use my influence with the Queen," Corlys reveals. "He asked me to push your wedding forward. He wanted to marry you immediately, before the fighting grew any worse. Jace told me he could not bear the thought of facing this war without you as his wife."

My heart stops. The heavy armor suddenly feels weightless as I stare at him in utter shock.

"He wished for a life with you," Corlys continues. "Even during a war. He will never lose you, and he will never let you believe you have no place in his heart. Jace will come for you."

Before I can find the words to respond, a loud horn blasts from the deck above. The ship lurches violently as a sudden explosion rattles the wooden walls. The Triarchy has found us.

Jace stood in his chambers, holding the crumpled farewell letter in his shaking hand. Rage and panic consumed him when he realized she had disguised herself and slipped onto one of the Sea Snake’s warships. He turned to leave, but Queen Rhaenyra blocked his path.

"You cannot go after her, Jace," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice tight with worry. "The fleet is sailing into a trap. I need my heir here."

Jace looked at his mother, his eyes flashing with a desperate anger. "I already lost Luke. I will not lose her."

He brushed past the Queen without waiting for permission. He ran to the dragonpit and mounted Vermax. Baela saw the fury in his face and immediately mounted Moondancer, flying right beside him as they soared toward the Gullet.

They arrived just as the horizon erupted into fire. The Triarchy had ambushed the Velaryon fleet. Jace roared, ordering Vermax to breathe fire upon the enemy ships. But his mind was not on the strategy. His eyes scanned the chaotic waters, desperate to find the flagship.

Down below, the flagship cabin shakes violently. Dust and splinters rain down from the ceiling as an explosion rocks the vessel. Lord Corlys doesn't waste a second. He grabs his broadsword from the table and rushes toward the door.

"Stay here," Corlys orders over his shoulder.

I don't listen to him. The words Corlys has just spoken about Jace are ringing in my ears. Jace loves me and wants to marry me. I can't stay hidden in a dark cabin while the world burns outside. I finally have a reason to live.

I follow Corlys up the wooden steps and burst onto the main deck. The scene is pure chaos. The sky is choked with thick, black smoke. Triarchy warships are closing in from all sides. They are raining flaming arrows down upon the fleet.

A stray arrow thuds into the deck right beside my boot. Triarchy soldiers begin to swarm over the railing. I draw my own sword. I'm no longer a sad girl running away from a broken heart.

"Defend the line!" a voice shouts through the noise.

A Triarchy soldier lunges at me with a long spear. I parry the blow. I step inside his guard and drive my blade forward. He falls to the deck. Another enemy comes at me, and I slash at his chest.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing screech cut through the sound of crashing waves. A flash of olive green scales tears through the grey smoke. It is Vermax.

"Jace!" I cry out.

Jace is in the saddle, but he isn't fighting with his usual discipline. He flies erratically, spinning and dipping through the sky as he scans the decks below. He is completely consumed by panic, looking for me.

"He is flying too low," a sailor next to her yells.

Vermax skims just feet above the waves. Jace is completely exposed to the enemy siege weapons. He is blinded by fear, desperate to find me.

"Get higher, Jace!" I scream at the top of my lungs. "Look up!"

On a nearby Triarchy galleon, a massive iron scorpion swung into place. The weapon points directly at the low flying dragon.

The scorpion releases with a heavy, mechanical thwack. The massive iron bolt slices through the air and struck Vermax squarely in the shoulder. But he can still fly.

The dragon lets out a little shriek. Vermax tilts violently to one side. The force of the impact shakes the saddle, and Jace is dislodged from his seat.

He falls through the air and hit the water with a massive splash, disappearing instantly beneath the churning waves of the Gullet.

I don't hesitate. I unbuckle the heavy steel breastplate and let it clatter to the wooden deck. I kick off the heavy boots that were weighting me down. The sea was burning, covered in patches of flaming oil, but Jace was down there.

I run to the edge of the ship and dove headfirst into the freezing water. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. The water is choked with ash, splinters, and blood. I surface, gasping for air, and swim frantically toward the spot where Jace has hit the waves.

The current is strong, pulling pieces of wrecked ships all around me. I see a flash of silver armor beneath the surface. Jace is thrashing, his heavy gear dragging him down into the dark.

I dive under and grabbed the strap of his tunic. I kick my legs with all my strength, forcing us both back up into the air. Jace coughs violently. He was semi-conscious, his eyes rolling back as he fights to stay afloat.

"Jace, look at me," I shout, fighting the heavy waves to keep his head above the water. "I have you. Stay with me."

His eyes focus on my face through the stinging sea spray.

"You," he whispers weakly. "You came."

"I'm here," I said, gasping for breath. "I'm not leaving you."

A giant shadow suddenly blocks out the smoke above us. A loud shriek echoes across the water. Vermax is bleeding a little from his shoulder, but he refuses to leave his rider behind.

The green dragon hovers dangerously low, skimming the water. He dips his massive webbed wing and tail right next to us. The wind from his wings whip the waves into a frenzy, making it hard to see.

"Hold onto me," I tell Jace, pulling his arm over my shoulder.

I wrap one arm tightly around Jace's waist. With my other hand, I grab the thick, rough ridges of Vermax's tail. I pull us both up with a desperate surge of strength, securing our wet bodies against the dragon.

Vermax feels our weight and lets out a fierce roar. He heaves his body upward, lifting us completely out of the freezing sea. He turns away from the main battle, banking sharply toward a small, deserted rocky island in the distance.

I look back through the smoke and see a flash of pale green in the sky. Baela is riding Moondancer right behind us. She roars in defiance, dropping down to burn a Triarchy ship that is trying to aim an arrow at us. She keeps the enemy busy, tracing our path to make sure we make landfall safely.

Vermax flies low and heavy. I hold onto Jace as tightly as I can, refusing to let go as the cold wind rushes past us.

Vermax crashes heavily onto the rocky shore of the lonely island. The dragon lets out a low groan, collapsing onto the gray stones from exhaustion. I slide off his tail and immediately pull Jace with me. He is bleeding from a deep gash on his thigh. I drag him toward a large boulder away from the water.

I sit him down against the stone. I quickly tear a long strip of cloth from my wet shirt, pressing it firmly against his wound to stop the active bleeding.

"Hold this down," I tell him, my hands shaking from the cold and fear.

Jace suddenly brushes my hands away. The adrenaline seemed to erase his exhaustion.

"Are you completely insane?" Jace shouts at me with his cracking voice. "You disguised yourself as a sailor? You threw yourself into the middle of a sea battle? You could have died!"

"Seriously, Jace? Right now?!" I scream back. "I was trying to leave you! I left you a letter! I gave you your freedom because you never wanted this match! You spent years keeping your distance from me, treating me like a duty, a political chore for your mother!"

Jace stares at me. He doesn't seem to care about the blood soaking through his clothes or the intense pain in his leg as he confesses his truth.

"A duty?" Jace roars, grabbing my wrists tightly. "You think you are just a chore to me? I kept my distance because I love you, you fool!"

I freeze, staring at him in total shock as the words hung in the air.

"Look at me!" Jace cries out, his voice breaking with deep emotion. "Everyone knows what I am. A bastard. A Strong. Every day I have to look at the lords who whisper about my hair, about my blood. You are a high born lady of House Arryn. I thought I was a curse inflicted upon you. I kept my distance out of respect because I wanted to prove I was worthy of you first!"

The anger vanishes from my chest, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming warmth. "I never cared about the whispers, Jace. I only ever cared about you."

"I don't want anyone else," Jace whispers fiercely. "I went to Lord Corlys because I wanted to marry you now. I can't face this war without you."

Before I can answer, Jace pulls me forward by my collar. His lips meet mine in a desperate kiss. It tasted of salt water, copper, and years of unspoken longing. It is fierce and messy, born from the terror of almost losing each other.

Suddenly, Jace lets out a sharp gasp and pulled back. He winces in agony as he shifted his weight onto his injured leg.

"Be careful!" I scold him, pushing his shoulders back against the boulder. "You are heavily injured. Stop moving around like an idiot."

He lets out a weak, painful laugh. His hand still tightly grips around mine. "We marry before the week is out. I mean it."

A shadow falls over the beach as Moondancer lands nearby. Baela slides off her dragon and runs toward us, her face covers in soot.

"The fleet broke the Triarchy," Baela calls out. "We won the battle. Let us get you both home."

Jace endures the blinding pain, dragging himself back onto Vermax's saddle with my help. I climb up behind him, wrapping my arms tightly around his waist as the wounded dragon took off into the sky.

As we fly back toward Dragonstone through the clearing smoke, I press my ear against Jace's back, listening to the steady, rapid beating of his heart against the wind.

I know the war is far from over. But with his heart beating against mine, I know the distance between us is gone forever. I'm ready to face the war as long as I face it with him.

With Jace.

I Wish You Loved Me Less l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Bitter-sweet romance, celebrity angst, second chance (Optional) Summary: Years ago, he was one of Briar hockey stars, and you were just a girl with a notebook full of unfinished songs. When a life-changing opportunity threatened to pull you apart, Dean did the most noble, heartbreaking thing he could think of. He let you go so you could chase your dreams. Now, you are standing in the center of a sold-out stadium on your very first world tour, and the boy who broke your heart at LAX is standing right in the front row. Note: My masterlist This song has been stuck in my head for two full days, to the point where I just knew I had to pour all those feelings into writing this fic. Happy reading!

I remember the tiny apartment we shared during his senior year. Dean was the king of the campus hockey team, but with me, he was always gentle. We spent hours sitting on the floor. He used to listen to me play the same three chords on my cheap guitar until his ears bled.

"You're going to be a superstar," he told me one night. He wrapped his large hands around mine to keep them warm.

"I just wanna play my music," I whispered back.

"You will," Dean said. "And I'll be right there in the front row."

We loved each other with everything we had. He adjusted his practice schedule just to drive me to small coffee shop gigs. I wore his oversized hockey jerseys to sleep every night. We talked about buying a house together after he got drafted. We had a whole life planned out in our heads.

Then everything changed when the London record label called me. It was the chance of a lifetime, but it meant leaving him behind for years. I told him I'd turn it down. I told him that he was more important than any music career.

"I'm not letting you stay here for me," Dean said. We're standing on the busy curb at LAX airport. The cars were honking all around us.

"Please don't do this," I sobbed. I grabbed his jacket, begging him to change his mind. "We can make it work."

Dean wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. His face looked completely broken, but his voice was steady. He was trying to be strong for both of us.

"If you stay here, you'll hate me one day," Dean said softly. "You belong on a stage, not waiting for me in a hockey rink. Go live your dream."

"I love you," I cried.

"I love you too," he said. He kissed the top of my head one last time. "That is why I am letting you go."

He unloaded my heavy suitcases onto the sidewalk. He got back into his car without looking back and drove away into the Los Angeles traffic. He broke my heart into a million pieces because he loved me too much to hold me back.

Now, years later, the arena is completely deafening. The stadium is a giant sea of noise and light. Thousands of flashing light sticks move in the dark like stars. People are screaming my name so loud that the stage vibrates under my boots. It is completely overwhelming, but I'm used to it now.

I stand right in the center of the stage with my microphone. The stadium is a giant sea of noise and bright light. Thousands of flashing light sticks move in the dark like stars. People are screaming my name so loud that the stage vibrates under my heavy boots. It's completely overwhelming, but I'm used to the noise now.

My eyes instinctively look toward the front row of the VIP section. I always know exactly where to look when I stand on a stage. Even in a massive crowd of thousands of strangers, he's impossible to miss.

Dean is standing right near the metal security barrier. He wears a dark baseball cap pulled low, trying his best to blend in with the normal fans. But he still has that magnetic, golden-boy energy. To me, he is always the brightest light in the entire room.

I used to think the brightest lights I’d ever see would be the stadium rafters at Briar, or the flashing bulbs of a national championship post-game. But standing here, drowning in a sea of eighty thousand screaming people, I realize I was wrong. To me, the brightest thing in this entire stadium is him.

And through the stage lights, I see him smile. It’s the same devastatingly handsome, proud smile he gave me when I wrote my very first melody on a battered keyboard in his college house. He promised he’d be my first fan forever. He just didn't tell me it would be from the audience.

A quick memory flashes through my mind. I remember a younger version of Dean from our college days before the fame. We were sitting on his messy bed in the hockey house, and I was crying about my future. He reached out, pulled me close against his chest, and kissed my forehead.

"Don't worry about the future so much," he said back then.

"What if I fail completely?" I asked him, looking up at his face. "What if nobody wants to listen to my music?"

Dean smiled his bright, confident smile. "No matter how big you get, I'm going to be your first fan forever."

He kept his word to me. He is a massive national hockey star now with his own crazy practice schedule and games, but he is here tonight. He is watching the big dream come true. It's the exact dream he sacrificed his own happiness for all those years ago.

I take a deep breath and hold the microphone closer to my lips. The bass from the speakers thumps hard against my chest. Every single seat in the arena is filled to the very top row.

I also remember how he used to help me carry my heavy keyboard into tiny bars that smelled like stale beer. He used to stand at the back of the room and cheer louder than anyone else, even when there were only five people in the audience.

"You sound amazing," he would whisper in my ear after the show.

"There were only three people listening, Dean," I would say with a sigh.

"Then those three people are lucky," he would reply instantly. "But soon there will be thousands."

Now, those thousands of people are here, chanting my name over and over again. They are wearing my merchandise and holding up signs with my lyrics written on them.

Dean stands perfectly still amidst all the chaos around him. He does not shout or wave his arms to get my attention. He just keeps his eyes locked onto me, watching my every move. He looks so proud of the person I became.

I contonue singing my songs from my latest album. Then, the fast drums finally stop playing. The high-energy pop tracks fade out completely, leaving a sudden quietness in the huge air of the arena.

The bright stadium lights change from flashing pinks and purples to a deep, sad blue color. A single, sharp white spotlight drops from the ceiling and hits the black grand piano sitting in the center of the stage.

The crowd recognizes the setup instantly. They go wild, screaming and cheering because they know exactly what song is coming next. They know it's time for "Less."

I don't sit down right away. I don't pick up the microphone from the stand yet either.

Instead, I walk slowly over to the edge of the stage. I lock my eyes directly with him across the massive expanse of the stadium.

Dean looks right back at me. Even with eighty thousand people standing between us, it feels like the rest of the arena completely melts away. The loud screams of the fans grow faint in my ears.

I remember the night I wrote the very first chords of this song on my bedroom floor. My cheeks were wet with tears, and my heart felt entirely heavy in my chest.

"Is this song about us?" Hannah asked me later when I played it for her.

"It is about the day he walked away," I whispered back to her.

"Do you think he will ever hear it?" she asked.

"I don't know," I said.

Now, he's standing right here, ready to listen to every single word. The history between us feels heavy in the air. It's a living, breathing thing inside this building tonight.

I take a slow, deep breath to steady my shaking hands. I walk over to the piano bench and smooth down my outfit before I sit down. The wood of the piano bench feels solid beneath me, grounding me in the moment.

I look at the black and white keys stretching out in front of my hands. I glance up one more time to make sure his eyes are still on me. He hasn't moved an inch. He's still watching me with that same total focus.

"Are you ready for this one?" I whisper into the microphone.

The crowd roars in response, but I'm only asking him.

I lift my hands and place my fingers gently on the cold keys. I press the first chords of the song. The deep sound echoes beautifully through the massive speakers, filling every corner of the stadium.

The fans begin to sway their light sticks slowly from side to side in the dark. The blue light reflects off the shiny surface of the piano.

I clear my throat and prepare to sing the words that broke my own heart to write. I keep my gaze anchored on the dark baseball cap in the front row. I don't look away from the only person who truly understands this melody.

I open my mouth and begin to sing the opening lines of the song. My voice sounds steady through the speakers, but my heart is beating incredibly fast. I look right at Dean as the words leave my lips. Then the chorus hits right in my chest. I don't look at the cameras. I look at the VIP barrier. I look at him, and our eyes lock across the distance. I sing it to the defenseman who thought he was saving me by breaking me.

"You say you can't stand to watch me cry a minute more," I sing softly.

The stadium is completely quiet now. Everyone is listening intently to the story.

"So you do the noble thing and open up the door," I continue.

Dean doesn't look away from me for even a second. He stands perfectly still against the security barrier, absorbing every single lyric. He knows these words are about him and that afternoon at the airport.

I play the piano chords harder as the song builds up to the chorus. The music grows louder and more emotional.

"If loving me means letting go and wishing me the best," I sing out, pouring every ounce of my feelings into the microphone.

The giant camera screens on the sides of the stage show my face to the entire stadium. Thousands of people are watching my expression right now, but I don't care about the cameras. My gaze is anchored entirely on him.

"Then I guess I wish, I wish, I wish you loved me less," I finish the chorus.

The devastating climax of the song echoes through the rafters. The crowd lets out a collective gasp and cheers for the raw emotion in my voice.

Through the deep blue stage lights, I watch Dean's face closely. He does not look angry or upset by the heavy words. Instead, an incredibly tender smile touches his lips.

It's a beautiful smile of pure pride for the massive star I've finally become. But it's also mixed with the bittersweet ghost of the college boy who had to let me go all those years ago.

I remember how he used to look at me when I succeeded in the past.

"You’re the most talented person I know," he said to me once after a small show.

"You’re just saying that because you love me," I replied, laughing.

"No, I’m saying it because it is the truth," he said seriously.

Now, his smile tells me the exact same thing. He's proud that his sacrifice wasn't for nothing. He wanted me to have this world tour, and now I have it.

I smile back at him through the microphone while my fingers keep playing the piano melody. It's a silent acknowledgment between the two of us. I'm telling him that I finally understand why he did it.

It's hard to understand why he drove away and left me at the airport. Maybe we were too young to truly understand what love is. It still hurts my heart to think about it.

The stadium lights reflect off his eyes. He gives me a small, slow nod from the crowd.

"Thank you," I whisper quietly under my breath, away from the microphone.

He seems to understand my silent words anyway. He keeps his proud smile fixed on his face, standing tall as my number one fan.

The final piano chords ring out slow and heavy through the quiet stadium. The music vibrates through the floorboards under my seat, then gently fades away into the dark.

As the sound disappears, tears brim in my eyes. The bright stage lights catch the wetness on my cheeks, making the stadium blur into a sea of colorful dots.

These tears are a strange mix of absolute triumph and old, lingering heartbreak. I'm finally living my biggest dream in front of thousands of people. But singing this specific song reminds me of the exact cost of my admission to this stage. It reminds me that I had to lose him to get here.

I look back down at the front row through my wet eyelashes. Dean's still staring up at me, and I see that his eyes are wet too.

Seeing me tear up on stage mirrors the last time he saw me cry. It takes his mind right back to that awful afternoon on the concrete curb at LAX. He remembers how I looked when I was completely shattered by his noble choice to leave.

"Please don't get in the car," I whispered to him back then, my face covered in tears.

"You have to go," he said, his own voice breaking. "You have to show them how amazing you are."

"I don't care about showing them!" I screamed at him. "I just want you."

"I know," he said softly. "But I care too much to let you stay."

But this time is different. I'm not crying in total defeat on a busy airport sidewalk anymore. This time, I'm crying in my full glory as I'm standing at the very top of the world.

Dean blinks back his own tears. He swallows the hard lump in his throat as he looks at me.

He's completely captivated by the monster of a talent he helped unleash by stepping aside. He knows that his painful choice at the airport gave me the freedom to create all of this beauty.

"You did it," he mouths silently to me across the distance.

The crowd suddenly erupts into giant, deafening cheers. People are clapping and screaming my name because the song is over. The blue lights lift, and the white spotlight gets brighter around my piano.

I reach up and quickly wipe a tear from my cheek with the back of my hand. I take a deep breath and stand up from the piano bench, picking up my microphone.

I look at Dean one last time before the next upbeat song starts to play. He gives me another proud nod and blinks away the last of his tears. He's still standing straight while watching his favorite artist rule the stage.

The final cheers of the stadium fade away as I walk off the stage. My body feels exhausted, but my mind is racing. Security guards guide me through the dark hallways backstage, protecting me from the chaos.

I head straight toward my private dressing room to get away from the noise. I expect it to be empty, but someone is standing near the doorway.

It's Dean. He's leaning against the wall, holding a VIP pass around his neck.

I assume the tour sponsor invited him tonight. The same sponsor handled the big hockey championship match at the beginning of this year. I did the opening musical show for that game, and his national team was there on the ice. We were in the same building back then, but we never got a chance to talk because our schedules were too busy.

"Hey," Dean says softly as I approach. He takes off his dark baseball cap, revealing his messy hair.

"Hey," I reply, stopping a few feet away from him. My heart starts to pound against my ribs again, harder than it did on stage.

"You were incredible out there tonight," he says. He looks at me with genuine admiration. "The whole crowd was captivated by you."

"Thank you," I say, looking down at my shoes for a second. "I saw you in the front row. You kept your promise."

"I told you I'd be your first fan forever," Dean says with a small smile. "I don't break my promises."

"You also broke my heart, Dean," I say quietly. The words come out before I can stop them. The simple truth hangs heavily in the quiet hallway.

Dean sighs, and the proud smile fades from his face. He steps closer to me. He looks entirely serious now.

"I know I did," he says. "I think about that day at LAX every single day of my life."

"Then why did you do it?" I ask him. "Why did you drive away when I begged you to stay?"

"Because look at where you are now," Dean says, gesturing toward the stadium behind us. "If you stayed with me, you would've spent your life waiting for me at hockey rinks. You would've missed your chance to shine."

"I wanted you more than I wanted the stadium, Dean," I tell him. A stray tear slips down my cheek, wiping away my stage makeup.

"I know," Dean says softly. He reaches out and gently wipes the tear away with his thumb, just like he did years ago. His touch is warm and familiar. "But I loved you too much to let you make that sacrifice. I had to be the bad guy so you could be a star."

"And now I'm a star," I say, looking right into his ocean eyes. "But I'm a star who sings sad songs about the boy who let her go."

Dean looks completely torn. He drops his hand from my face and looks around the empty hallway. The confident national hockey hero suddenly looks like the vulnerable college boy I used to love.

"Do you hate me for it?" he asks quietly.

"I used to," I admit honestly. "But tonight, when I looked at you during the song, I realized something. I finally understood why you did it. Maybe I don't totally get it. But somehow, I know you did it out of pure love."

Dean lets out a shaky breath. "I never stopped loving you. Not for a single second."

"So what happens now?" I ask him.

The silence between us feels massive. We're both at the absolute peak of our careers now. He's a national hockey champion, and I'm a global pop star. The distance between our worlds is still huge, but the love is still right here between us.

Dean looks down at his VIP pass, then looks back up at me with a intense expression.

"My season ends next month," Dean whispers. "I have a few weeks of total freedom. I can go anywhere in the world."

"Are you asking to come on tour with me?" I ask, my breath catching in my throat.

"I'm asking if you still want your number one fan in the front row," Dean says. He steps even closer, closing the remaining distance between us. "But this time, I want to wait for you backstage when the lights go down."

I look at his handsome face, completely torn between the painful past and the beautiful present. My manager calls my name from the end of the hallway. It's time to leave for the airport.

I look at Dean, and then I look toward the exit door.

"Think about it," Dean says softly. He then backs away a little bit to give me space. "I'll be waiting for your answer."

I look at him for one last long moment, memorizing the hope in his eyes. Then I turn around and walk toward my manager.

I don't give Dean an answer before the heavy backstage door swings shut behind me. As my car pulls away into the dark city traffic, my mind is completely spinning. The choice is entirely mine this time, and for the first time in years, the future is wide open.

Timeless l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Supernatural romance, fantasy, time travel, tragedy Warnings: Sad ending Summary: Trapped in a cruel loop of the worst day of your life, you fight desperately to save the boy you love from a fate that feels written in stone. But the universe has a strict toll, and some promises run deeper than time itself. Note: My masterlist Sorry in advance for the emotional damage! I really wanted to put our Dean through the ultimate painful angst loop. I hope you all enjoy his timeless love story. Get your tissues ready and keep reading!

The black graduation gown hangs on the back of my closet door. It looks like a shadow in the dim light of my bedroom. Next to it hangs his gown. It's empty. The fabric is stiff and untouched. Today is graduation day. Or rather, it should be.

Instead, it's the day I lost everything. I lost him.

I sit on the edge of the bed. My chest feels tight, like a heavy stone sits on my ribs. The room's completely silent. Dean is not here. He's never coming back. The police officer’s voice still rings in my ears from the real timeline. There was a truck. There was a patch of wet road on the way to the Briar University campus. Dean never made it to the ceremony.

My hands shake as I stare at the floor. The grief is too heavy. It swallows me whole. At some point, I don’t want a life without him. The silence in the room screams at me. I can't live in a world where Dean Di Laurentis is just a memory. I close my eyes and prepare to let go.

Then, I hear it.

"Hey, beautiful. Wake up."

It's his voice. It doesn't sound like a distant memory. It sounds loud. It sounds close, like he's standing right behind me. It's a physical pull, a sudden tug at the center of my chest.

My eyes fly open. The room spins. The heavy stone on my chest vanishes.

The first time I go back, I blink and find myself sitting in Dean’s car. The engine is purring. The radio plays a loud rock song. Dean sits in the driver’s seat, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. He looks so alive. His blonde hair, ocean eyes, and his bright smile.

"Ready to graduate?" he asks me.

I scream. I grab the steering wheel and pull it to the right. The car swerves violently. Dean yells in surprise. He tries to hit the brakes, but we are already spinning. The sound of metal twisting fills the air. The smell of burning rubber enters my nose.

Darkness takes me again.

I wake up in the passenger seat again. The rock song plays. Dean turns to me with the same bright smile.

"Ready to graduate?"

This time, I don't grab the wheel. I reach over and turn the key, shutting off the engine. The car rolls to a stop on the side of the road.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks. He laughs, but he looks confused. "We’re going to be late."

"We’re not going," I say. My voice trembles. "We’re staying right here. Turn around, Dean. Please."

"Babe, it is graduation," he says. "My parents are waiting."

"No!" I scream. I grab his jacket. "Don’t start the car!"

A loud horn blares behind us. I look in the rearview mirror. A massive delivery truck loses control on the wet asphalt. It slides sideways, straight toward our parked car. Dean tries to shield my body with his own.

The impact shatters the glass. The smell of gasoline fills my senses.

The loops become a blur of terror. I try everything.

In one loop, I wake up earlier, while he is still in the shower at the hockey house. I run outside into the driveway. I find a sharp rock and slash the front tires of his car. The rubber hisses as the air escapes. I stand back, panting, thinking I finally saved him.

Dean comes out of the house, holding his graduation gown over his arm. He sees the flat tires and sighs.

"Well, that sucks," Dean says. He pulls out his phone. "I’ll just call Garrett. He is right behind us. We can ride with him."

"No, don't call him!" I yell, snatching the phone from his hand. "We're walking. Or we're staying here."

"We can't walk to campus in these clothes," Dean says with a small laugh. "What's wrong with you today? You look like you saw a ghost."

Garrett’s car pulls into the driveway two minutes later. Dean jumps into the back seat. I follow him, crying, begging Garrett to drive slowly. But at the major intersection near the campus, a speeding car runs the red light. It hits the passenger side where Dean sits.

The screech of tires echoes in my mind long after the loop ends.

In the next loop, I try to block the driveway with my own body. I stand behind his car, spreading my arms wide.

Dean rolls down his window and looks back at me. "Are you crazy? Get in the car, we need to leave."

"I’m not letting you drive!" I shout. "If you want to leave, you have to run me over!"

Dean sighs and steps out of the vehicle. He walks over to me and wraps his strong arms around my waist. He lifts me off the ground easily, ignoring my kicks and screams. He locks me in the passenger seat and climbs into the driver’s seat.

"I don't know what kind of game this is, but we’re going," he says firmly.

Ten minutes later, the brakes fail. Dean pumps the pedal frantically, his face pale. The car careens off the road and hits a concrete pillar.

I try to drive the car myself. I tell him I want to surprise him by chauffeuring him to his own graduation. Dean agrees, looking amused. He leans back in the passenger seat and closes his eyes.

I drive thirty miles under the speed limit. I avoid the main highway. I take the long, winding back roads where there is no traffic. I look over at him, feeling a small spark of hope.

Suddenly, a deer darts out from the trees. I slam on the brakes. The car skids on a patch of black ice that I did not see. The vehicle rolls over down a steep embankment.

Every single time, the universe finds a way to take him.

If I pop the tires, he takes a taxi. The taxi crashes. If I lock him in the bedroom, a faulty wire in the wall sparks a fire. If I scream and cry, he thinks I'm having a panic attack and tries to drive me to the hospital, only to get hit by a speeding truck.

The exhaustion settles deep into my bones. It's a suffocating weight. My throat burns from screaming his name. My eyes are permanently swollen from tears. I can taste the metallic tang of blood and the bitter scent of smoke in every breath I take.

I'm trapped in a cage of time, and the bars are made of his deaths.

No matter what I choose, the outcome remains unchanged. I learn every tiny detail of the morning. I know exactly when the radio host speaks. I know when the rain starts to hit the windshield. I know the exact second the oncoming traffic changes. I memorize the timing of every car on the road.

But the universe is a cruel author. It corrects itself every time. It rewrites the accident in a different way like using a different car, a different road, or a different mistake.

I wake up again in the passenger seat. The rock song plays.

Dean turns to me. He has no idea that he's died a hundred times in my arms. He has no idea that I'm carrying the weight of a hundred tragedies.

"Ready to graduate?" he asks softly.

I look at him, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. I'm so tired. I sink back against the seat.

The loops continue.

I open my eyes. The morning sun shines through the window. The bedroom is quiet. I sit up slowly and look around.

The air feels different today. It feels thick and heavy. A strange, cold certainty settles deep in my chest. No voice echoes in my head, but I just know. This is the last time. The universe is closing the door.

Dean stirs beside me. He opens his eyes and smiles. He looks warm, healthy, and completely whole.

"Morning, beautiful," he murmurs. He reaches out and pulls me closer to his chest.

The warmth of his skin makes my throat tighten. The tears come instantly. They spill over my cheeks and soak into his bare shoulder. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him with all my strength.

Dean tenses up. He feels my body shaking. He moves back slightly so he can look at my face. His green eyes are filled with sudden worry.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks. His voice is gentle. "Are you sick? Talk to me."

I shake my head. I can't tell him the truth. He'll think I'm losing my mind. I can't tell him about the trucks, the fires, or the broken glass. I just grip his shoulders tighter.

"Promise me you won't leave me," I sob into his neck. "Promise me you won't die, Dean. I can't do this without you."

He doesn't laugh. He doesn't make a joke about how dramatic I'm being. He just takes a deep breath and wraps his large arms around me, pulling me completely into his lap. He rubs my back in slow, soothing circles.

He pulls a tissue from the nightstand and gently wipes the tears from my cheeks. Then, he gives me a soft smile.

"Hey. Look at me," Dean says. He cups my face with his warm hands.

I look into his eyes. They're steady and full of absolute devotion.

"If something ever happens to me, it just means I’m going ahead to perfect the next life for us," he says softly. "I’ll build the house. I’ll clear the path, and I’ll wait for you. Every single afterlife, I’m yours. I love you."

His words pierce through my heart. I don't want a next life. I want this one. But the calm certainty in his voice makes me stop crying. I kiss him, tasting the salt of my own tears on his lips. He kisses me back, deeply and slowly, as if he knows this moment is sacred.

We don't get out of bed. We ignore the graduation ceremony completely. We ignore the phone calls from his parents and his friends. We let the world outside disappear.

We spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other's arms. We don't talk about the future or the past. We just stay in the present.

When the sun goes down, the room turns dark. I lay my head on his chest. I listen to the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart. I feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. I memorize the scent of his skin and the feel of his fingers tangling in my hair.

I cling to him with everything I have. I try to stay awake, but my eyelids grow heavy.

"I love you, Dean," I whisper into the dark.

"I love you more," he whispers back, kissing the top of my head. "It's timeless."

I finally close my eyes. I fall asleep in his arms, knowing that when I wake up, the cold reality of the present will be waiting for me.

I'm back to the present. The warmth is gone. The steady heartbeat under my cheek is gone. The room is cold, and the morning light is gray.

I'm back in the present. Dean's dead. The accident happened five days ago, just like it did the very first time. The funeral's over. I'm alone in my apartment.

I get out of bed, but I don't really feel my feet hitting the floor. I'm like a ghost walking through my own life. I move to the kitchen. I look at the coffee maker, but I don't make anything. The silence in the apartment is deafening.

A sudden knock at the front door breaks the quiet. I walk over slowly and open it.

Summer Di Laurentis stands on the porch. Her nose is pink, and her eyes are swollen and red. She is holding a large cardboard box in her arms. She looks at me, and her lower lip trembles.

"Hey," Summer says. Her voice cracks instantly.

"Hey," I whisper.

"I was helping my mom clear out Dean's room at the hockey house," Summer says, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I found this hidden way back in his closet. It has your name on it. I thought you should have it right away."

I look at the box, and a fresh wave of grief hits me. Summer sets the box down on the floor. She reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug.

We both break down right there in the doorway. We hold onto each other tightly. We're crying for our entire world. We don't say any words. There is just a quiet, painful understanding of shared grief between us.

After a long time, Summer lets go. She wipes her eyes and gives me a sad smile.

"Take care of yourself just like my brother did," she says softly.

"Thank you, Summer," I say.

She walks away, and I close the door. I drag the heavy cardboard box into my bedroom. I sit down on the floor and pull the tape off the top.

My breath hitches as I look inside. This is a side of Dean that he never showed to the rest of the world. He always acted so careless and confident, but this box is full of pure devotion.

I pull out a thick stack of polaroid pictures. They are all pictures of me. There is one of me sleeping on his couch with a textbook on my face. There is another one of me laughing at a diner, with maple syrup on my chin. He wrote dates and little hearts on the back of every single one.

Below the pictures, I find several sheets of graph paper. I unfold them carefully. They are sketches. Dean drew blueprints of a house. It’s the exact house we always talked about during our late-night conversations. He drew a big kitchen, a porch with a swing, and a small room for an art studio.

At the very bottom of the box lies a black, leather-bound notebook. It’s a handwritten diary. I touch the cover, my heart pounding in my chest. This is his handwriting.

I sit on the floor and I turn the pages of Dean's diary right from the beginning. The scent of his cologne faintly rises from the paper.

The early entries are so uniquely him. I find myself smiling through the tears soaking my cheeks. On one page, he jokes about my habits in our shared apartment.

"She thinks I don't notice her stealing my hoodies, but I purposely buy them a size bigger now," he wrote, followed by a little drawn smiley face. "Looks better on her anyway."

Every early page is full of that familiar, cocky humor, mixed with a deep warmth. He writes about his massive dreams for our future together. He details exactly how he wants to take care of me once we leave Briar.

Then, I turn to the final pages. The playful tone completely vanishes. The handwriting looks rushed and shaky. The entries take a chilling turn.

I read the words, and the air leaves my lungs. He writes about a strange occurrence that happened a week before graduation. He met an old, unseeing man sitting on a bench near the hockey house. The man spoke to him, calling him by name, and told him something that felt entirely too real.

The man gave him a vision of graduation day. In that vision, there was a patch of wet road. There was a massive truck. But in that original script of the universe, Dean wasn't the one who died.

I was.

He writes about waking up in a cold sweat every night after that, realizing the universe already decided my fate. The universe demanded a soul on graduation day. A tragedy was written in stone, and there was no bypassing the toll.

Dean was given a choice by whatever forces control time. He could let the universe take me, or he could sign his own name on the ledger.

My hands shake violently as I read his final paragraph. He wrote it the night before the crash, right after we talked about our plans.

"It was always supposed to be her," the diary reads. "If the universe wants a tragedy, it takes me. She has too much light to leave this world yet. I’ll take the crash. I’ll take the dark. Just let her live."

The ink grows smudged on the very last lines. He directly addresses me, begging me from the past.

"Please don't follow me into the dark," the text reads. "I did this so you could experience everything we talked about. Live your life for me. Live it fully. If you love me, you will stay here and build our dreams. I will wait as long as it takes."

The notebook falls from my hands onto the carpet.

The truth hits me like a physical blow. The time loops I experienced were not a glitch in reality. They were not a random supernatural curse given to me. The universe was just forcing me to see that his choice was absolute. I could not save him because he had already sealed the contract. He willingly gave his life so I could keep mine.

"No," I whisper into the empty bedroom. "No, Dean, why did you do that?"

I drop to my knees and press my face into my hands. I cry until my chest aches and my throat burns. The pain is so sharp it feels like my heart is physically tearing apart. He knew. Every single time he looked at me on graduation morning, he knew he was going to his death. He did it clear-mindedly, all for me.

I wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth on the floor. I remember his loving smile in our last loop. I remember him telling me he would go ahead to perfect the next life for us. He was not just comforting a crying girlfriend. He was preparing me for the sacrifice he already chose to make.

The room grows dark around me as the sun sets. I lie down on the floor next to his open diary. I hold the pages close to my chest, soaking his handwriting with my tears. I’m alive because Dean chose the dark.

Five years pass by in the blink of an eye.

I stand by the large window of my apartment. Outside, the city lights flicker like tiny stars. This is Boston. This is the exact city Dean and I planned to move to after our time at Briar University.

I take a sip of hot tea from my mug. Today was a big day. I officially started my new position at the firm. It's the exact job I used to whisper about during our late-night pillow talk, back when we stayed up until dawn dreaming about the future.

The apartment is quiet, but it does not feel lonely anymore. I look over at the bookshelf. Dean's black leather diary sits safely on the top shelf, right next to the framed polaroid of me laughing at the diner.

My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter. I walk over and pick it up. It is a text message from a coworker.

TayTay: "Hey, my brother's friend just moved to the city. He is really nice and single. Are you free for dinner this weekend?"

I smile softly at the screen. My fingers move quickly across the keyboard as I type my reply.

"Thank you so much for thinking of me, but I am really not interested in dating right now," I send back.

I lock my phone and set it down. People try to set me up all the time. They think five years is too long to grieve. They think I'm stuck in the past, but they don't understand.

I'm moving forward, but I'm not moving on.

For the first time, declining these offers does not make me feel miserable. It doesn't feel like a heavy burden. Instead, it feels like a sacred keeping of a promise. My heart belongs to Dean, and it always will.

I walk out onto my small balcony. The cool night air hits my face. I pull the collar of my sweater up around my neck. It is one of his old hockey hoodies, faded and soft from years of washing.

I'm living the life he bought for me. He paid the highest price possible so that I could stand here tonight and breathe this city air. I refuse to waste a single second of the time he gave me.

I carry his love with me every day. It feels like a shield around my heart, protecting me from the cold and the dark. I don't fear the future anymore.

I look up at the night sky, past the city smog to the bright moon. I feel a deep, calm peace settle into my bones.

I know that whenever my time finally comes, I won't be afraid. Dean's already there waiting for me. He's clearing the path, just like he promised. He's building the house, and he's making our next life absolutely perfect.

"I'm doing it, Dean," I whisper into the quiet night. "I'm living."

The wind picks up, rustling the fabric of his hoodie around my shoulders. It feels exactly like a warm, familiar hug. I close my eyes and smile, knowing our love is completely timeless.

Pinky Pie l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Rom-com, fluffy Summary: Dean is an absolute saint when it comes to teaching your little sister how to balance on the ice. Watching his patient, gentler side completely ruins your defenses. But when your sister notices the sparks between you, she takes matters into her own hands right in front of you. Note: My masterlist

The cold air of the ice rink hits my face the moment I step inside. I tightly clutch my paper coffee cup, trying to keep my hands warm. Down on the ice, a dozen seven-year-olds are stumbling around in bulky hockey gear. Among them is my little sister, Harper.

Harper is a sweet girl, and she is incredibly eager to learn. But she is also a very slow learner on the ice. While the other kids are already trying to slide around, Harper struggles to even stand up straight. I stand right next to the plexiglass barrier, watching her like a hawk. I feel nervous for her, but she looks happy just to be out there.

This is a special youth hockey program at Yale University. The head coach is Dean Di Laurentis. He just graduated, and he takes this special coaching gig for the summer. He is a famous hockey star, and even from the stands, you can tell he knows exactly what he is doing. He glides around the ice with effortless grace.

Before the lesson even started, I watch Dean sit down on the player bench right next to Harper. She is struggling to get her feet into her rental skates, her small fingers tangling in the laces. Dean doesn't just do it for her. He kneels on the rubber floor to teach her properly.

"Alright, look here," Dean says to her patiently and warmly. "First, you have to push your heel all the way to the back. Like this. If it is loose, your ankles will wobble, and we do not want that."

Harper nods seriously, watching his large hands. Dean pulls the laces tight to show her how to crisscross them securely around the plastic hooks.

"Now, pull them tight, make a loop, and tie it like a regular shoe," Dean explains. He lets her finish the knot herself. "Perfect. You are a pro now."

Harper beams with pride as she steps onto the ice with a bit more confidence.

It’s Lesson One, and the coach calls for a short break. The kids all head toward the benches for water. Harper tries to follow them, but her ankles wobble. She loses her balance and sits down hard on the ice. She giggles a little bit, but before she can get back up, two older, advanced kids skate over to her.

They’re slightly spoiled boys who think they’re already professional players. They stand over Harper and block her path. They start pointing at her shaky skates and laughing loudly. I can’t hear their exact words through the glass, but I see Harper’s smile fade. Her bottom lip begins to tremble.

My blood boils instantly. I drop my coffee cup into a nearby trash can. I march toward the gate, ready to climb right onto the ice and defend my sister. Nobody makes Harper cry.

But before I can even touch the latch of the gate, a tall figure in a navy blue Yale coaching tracksuit cuts across the ice. Dean Di Laurentis glides effortlessly right between Harper and the two bullies.

Dean doesn't yell, but his voice is deep and carries a powerful, commanding energy. It is the voice of a team captain who demands absolute respect.

"Hey. What do you think you are doing?" Dean asks. He is looking down at the two boys.

The boys instantly freeze. They look up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

"At my rink, everyone skates together," Dean says, his tone firm and cold. "We don't mock teammates. If you two have enough time to judge other people, then you have enough time to do twenty extra laps around the rink. Right now. Move it."

The two bullies don’t waste a second. They turn around and skate away as fast as their little legs can carry them.

Harper looks up at Dean, her eyes wide with awe. Dean bends down, grabs her under her arms, and easily lifts her back onto her feet. He pats her helmet gently.

"You okay, Pinky Pie?" Dean asks her.

Harper nods rapidly. "Yes, Coach Dean! Thank you."

Dean smiles at her, and then he turns his head. His eyes scan the barrier until they lock right onto me. I’m still standing by the gate, my hands gripping the top of the plexiglass. I’m practically halfway over the boards.

Dean gives me a slow, appreciative look. A confident, signature smirk appears on his handsome face. He skates right up to the barrier where I am standing. He leans his muscular forearms against the top of the edge, and looks right up at me.

"Easy there," Dean says teasingly. "I have got her covered. But if you are looking to jump the boards, I would be happy to catch you."

My face instantly burns hot. I take a step back from the glass, clearing my throat.

"I was ready to fight them," I admit and cross my arms over my chest.

Dean chuckles softly. "I can see that. You have a lot of fire in you. But don't worry, nobody gets bullied on my watch."

I look past his shoulder and see Harper happily skating toward the bench. She looks much better now. I turn my attention back to the handsome coach standing in front of me.

"Why did you call her Pinky Pie?" I ask curiously.

Dean smiles, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, I like to get to know my students. During the sign-up chat, she told me her favorite color is pink, and her favorite food is apple pie. So, Pinky Pie it is. It suits her."

I smile at that. It is a very sweet gesture for a tough hockey player.

"She talks about you a lot, you know," Dean adds and leans a little closer. "Harper spends half her time on the ice admiring you to me. She told me all about her amazing older sibling."

"She did?" I ask. My cheeks warm up again.

"Yes. She loves you a lot," Dean says. He extends a gloved hand over the top of the plexiglass. "But she forgot to mention one detail. She never told me your name. I am Dean."

I reach out and shake his hand. His grip is warm and firm, even through the glove.

"I am Y/N," I say softly.

"Y/N," Dean repeats my name. The smirk returns to his face, full of charm. "It is very nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I have a feeling this summer is going to be very interesting."

Before I can answer, a whistle blows from the center of the rink. The assistant coach is calling everyone back to the center lines.

Dean winks at me, pushes off from the barrier, and glides backward toward the group of kids. I stand there by the glass, watching him go. My heart is beating a little bit faster than usual.

Four weeks pass by very quickly. Every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, I sit in the exact same spot by the plexiglass barrier. I always bring my warm coffee, but lately, I don't focus on the drink at all. My eyes are completely glued to Dean.

Over these past few weeks, I have found myself utterly captivated by him. The public knows Dean Di Laurentis as an arrogant, wild, and incredibly wealthy hockey star. People see him on TV or in the news and think he only cares about winning and having fun. But out here on the ice, I see a completely different side of him.

With Harper, Dean is an absolute saint.

Harper still struggles with her balance, but Dean never loses his patience. Yesterday, she kept falling down every time she tried to push off with her right skate. Instead of getting frustrated, Dean skated over to her and got down on his knees right on the cold ice. He didn't care about getting his track pants wet.

He took Harper’s small, gloved hands into his own. He looked right into her eyes and spoke to her softly.

"Look at me, Pinky Pie," Dean said to her. "Don't look at your feet. Look at my chest. Lean into me. You can do this."

Harper took a deep breath and nodded. She pushed off again, and this time, she glided forward for three whole seconds without falling.

Dean let out a loud cheer that echoed through the entire rink. He lifted her up into the air and spun her around.

"Yes! That is what I am talking about!" Dean shouted, his face full of genuine pride. "You are a natural, Pinky Pie!"

Every single time he celebrates her tiny bits of progress, my chest feels incredibly tight. It is a wonderful kind of ache. Watching how gentle, patient, and understanding he is toward my little sister makes something shift inside me. I find it harder and harder to look away from him.

Today marks the very end of the first month of the program. The summer heat is warm outside, but inside the rink, the kids are buzzing with high energy. Dean gathers all the students into a big circle at the center of the ice.

"Alright, team, listen up," Dean says and claps his hands together. "You all worked incredibly hard this month. Because you did such a great job, I have a little surprise for everyone."

The kids all gasp and start chatting excitedly. Dean walks over to the player bench and picks up a massive cardboard box. He brings it to the ice and starts handing out gifts. It's a gear giveaway.

Most of the kids receive standard team swag, like Yale hockey pucks, water bottles, and cool T-shirts. They are all very happy, shouting and showing their items to their parents in the stands.

But Dean holds back one last box. It's wrapped in bright white paper. He looks past the crowd of children and finds me standing by the glass. He gives me a quick, secret smile before he turns his attention back to Harper.

"Pinky Pie, come over here for a second," Dean calls out.

Harper wobbly skates over to him. Her eyes are wide with curiosity. Dean kneels down on the ice in front of her and places the white box in her lap.

"Open it up," Dean says softly.

Harper rips the paper away and opens the lid of the box. She lets out a huge gasp. Her mouth forms a perfect O shape. Inside the box is a special pair of gleaming, pastel-pink skates. They're beautiful, brand new, and perfectly her size.

"Oh my goodness!" Harper squeals. Her eyes light up like Christmas morning. "They are pink! Look, Y/N! They are pink!"

She points wildly toward me. I smile warmly and nod at her through the glass. My heart melts at the sight.

Dean chuckles softly at her excitement. He reaches out and gently taps the tip of her nose with his finger. Then, he looks up, catches my eye, and winks at me over the top of Harper’s helmet.

He leans in close to Harper and whispers to her, though his voice is loud enough for me to hear.

"Special skates for my favorite student," Dean tells her with a warm grin. "But you have to promise me you won't tell the others. It will totally hurt their egos."

Harper giggles loudly and covers her mouth with her hands. "I promise, Coach Dean! It is our secret."

Dean stands up and looks back at me through the glass. The signature smirk returns to his face, but this time, it looks softer, warmer, and completely aimed at me. I give him a grateful smile, realizing that I'm falling for the hockey star a little more each day.

The next Tuesday, Harper begs me to put on rental skates and join her on the ice. She wants me to skate with her to help her train with her brand new pink skates.

It has been a very long time since I last skated. I feel incredibly rusty as I lace up the plain rental skates. But I always support Harper, no matter what. If she wants me out there, I'll be out there.

I carefully step onto the smooth ice. My ankles feel unsteady, but I slowly recall my old skills. I take deep breaths and glide forward, holding Harper’s small hand. She beams up at me, proud to show off her new gear.

We make it halfway around the rink. I start to feel a little more confident. Then, my left skate catches a groove in the ice.

I lose my balance completely. My arms flail in the air, and I trip and fall sideways. I hit the cold ice with a loud thud, sliding a few feet.

Harper gasps in shock. She immediately skates over to me as fast as her little legs can carry her. She bends down and tries to help me up, but she is far too small to lift an adult.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Did you break your leg?" Harper asks. She looks completely worried.

"I am fine, Harper. I promise," I assure her and rub my sore hip. "I just forgot how slippery this stuff is."

Suddenly, a loud voice echoes across the empty rink.

"Everything alright over there, Pinkie Pie?" Dean calls out from the far side of the ice. He is wrapping up some paperwork by the player bench.

Harper immediately turns around and waves her arms wildly. "Coach Dean! Help! Y/N fell down and cannot get up!"

"Harper, no, I am fine!" I whisper loudly. My cheeks start heating up.

But it's too late. Dean is already moving. He cuts across the ice with powerful, effortless strides. Within two seconds, he stops perfectly right in front of us, spraying a little bit of ice shavings.

Dean looks down at me, a highly amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He bends down and offers his large, gloved hands to me.

"Need a lift, Y/N?" Dean asks softly.

I take his hands. His grip is incredibly strong. He pulls me up with zero effort and then lifts me back onto my feet. Because of the sudden momentum, I slide forward and bump right into his chest. He places his hands on my waist for a brief second to steady me.

My face turns bright crimson. I step back quickly, clearing my throat.

"Thank you, Dean," I mutter, looking down at my skates. "My balance is not what it used to be."

"Anytime," Dean says. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief. "I am always happy to rescue a damsel in distress. Or a sibling in distress."

I settle my balance again and turn to my sister. "Okay, Harper. Go ahead and skate some more. I will just watch you from the side."

Harper stands there, looking between me and Dean. She definitely saw the exact second I blushed. A tiny, knowing smirk appears on her seven-year-old face.

"Coach Dean?" Harper says innocently. "Y/N is really bad at this. Can you please help teach them how to skate properly?"

"Harper, he is busy," I say quickly, trying to stop her.

"I am never too busy for a private lesson," Dean interrupts. Before I have any chance to reject his offer, Dean grabs both of my hands. He begins dragging me along the ice, skating backward while pulling me forward.

"Whoa! Dean, wait!" I laugh as I grip his hands tightly as the wind brushes past my face.

"Just trust me, Y/N. Keep your knees bent," Dean says to me with a brilliant smile.

Harper watches us go. She clearly sees the spark between us. She lets out a quiet giggle and skates behind us very slowly. She lets her Coach Dean do all the work. That is exactly when her little matchmaking scheme starts.

An hour later, the practice officially ends. The rink is quiet as the other families head home.

Harper sits on the wooden player bench, clumsily unlacing her new pink skates. Dean stands right nearby. He leans against the wall and chats with me about the upcoming weekend.

Suddenly, Harper stops pulling at her laces. She looks up at Dean with adoring eyes.

"Coach Dean? Do you have a girlfriend?" Harper asks loudly. "Because you are really pretty."

Dean bursts out laughing. He shakes his head at her sudden question.

"No, Pinkie Pie," Dean says. "Shockingly, I am a completely single man right now. Tragic, right?"

Harper doesn't skip a single beat. She points a small finger directly at me.

"Perfect," Harper says proudly. "My sister right here is completely single too. And you both have very nice hair."

I instantly freeze. My face burns a bright crimson. I feel the heat rising all the way to my ears. I try to shush her, waving my hands frantically.

"Harper! Stop that right now," I mutter and look anywhere but at Dean. "You cannot just interrogate your coach about his personal life."

But Harper doubles down. She sits up straighter on the bench. She looks incredibly proud of her own logic.

"I just think it would be amazing if the two cutest people in my whole world got together," Harper explains with a big shrug. "Then you could come over to our house for dinner, and we can all wear pink skates together."

I cover my face with my hands. I really wish the ice would open up and swallow me whole.

Dean’s reaction isn't what I expect. He doesn't look uncomfortable or annoyed at all. In fact, he looks entirely delighted by my sister's speech. He lets out an amused laugh. His bright blue eyes lock onto mine, taking in my deeply flushed cheeks and my total embarrassment.

Dean takes a slow step closer to me. He leans right into my personal space, his shoulder brushing against mine. On the bench, Harper busies herself trying to pack her water bottle into her bag. She pretends she isn't watching us.

"Well, Pinkie Pie makes a highly compelling argument," Dean murmurs. It makes my stomach do a complete flip.

I look up at him. My heart is hammering against my ribs right now.

"And honestly?" Dean continues. A soft, genuine smile replace his usual smirk. "I never argue with my star student. What do you say, Y/N? Want to help me make our Pinky Pie dream come true this Friday? Let me take you out to dinner."

I look at Dean, then I look down at Harper, who is peeking at us through her fingers. I finally find my voice. I laugh softly through my immense embarrassment.

"Okay," I say. "Yes. I would like to go to dinner with you this Friday."

"Awesome. It is a date," Dean says with beaming eyes.

The moment the words leave his mouth, Harper bursts into pure happiness. She leaps off the wooden bench, completely forgetting that she is only wearing socks on one foot. She throws her hands in the air and cheers loudly.

"Yes! It worked!" Harper squeals and dances around in a circle. "The cutest people are going on a date!"

Dean and I both laugh at her wild celebration. As I help her pack up the rest of her gear, I realize something very important. Dean is right. This summer is very interesting with a little help from our Pinky Pie.

#dean di laurentis #off campus #off campus series #the score #dean di laurentis x reader #dean di laurentis x you #fanfic #fanfiction #stephen kalyn #briar u #off campus x reader #off campus prime #off campus fanfic #off campus dean #off campus imagine #dean di laurentis imagine #dean di laurentis fanfic

Off the Record l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader (Part 2)

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Adult romance, College sports romance, Hidden tropes, Rivalry drama, Yearning. Summary: When his bitter hockey rival turns out to be his girl’s brother, can Dean Di Laurentis drop his pride and fight for the one relationship he once tried to keep off the record? Note: My masterlist

Thank you for supporting Part 1. You can follow their journey in Part 2 right now. I think it's the final part here. Please continue the ride with me for many more Dean fics to come!

The sound of shattering glass echoes through Malone's bar as the fight explodes. My brother Hunter is completely blinded by rage. He doesn't care that we are in a crowded room. He has just agreed to join the team with Logan. But now he only sees his bitter rival's arm wrapping around his sister. The adrenaline is making him terrifyingly strong.

Dean crashes hard into a nearby wooden booth under Hunter's weight. People are screaming in terror and scrambling backward to escape the flying fists. The championship celebration instantly turns into a chaotic war zone.

"Hunter, stop it! Please, stop!" I scream at the top of my lungs.

My voice cracks with pure panic. The loud music is completely swallowing my cries. Nobody can hear me over the roaring chaos of the bar.

Garrett, Tucker, and Logan finally throw themselves into the violent melee. They use all their strength to grab Hunter's arms, trying to pull him off Dean. But Hunter is kicking and thrashing to get free.

Through a small gap in the roaring crowd, I see Dean get shoved back against the wall. His lip is split wide open, bleeding heavily onto his white shirt. He wipes the bright red blood away with the back of his hand, his chest heaving up and down.

Then, Dean looks up. His shocked eyes cut through the crowded room to lock directly onto mine.

The look in his eyes completely breaks my heart. It is a devastatingly pure confusion. He looks at me like he does not even know who I am anymore. In that single second, the noisy world around us stops completely.

Hunter breaks free from Garrett's grip with a loud roar. He raises his fist again, ready to charge at Dean. Dean tenses his muscles, getting ready to fight back with just as much violence.

Without thinking, I throw my body directly into the space between them.

"Get out of the way!" Hunter yells at me.

I ignore my brother completely. I turn my back to him and face Dean instead. My heart is pounding against my ribs.

Dean is breathing heavily and clenching his fists tightly. He looks ready to tear Hunter apart. But the moment his eyes land on me standing right in front of him, he freezes.

I don't say a single word to him. I just look straight into his eyes, letting all my fear, desperation, and love show on my face. I beg him with my eyes to stop.

It takes only one glance. The heavy tension in Dean's shoulders suddenly drops. His fists slowly unwind. He steps back against the wall. His ocean eyes never leave mine as he forces himself to calm down just for me.

"We are leaving. Right now," I say, turning back to my brother.

Before Hunter can object again, I reach out and grab his wrist in an iron grip. I don't wait for him to speak. I use every ounce of my strength to drag him toward the front exit of the bar.

The parking lot is freezing, but my skin feels like it is on fire. Hunter stares at me under the dim yellow streetlights. The anger in his eyes slowly turns into deep confusion.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hunter asks, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Y/N, Dean Di Laurentis is the guy I have been complaining about all semester. The Prick! The arrogant jerk who tried to ruin my recruitment. Why the hell were you letting him hold you like that?"

"I didn't know," I sob, the tears finally spilling over my cheeks. "We never talked about hockey. We never talked about our families. And you never tell me his real name, Hunter!"

I look back at the door of the bar painfully. The man who held me on the couch, the one who made me feel completely safe, was the same enemy Hunter has hated with a passion. Then I get in the car and shut the door violently.

Inside the bar, the reality hits Dean just as hard. The puzzle pieces crash together in his mind, shattering his heart into pieces. Y/N Harlow. Hunter Davenport. She used a different last name.

Dean shakes his head and pulls himself together. He cannot let her leave like this. He cannot let her go with him.

"Y/N!" Dean yells desperately. He lunges forward the exit.

But before he can take three steps, Garrett and Logan throw their bodies in front of him. They grab his shoulders, locking their arms around him to hold him back.

"Let me go!" Dean roars, slamming his weight against them. "Get off me! I have to go after her!"

"Dean, stop! Think for a second!" Garrett yells directly into his face. "Look at the situation, man! You can't go out there right now!"

"She is with Davenport," Logan says, his voice urgent and full of worry. "He is her brother, and he is out of his mind with rage. If you go out there, you're going to start a riot in the parking lot. You'll get benched for the whole season. Let her handle him."

Dean stops fighting. He looks at the door. His chest heaves heavily. Suffocating silence settles over him. He wants to chase after his angel, but he knows his teammates are right. Going out there will only make things worse for the girl he loves.

The car ride home is completely silent after the screaming stops. Hunter's knuckles are still white on the steering wheel. I look out the passenger window. My heart is aching not just for Dean, but for my brother.

I love Hunter so much. He has been my rock and the person who has protected me through everything. Seeing the raw fear and betrayal in his eyes hurts worse than any wound. Because I love him deeply, I choose to respect his anger right now. I don't want to break his heart.

When we get inside, Hunter locks down my schedule. He tells me firmly that he'll be driving me everywhere. I just nod softly and walk upstairs. I want to give him peace of mind.

Inside my dark bedroom, my phone finally buzzes on the nightstand. My breath catches in my throat. It is a text from Dean.

Even though Hunter tried to block him, Dean found a way through a different messaging app. I brace myself for anger or pressure, but as I read the words, tears spring to my eyes.

D.: I know everything is a mess right now. I know your brother is furious, and the last thing I want to do is make things harder for you with your family. I am going to give you some space to breathe. No pressure, angel.

I press the phone to my chest, sobbing silently. He isn't demanding that I run away with him. He isn't bashing my brother. He is putting my safety and my peace first.

A second later, another text lights up the screen.

D.: But please know this isn't over. We need to talk eventually, Y/N. I am not giving up on us, and I will be waiting the exact second you are ready.

Holding the phone tight, I look at the door where Hunter is pacing in the hallway. I love my brother too much to destroy our bond, but looking at Dean's messages, I know I love Dean too much to let him go. My head is a mess right now.

The silence between my brother and me is heavy, and it is entirely my fault. Because I love Hunter so much, I choose to ghost Dean completely. I stop replying to any secret messages. I know how much Hunter sacrifices for me, and seeing the pain in his eyes is like handling a knife straight to my soul. I cannot bear to break my brother's heart.

From Dean's side, he understands how much Hunter being her brother affects this entire situation. But for the first time in his life, Dean doesn't retreat. He doesn't walk away just because a girl gets complicated. He tries to text her constantly, but she goes silent.

Dean starts showing up everywhere she might be on campus. He doesn't care about the hockey team drama anymore. He doesn't care about what the coaches or his friends say. He only cares about losing the one girl who makes him want to be a better man.

One evening, I sit alone under a stone bench in a hidden, quiet corner of the campus gardens. My mind is a complete mess, torn violently between the two most important men in my life. I try to tie the laces of my sneakers, but I'm too moody and upset about the whole incident. My hands shake, and the knot just falls apart, undone.

Suddenly, a shadow blocks the afternoon sun. Someone kneels down on the dirt path right in front of my feet.

I gasp softly. It is him.

Dean gently takes my loose laces. He looks so exhausted, with faint dark circles under his eyes, and the bruise on his lip is only just beginning to fade. He doesn't yell at me for ghosting him. He doesn't demand answers about my brother. He just looks up at me with pure vulnerability.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," I whisper, a tear spilling over my eyelashes. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Dean finishes tying my shoes and wipes his hands before reaching up to touch my face.

"You don't owe me an apology, Y/N," he says softly, his rough voice making my heart ache. "You don't owe me anything at all. Except maybe one thing."

"What?" I breathe.

"A kiss," he murmurs.

I let out a shaky sob, lightly hitting his chest with my fist before leaning down. I press my lips gently against the corner of his bruised mouth, careful not to hurt him. The warmth of his touch floods through me, and I melt against him.

"Dean, it has to end," I murmur right against his lips. "I can't hurt Hunter. He is my family. But I also don't want to keep hurting you like this."

Dean goes completely silent. The rejection hits him, but he doesn't pull away. His large, warm hand rubs on my knee to soothe me.

"I don't care about the drama, angel," Dean says, looking deeply into my eyes. "I just don't want you to hurt yourself in any way. I know your head is in a complete mess right now."

"But my head isn't any different," he continues, his voice thick with emotion. "You once told me that you love being with me. I felt the exact same way, Y/N. Only now, it is even stronger. All of my senses are completely filled with you. Your sounds, your smell, your touch. Just you."

I close my eyes. A sob catches in my throat because his words are so beautiful and real.

"I know what I want," Dean says firmly. "I made that clear to you at the bar already. But if my presence in your life is the one thing that will hurt you further, I'll give you space. But I won't just walk away. The beef is between your brother and me. Not you. Never you, angel. I just want you to think for yourself, not for your brother or me. Answer me whenever you are ready."

He squeezes my knee one last time and stands up slowly. He walks quickly into the shadows before anyone else can see us together and report it back to Hunter.

I sit on the bench and watch him leave, taking every single piece of my heart with him. I know Dean keeps his word as his oath.

Over the next few days, Hunter notices everything. He sees how she tries so hard to live normally, but he knows it's not the real her.

Her fake smile never reaches her eyes anymore. Her laugh never comes out of my lungs. Hunter watches her carefully, but he doesn't say a word. He knows her heart is breaking, and he is starting to question himself, wondering if protecting her this way is actually the right thing to do.

A few nights later, I lay awake on my bed. I think about everything that has happened between Dean, Hunter, and me. My mother always used to tell me that love will find a way to you somehow, no matter how messy the world gets. I love love, and I hate how this feud is destroying the best thing that ever happened to me.

I make my decision in the middle of the night. I slip out of the house quietly, making sure not to wake Hunter up, and drive over to Dean's house.

When I walk into the backyard, I notice the metal stairs leading right up to Dean's bedroom window. It looks as if he placed them there on purpose, as if he knew deep down that I would eventually come back to him.

I climb up the steps quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I can see Dean sitting at his desk, playing a game of chess all by himself.

He turns his head the exact second he hears me trying to open the window frame. He slides it open instantly, reaching out to pull me inside. My foot catches on the ledge, and I lose my balance completely.

I fall straight into his strong arms, and the momentum sends us both tumbling backward onto his unmade bed. Dean lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes shining with pure joy as he looks down at me.

"Well, that is one way to make an entrance, angel," Dean teases, a familiar smirk returning to his handsome face.

I try to sit up, my face completely warm, desperately wanting to clarify things. "Dean, wait, I need to tell you. I really didn't know you were the guy Hunter hated so much. He never mentioned your real name at home. He just called you awful nicknames. If I had known..."

"If what? You wouldn't have fallen into my arms, angel? If knowing the truth meant losing you, then heaven is crueler than I thought," he teases.

"I'm serious now, Dean. Don't make this harder than it already is," I insist.

"Shh," Dean murmurs softly, pressing his thumb gently against my lips to stop my words. "Hey. Look at me. I know you didn't know. I know who you are, Y/N. You don't have to explain a single thing to me."

He does not let me talk about the family drama any further. Instead, he pulls me off the bed and sits me down at his small table, right in front of the chessboard. I feel completely frustrated that he is still being so playful when my life is in ruins.

"Dean, seriously?" I ask. "We are a total disaster right now, and you want to play a game?"

"It keeps me calm," Dean says, moving a white pawn forward.

I roll my eyes, but I move my black piece to block him anyway. We play in silence for a few minutes, the tension heavy between us. Suddenly, Dean leans his face all the way across the chessboard. Before I can realize what he's doing, he presses a lingering peck right against my lips.

"You're cheating," I complain jokingly.

"Good," Dean says. "Someone on the team told me today that this is karma. They said it's karma for a playboy like me to fall completely for his worst enemy's sister."

He reaches across the board and takes my shaking hand. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles.

"But it seems like fate has other plans for us," Dean continues, his tone becoming serious and deep. "And I have always been really good at guiding my own fate."

"Dean," I whisper, looking down at our joined hands.

"I don't care who your brother is, Y/N," Dean says, his voice rough and full of deep emotion. "I didn't hook up with you to hurt him. I didn't even know who your brother is when I fell for you. Please don't throw us away because of a hockey feud."

"I'm not throwing us away," I assure him immediately. "I'm not giving up on us, Dean. I want to be with you so badly. But I can't ruin my relationship with Hunter either. He is the only family I have here."

"I know. And I don't want you to ruin things with him. I am going to deal with this beef. Trust me," Dean says.

"Actions are better than words, Dean. If both of you can't drop our massive egos and talk things out, I won't keep sneaking around in the dark for you forever," I say.

He says nothing and pull me into kiss. The night ends with the two of us letting our hearts finally do exactly what they want, tangled up in his bed sheets until the early morning. I feel completely safe again.

Downstairs in the living room, Garrett, Logan, and Tucker are sitting on the couch.

"Dean has been suffering so much the past few weeks," Garrett says quietly, shaking his head. "I've never seen him like that over a girl. Not even close."

"Yeah," Logan agrees. "He must love her for real this time. He completely dropped his pride."

They all fall silent. They don't knowing exactly what is happening in Dean's room. For once, nobody makes a joke. They just hope their friend can keep the girl who reformed him.

The cold air of the Briar rink cuts straight through my clothes, but my skin feels completely hot. I sit on the bench right outside the gates. I am wearing Dean’s oversized jersey with the dark number 66 on the back. It is a giant declaration to the entire world, and everyone walking by knows exactly what it means.

Hunter skates toward the boards. His eyes widen as he processes the jersey. The betrayal on his face is so sharp it makes my stomach twist into knots. We haven't talked clearly yet, and seeing me here gives him the answer he dreads.

Before he can yell at me, the heavy metal doors blast open. Coach stands there, his clipboard trembling in his hand, his face completely red with fury.

"Davenport! Di Laurentis! In the locker room right now!" Coach barks. "You two idiots are on the verge of being benched for the entire upcoming season!"

Hunter turns away from me. Dean follows him closely, his jaw clenched tightly as his eyes find mine for just a split second. I stand up from the bench, my heart pounding violently against my ribs. Dean shakes his head to signal me not to follow them.

Inside the locker room, Garrett is already sitting on a bench because he has been banned for a few games already. He stands up immediately to play the peacemaker.

The locker room goes completely silent after Dean drops his defenses. Hunter stands frozen. His eyes widen as he stares at the boy he thought was just a heartless playboy. Dean breathes heavily as his chest practically touches Hunter's shoulder pads.

"We need to talk, Davenport," Dean says, his voice rough and tight with emotion.

"Stay away from me, you prick," Hunter bites back. "Didn't you bleed enough that night at the bar? Are you doing this just to mess with my life? I don't care if you think you're better at hockey than anyone else. Don’t not play with my sister’s heart.”

“Not at all. I swear I had no idea she was your sister,” Dean argued. “Look, I know I pissed you off when you auditioned for the team, but I realized my ego isn't worth losing her. I’m sorry.”

“But you sleep with everyone. My sister isn't just some desperate option. She deserves the best, and I’m going to make sure she gets it. I choose the best for her."

Dean swallows hard but refuses to back down. His eyes never leaves Hunter's furious face. He talks back within seconds.

"I choose her," Dean says sincerely. "I will always choose her over my pride, my reputation, and even my spot on this hockey team. I know you love your sister. I understand wanting to protect her from a guy like me. But a real man doesn't hide behind a hockey feud to control his sister's life."

Hunter clenches his fists tightly. He looks at Dean seriously.

"Punch me again if it makes you feel better," Dean adds. "Break my jaw. Kick me off the roster. I don't care anymore. Because I love her, and I'm eventually going to walk out those doors, hold her hand in public, and make her mine. You can't stop me from loving your sister, Hunter."

The words ring through the cold locker room, heavy and filled with pure devotion. Garrett stands in the corner, watching the two rivals face each other.

Hunter looks down at his own hockey skates. His shoulders drop as the rage finally drains out of his body. He realizes that Dean isn't playing a game. Dean's completely whipped, completely in love, and completely serious about protecting her.

With an exhausted sigh, Hunter shakes his head. He doesn't say a single word to Dean. He just turns around, pushes past Garrett, and walks straight out of the locker room to find his sister.

Hunter steps out of the locker room and goes straight to see me. He stops right in front of me. His eyes are looking down at the number 66 jersey covering my frame. The intense anger in his face is gone.

"Does he really make you happy, Y/N?" Hunter asks flat out.

I look my brother straight in the eye. I take a deep breath and tell him the absolute truth.

"Dean is the only person who makes me feel entirely safe, Hunter," I say softly. "I know things are moving so quickly and you're completely terrified for me. I know you love me and care for me more than anyone else in the world. But I'm willing to jump on this ride with Dean. Whatever happens next, whether it's good or bad, I'll accept it because it's my choice."

Hunter stares at me for a long moment. He finally realizes that I'm not a helpless victim of a smooth playboy. He sees a woman who has found real, life-changing love.

"Go get your man," Hunter says grudgingly. "Before I change my mind."

A huge sob of relief escapes my throat.

"Thank you, Hunter. I love you so much," I whisper. I throw my arms around his neck, pressing a hard kiss against his sweaty cheek.

I don't wait another second. I turn around and run down the hallway, the heavy oversized jersey fluttering around my legs. At the end of the corridor, the locker room door opens, and Dean steps out. The moment he sees me running toward him, his entire face lights up. He opens his arms wide to catch me as I fly into his chest.

Dean lifts me completely off my feet, burying his face in my neck. He spins me around once before lowering me down just enough to capture my lips in a fierce, passionate kiss. He holds me tightly against his body, using his jersey on my skin to claim me more than officially in front of the entire arena.

When our lips finally part, we are both breathless. I rest my forehead against his, and my hands clutches his shirt.

"Thank you, Dean," I whisper. "I don't ever think Dean Di Laurentis would give up his pride for anyone."

"I would give up everything for you, angel," Dean murmurs deeply, his eyes burning with a devotion I have never seen before. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so much it terrifies me, but I don't care. You are my world."

He leans down and kisses me again, pouring all his love into the sweetness of his lips. His hands grip my waist possessively to anchor me to him.

"I've got you," Dean whispers against my mouth, his thumb wiping away a tear. "I'm never letting you go, my angel."

He pulls back slightly, but still wrap one strong arm securely around my shoulders. For a few quiet seconds, he locks eyes with Hunter who is standing further down the hall. Dean doesn't smirk. He just holds my brother's gaze and gives him a slow, respectful nod to thank him for the truce.

Hunter nods back, turns around, and walks away. Dean looks down at me, his eyes filled with pure devotion, and kisses my forehead.

The feud is finally over. We are no longer off the record.

—

Taglist @wonderland2425

Off the Record l Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader (Part 1)

Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x Fem!Reader Genre: Adult romance, College sports romance, Hidden tropes, Rivalry drama, Yearning. Warnings: Mild violence, coarse language, intense emotional confrontation, dynamic tension Summary: One wild, anonymous night with Dean Di Laurentis, who is the Briar University's most notorious playboy, changes everything. Just as your secret relationship deepens into real feelings, your hidden paradise collides with reality when your brother walks through the Malone's front door. Note: My masterlist

Part 2 My first journey with Di Laurentis here. My friend recommended this series to me. And now I can't get him out of my system ;P. Hope you enjoy the fic!

The party at Maxwell's is too loud. The air is thick with the smell of cheap beer and sweat. I push through the crowded living room, just wanting to find a quiet corner.

My name is Y/N Harlow. I use my mother’s maiden name. My little half-brother uses our father's name. Because of that, nobody connects me to him.

I know my brother has a beef with someone on the Briar hockey team. He rants about it constantly. But he never says the guy's real name. He always calls the man "prick." I didn't ask for the real name. Hockey politics are not my business.

Then, I bump into a tall guy in the hallway.

He has blonde hair, piercing ocean eyes, and a confident smirk. My god...those dimples. He looks like a model who walked off a magazine cover. He looks down at me, and his smirk softens into something genuine.

"Are you lost, angel?" he asks. His voice is deep and smooth.

"Just trying to breathe. By the way, I’m pretty bad for an angel,” I say and chuckle.

"Dying to find out…I know a quiet place." he whispers, tilting his head toward the stairs.

We don’t exchange names that night. We don’t talk about our majors or our families. We just walk upstairs into an empty bedroom. The chemistry between us is instant and intense. It’s a blur of hot skin, breathless kisses, and a sudden, deep connection that knocks the wind out of me. We spend the night together in the dark.

The next morning, sunlight filters through the window. I sit up and start gathering my clothes from the floor. The guy stirs in the bed, propping himself up on one elbow. He looks incredibly handsome with messy morning hair.

"Heading out already, angel?" he asks with sleepy voice.

"Yeah, I should probably go," I say, pulling my shirt over my head.

He smiles, a lazy and charming expression. "I'm Dean, by the way. Dean Di Laurentis."

I freeze for a fraction of a second. The name echoes in my mind. Dean Di Laurentis.

Suddenly, everything clicks. This is the guy. He is the insanely popular hockey star everyone talks about. He is the guy girls line up to date. I think to myself that I should have realized sooner. The looks, the effortless confidence, the expensive watch on the wrist. It all fits the rumors perfectly.

But as I look at him, I decide it does not matter. I don’t care about Dean's reputation. I just want to have fun.

"I'm Y/N Harlow," I say, offering a small, mysterious smile as I head for the door.

A week later, I see him at the campus library. I am sitting at a table near the back, and he walks past. He stops in his tracks when he sees me. A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Hey, angel," he says and sits down across from me.

"Hey," I reply, my heart doing a strange flip.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he says. His eyes scan my face, looking happy.

"It's a big campus," I say softly.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asks.

We leave the library together. That afternoon turns into another secret meeting, and then another. It becomes a recurring thing between us. We meet at his apartment or in quiet corners of the campus.

We make a silent rule not to talk about our personal lives. We do not talk about our siblings, our pasts, or our drama. We just focus on each other. When I’m with him, the rest of the world disappears.

One evening, we are lying in his bed. The room is dark, and the only sound is our breathing. He is tracing light circles on my arm with his fingers as his lips are trailing down my bare back.

"You are different from other girls," he says quietly.

"How so?" I ask, turning my head to look at him.

"You don't want anything from me," he says. He looks at me with a strange intensity. "You just want me. It's nice."

"I like being with you," I admit. My chest feels tight with a new, warm emotion.

"Me too, angel. Me too..." he says. He leans down and kisses me softly. It is not like our usual passionate kisses. It feels tender. It feels like he is holding onto something precious.

I lie against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I feel completely safe in the arms of the man who makes me feel alive.

The next day, I visit my brother at his apartment. He’s pacing around the living room, looking furious.

"I swear, that prick is plotting something to try to ruin my life," he yells, rubbing his face in frustration.

"What happened?" I ask him curiously.

"Someone from the team called me. He said Graham had attacked a player from another team, and got banned. He needs a new member. He even said it was that prick's idea," my brother said, sounding completely pissed off.

"Calm down, bro. That sounds good, though. You get to play with a great team," I add, handing him a glass of water.

"It is good, but do you remember? When I took you to see my audition for the team, that guy had an ugly look on his face. His attitude was terrible. I don't think he suddenly changed his mind to invite me nicely," my brother complained again.

"I don't even remember who he is. I only watched you anyway. Just give it a try first. If it doesn't work out, you don't have to join the team," I say to comfort him. I get him, but I am used to his hockey rants. I don't think much about it.

Later that night, I get a text from Dean.

Blondie D.: Can I see you tomorrow, angel?

I smile and type back.

Angel: Yes.

Weeks turn into months, and our secret meetings become the center of my world. We just learn the small things. I learn how he takes his coffee. He learns that I bite my lip when I am nervous. The care between us grows quietly. It is getting deeper, and it is getting harder to get out.

I almost talk to him about my brother since they play hockey. But I always brush it off.

From Dean’s POV, his legendary no attachments rule completely crumbles. He does not even realize it at first, but he stops sleeping around with other girls. He cannot get her out of his system.

He finds himself waiting for her texts, rearranging his hockey schedule just to see her for an hour, and getting hit with waves of genuine jealousy when he sees other guys look at her on campus. The playboy is officially compromised. He is falling faster, deeper, and harder than he ever thought possible.

One rainy afternoon, he brings me to his apartment. He does not pull me to the bed this time. He sits me down on the couch and looks at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.

"I want more than this," Dean says, holding my hands. "No more late night secrecy. I want to be your boyfriend, Y/N. Officially. Seriously."

Panic hits my chest. I know his massive reputation as a player. I think about all the girls who wanted him, and I fear I’m just another conquest who will eventually get her heart broken.

"I can't, Dean," I say, pulling my hands back. "You're a playboy. We just have fun. I can't do this."

Dean looks devastated, but he respects my boundary immediately. He doesn’t push or beg. He just sighs and lays his cards on the table.

"I get it," Dean says softly. "My track record sucks. But I’m serious about you. We have the championship game this Friday. Come see me play. Just watch me, and if your answer is still no after that, I’ll let you go."

I leave his apartment with a heavy heart. On Thursday night, I sit in my brother's living room, still thinking about Dean's offer. I need advice, and I trust my brother.

"Lil bro, what do I do if a guy wants to be serious, but he has a fun reputation with girls?" I ask quietly.

My brother looks at me. "Does he treat you right?"

"Yes," I say, recalling every moment I have had with him. I realize I always look forward to his texts. I find myself smiling at my phone in the middle of the day. He is incredibly sweet to me. He is gentle, attentive, and he always makes sure I’m comfortable with everything we do.

"Then give it a try," he says, smiling. "You are a Harlow. You can handle any guy. Who is he anyway?"

"I’ll tell you when I am ready," I reply, giving him a small smile.

On Friday night, I go to the match. The stadium is loud, and the energy is wild. The team was stressed since Garrett‘ got himself into big trouble after attacking another player’s incident in the previous match.

But Briar wins the championship. The entire audience goes crazy, and the team celebrates at a massive party at Malone’s bar later that night.

I push through the crowded bar and see Dean sitting alone at the counter. It’s unusual. He has no girls on him, even though he is the hero of the night.

I slide onto the stool next to him. I look at the bartender and smile. "This guy's drinks are on me."

Dean turns to me, and his eyes light up. A familiar smirk spreads across his handsome face. "Is that so?"

"Yeah," I whisper, leaning a bit closer. "And it's freezing in here. I feel cold."

Dean doesn’t hesitate. He pulls my chair closer until I am almost sitting on his lap. His breath is warm against my skin. He teases my lips with a ghost of a kiss, his eyes searching mine.

"What about our pinning thing, Y/N?" he asks. "Are you going to give me my answer?"

I stay silent for a moment. My heart is pounding. I grab his gray cardigan and pull him away from the loud bar, leading him somewhere quiet in the back hallway to talk.

"I was scared," I admit, looking up at him. "But you make me feel safe, Dean."

I talk my heart out, and then I answer him with a passionate kiss. Dean groans and devours me right there against the wall. His hands grip my waist tightly, holding me like he will never let go.

"Come back to my place tonight," he begs against my lips. "Please."

I chuckle softly and shake my head. "I can't. My brother is picking me up soon. We have a morning trip to another town."

Dean sighs, but he smiles, resting his forehead against mine. "Fine. I’ll spend this little time spoiling myself with you before I formally introduce myself to your brother, angel."

"I'm sure you guys will get along with each other so well," I laugh and pull us outside.

We walk back into the crowded main room of Malone’s bar. The championship music is still blasting from the speakers, shaking the wooden floorboards under our feet. I slide back onto my stool, and Dean sits right next to me. He refuses to leave even an inch of space between us.

We talk softly, leaning our heads together so we can hear each other over the noise. I like the way his eyes stay on me, completely ignoring the rest of the bar.

Dean wraps his heavy arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to his chest to block the cold air.

"I must have done something right in a past life to get my angel to myself now," Dean murmurs, his smirk widening as his hands trace the curve of my hips.

"Shut up," I say, a small smile breaking across my face as I hit his chest softly with my fist.

Dean just laughs, the deep sound vibrating against my side. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head, holding me tighter against him.

Across the room, Garrett and Tucker are sitting at a corner table with a pitcher of beer between them. They are watching us closely, nudging each other with their elbows. A huge grin spreads across Garrett's face.

"Look at Di Laurentis over there," Garrett laughs, raising his glass toward the couple’s direction. "The legendary playboy is officially whipped. He looks like a lost puppy."

"Is that the angel making him not have other girls around for months. Never thought I would see the day," Tucker agrees, shaking his head with a wide smile. "The mighty has fallen, and he fell hard."

But Logan does not join in on the laughter. He stares across the bar at us, his eyebrows pulling together into a deep, worried line. He sets his drink down slowly on the table.

"Hey, guys," Logan says, his voice completely serious. "Look closely. I remember seeing her with Hunter Davenport when he auditioned for our team last semester."

"Why is it such a big thing?" Garrett asks.

"Dean insists he will never ever skate with Davenport. It seems he doesn't give a shit about that guy," Logan answers.

"Yeah, he is completely serious," Tucker adds. "But didn't you just call him to join our team a few days ago, Logan?"

"I had no choice. I had to make a decision for us," Logan says.

They exchange intense glances. Then Tucker tries to shake off the heavy silence, lifting his beer bottle to try to lighten the mood again.

"Hey, it is probably nothing, man. Let the guy enjoy his night. We just won the championship, let's not ruin it!"

Back at the bar counter, my phone vibrates violently in my palm. I look down at the bright screen and read the new text from my brother.

Lil H.: 'I am outside in the parking lot. Walking into the bar to get you now.'

"My brother is finally here," I tell Dean, locking my phone and looking up into his ocean eyes. "He is walking through the front door right now."

Dean smiles warmly and nods, taking a deep breath to ready himself. He wants to make a good impression. "Good. Let's go meet him. I’m ready if you are."

He leans his head down, pressing his lips against my neck in a soft kiss. His hands stay resting comfortably on my hips, pulling me tight against his solid body. He’s completely relaxed as he's floating in the happy euphoria of our current relationship.

But the euphoria is cut violently short. I look past his shoulder, my eyes catching movement by the entrance. I lift my hand and point toward the heavy front door of Malone's.

"There he is," I say softly.

A tall guy with dark hair and a stern, serious face steps through the door. He stops, his sharp eyes instantly scanning the packed, noisy room to look for me.

At the corner table, Logan spots the newcomer first. His body goes completely rigid, and he speaks in a harsh whisper to Garrett and Tucker. "Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. That is Hunter Davenport right there."

Tucker instantly chokes on his beer, coughing violently as the liquid sprays across the table.

"What the hell do you mean? Tell me you are joking right now!" Tucker sputters out. His eyes turn to the spot and widen in pure panic as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Then the three hockey players slide to the absolute edge of their seats. Their muscles lock up tight as they watch Hunter march toward the bar with his fists clenched. They stand and don't say another word, with eyes glued to the tension. They're ready to spring forward and jump into the fray the exact second a fist flies.

Near the bar, I raise my arm higher to get his attention over the crowd. "Hunter! Over here!" I call out loudly, waving my hand so he can see me through the sea of people.

Beside me, Dean suddenly freezes. His entire body turns to solid stone under my touch. His eyes widen in absolute shock. He slowly looks down at me.

"Him? Is that guy your brother, Y/N?" Dean asks, his eyes frantically searching my face.

"Yes," I say. My heart uneasily thuds as I look at his panicked expression. "Why do you look like that? Do you know him? Oh, you might recognize him since he auditioned for the hockey team last semester, right?”

Before Dean can say a single word, Hunter's eyes lock onto my waving hand. He starts walking over to the bar, but his entire face twists the exact moment he recognizes the guy standing next to me.

Hunter stops in his tracks for a fraction of a second. He sees Dean's hands lingering possessively on my hips. He sees how close our bodies are pressed together. He sees how protectively Dean is holding me. Hunter's expression turns into pure, murderous rage.

I look between Dean's shocked face and Hunter's furious eyes. In an instant, the heavy silence between them speaks volumes. All the puzzle pieces suddenly crash together in my brain. The horrible prick Hunter has screamed at home. It’s for Dean Di Laurentis all along.

I realize the beef instantly. My stomach drops straight into my shoes, and the air leaves my lungs. "Fuck me," I murmur under my breath.

The next thing I know, Hunter doesn’t drop his keys or ask a single question. He flings his jacket to the floor and lunges forward with terrifying speed. He jumps straight onto Dean, his fist flying as he tackles him hard against the wooden bar counter.

That is when I know my hidden paradise is completely gone, and the nightmare has just begun.

—

Part 2 is here!

It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

Thank you to all my readers for being part of this journey since my very first fiction story. Every like, comment, and private message means so much to me. I hope we’ll continue to share many more good moments together.

#1 year tumblrversary #tumblr milestone

Stakes of the Hearts l Roronoa Zoro x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (OPLA) x Fem!Reader Genre: Action, romance, hurt/comfort Summary: Years after a bitter fallout leads you to leave the Straw Hat crew, Nami sends a desperate plea for help. You reunite with Zoro under the guise of a mercenary working for an Underground Emperor, leading to a high-stakes gambling match that turns into a fight for survival and a long-overdue collection on an old romantic wager. Note: My masterlist

The first time we met was in a small, dusty tavern in the East Blue. Zoro was already famous as a pirate hunter, but I was just a freelance fighter looking for a decent meal. He challenged me because he didn't like the way I looked at his swords.

We fought in the middle of the street, and for the first time in his life, he lost. I tripped him up and held a dagger to his throat before he could draw his third blade.

When Luffy recruited me, Zoro didn't object, but he didn't smile either. He just sat on the ship's deck and sharpened his katanas. We spent every day trying to outdo each other. If he lifted weights, I lifted heavier ones. If I ran laps around the deck, he ran more. It was a constant competition that kept the rest of the crew entertained.

I loved to gamble. It didn't matter if it was cards or dice. Usually, I played for money, but with Zoro, the stakes were different. I wanted to see him break that cool, stoic mask he always wore. I would lean over the small table between us while the rest of the crew slept.

"You know, Roronoa," I would whisper. I made sure my voice was low enough to make him focus. "If you just kissed me, I’d surrender right now. I’d do anything you asked."

Zoro would scoff and look away. He would grip the hilts of his swords until his knuckles turned white. "In your dreams," he would mutter.

He acted like he didn't care, but I saw his ears turn pink every single time. Nami saw it too. She would lean against the railing and smirk at us. She knew exactly what was happening even if we refused to say it out loud.

The tension finally snapped during a mission on a rainy island. We were supposed to be stealthy, but our disagreement over the plan turned into a loud argument. He wanted to go straight through the front door. I told him he was being reckless and stupid.

"You think you’re better than me because you got lucky once in a tavern?" Zoro yelled over the sound of the rain.

"It wasn't luck, Zoro! It was skill," I shouted back. I pushed his shoulder, and he pushed me back harder.

He drew his sword, and I drew mine. It wasn't a friendly spar this time. Our blades clashed with a heavy, metallic ring. We were both breathing hard, soaked to the bone.

"Maybe you should just go back to being a freelancer," Zoro said. His voice was cold and sharp. "You’re just a distraction. You’re not a real member of this crew. You’re just a gambler who doesn't know when to quit."

Those words hit me harder than his steel ever could. I lowered my sword. The silence between us felt heavier than the storm.

"Fine," I said quietly. "If I'm such a distraction, I'll remove myself."

I left that night. I didn't say goodbye to him. I only spoke to Luffy and Nami. I told them I needed to find my own way for a while. They respected my decision. I moved into the shadows of the underworld, taking jobs that kept me moving from island to island.

I never forgot them, though. Every few months, I would send a coded message to Nami or a short note to Luffy. I told them I was alive. I told them where the dangerous waters were. I never asked about Zoro, and I made sure they knew not to tell him where I was. I needed the distance, even if my heart felt like it had stayed behind on that ship.

Years later,

Nami’s message doesn't come by bird or by Den Den Mushi. It comes through a contact in a back-alley bar in a territory so dangerous the Marines don't even have charts for it. The note is short and written in a code only the two of us knew.

'The storm is coming to the Iron Coast. We’re out of our depth. Need a shark in the water.'

I burn the paper in the flame of a candle and stare at the ashes. It has been three years since I walked away from the Straw Hats. Three years since I have seen Zoro’s face or heard his voice. I have built a life as a ghost in the underworld. People know me as the Dealer, a mercenary who never lost a fight or a bet.

I don't want to go. Every time I think about that ship, I felt the phantom sting of Zoro’s words on that rainy night. But Nami wouldn't ask unless the situation was truly desperate. If the crew was in trouble, I couldn't sit in a dark room counting gold coins.

I pack my short swords and my favorite deck of cards. I don't head to the coast as a friend. I contact the Iron Coast’s Underground Emperor, a man who thinks could buy anything. I offer my services as his personal guard and high-stakes gambler.

"I heard you need someone who can read a bluff and break a neck," I tell him when I arrive at his fortress.

The Emperor laughs and hires me on the spot. He has no idea I'm the "shark" Nami has called for. He doesn't know that I'm only there to wait for a specific ship to fall into his trap.

Two days later, the trap snaps shut. The Emperor’s fleet capture a lone ship trying to bypass the blockade. From my seat on the balcony of the throne room, I see the Thousand Sunny being towed into the harbor.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I see them being led off the ship in chains. Luffy looks hungry and annoyed. Nami looks a bit worried. And then I see him.

Zoro walks at the back of the line. He looks older. His scars are deeper, and his presence is even more suffocating than I remember. He keeps his head down, but his hand is twitching toward where his swords should have been.

"Bring them in!" the Emperor shouts. "Let's see what these pirates have to offer."

I adjust my hat to shadow my eyes and walk down the stairs to take my place at the gambling table. I don't look at them as the guards shove them into the center of the room. I just shuffle my cards.

I finally look up. I saw Nami’s eyes widen as she recognizes me, but she nods and stays silent. Then my eyes meet Zoro’s. For a split second, his stoic expression cracks. And I know, right then, that the next few hours are going to be the biggest gamble of my life.

"Sit them down," the Emperor commands. He sits across from me, a cruel man with rings on every finger. He looks at the Straw Hats like they are insects. "We have guests, and my favorite gambler is currently winning all my money."

I feel a shift in the air. A very specific weight enters the room. It is the familiar presence of someone who carries the weight of three swords and a thousand burdens. Zoro doesn't say a word at first. He doesn't struggle like the others. I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my head. I don't give him the satisfaction of looking back.

I toss a high-value chip into the center of the table. "I raise," I say. My voice is deeper and colder than it used to be.

Zoro suddenly lunges forward. The guards tries to hold him, but he uses his shoulders to shove them back. He doesn't try to escape his chains yet. Instead, he pulls out the heavy chair right next to me and sat down.

I smell him immediately. He smells of sea salt, cheap ale, and the familiar scent of sharpening stone. It makes my stomach flip, but I just flip another card.

"You're late to the game, swordsman," the Emperor mocks. He leans back and signals the guards to stay their hands. He is amused by the tension. He looks at me, then at Zoro, then back to me. "The way you two are looking at each other is quite interesting. One would think you are ex-lovers about to tear each other's throats out."

Zoro lets out a dry chuckle. It is a sound I have heard in my dreams for years. "Ex-lovers? I wouldn't let someone who cheats at cards get that close to me."

I don't miss a beat. I finally turn my head just enough to catch the glint of his eye. "And I wouldn't date a man who can't find his way to the bathroom without a map," I reply.

The Emperor laughs loudly, slapping the table. "So there is a history! This makes the game much more entertaining. Shall we play a round for the lives of your crew, swordsman?"

"I don't play cards," Zoro mutters. He leans back in the chair, his eyes never leaving my face. "But I’m interested to see how this ends."

"I'm the one playing for them," I say. "Your move. Or are you too scared of a woman who knows your tells?"

We play for another ten minutes in a silence so thick it feels like it might suffocate us. Behind me, I know Nami is watching. I know she is waiting for my signal. I'm buying them time. The locks on their chains are complicated, and they need the Emperor distracted.

"You seem tense," the Emperor says to me. He smirks and signals to a shadow behind the curtains. "Maybe you need a reminder of who is in charge here."

I feel the shift in the air before I hear it. A hidden assassin moves with incredible speed from behind the tapestry. He is going for Zoro, who is still bound in chains and unable to defend himself.

I don't reach for my weapon. Instead, I slam my foot against the base of the massive mahogany table. I use all my strength to kick it upward. The wood splinters and groans as the entire table flips toward the assassin. The heavy surface blocks the blade meant for Zoro’s ribs with a loud thud.

"Game over," I say. I stand up and draw the short swords hidden under my coat.

Zoro doesn't wait. He uses the momentum of the falling table to smash his chains against the stone floor. With a roar of pure strength, the metal snaps. He reaches out and snatches his katanas from a nearby weapon rack before the guards can react.

"About time," Zoro growls. He stands at my back.

"Shut up and fight," I say.

The room explodes into a chaotic brawl. The Emperor’s guards rush to us from all sides with spears and muskets. I move like a blur, cutting down anyone who gets too close to Zoro’s side. He does the same for me.

It is a silent, lethal dance. We don't need to speak. We haven't fought together in years, but our rhythm is perfect. When I duck, he swings. When he steps back to parry, I lunge forward to strike. It is as if we had never been apart.

"You've gotten faster," Zoro mutters as he cuts through a guard's armor.

"You've gotten louder," I retort, kicking a spear out of an enemy's hand.

The Emperor is screaming for his elite guards to enter. The doors burst open and a dozen more men flood in. They are bigger and better armed. I see a man aiming a pistol at Zoro from a balcony above. I don't think. I threw one of my daggers with perfect aim. The man falls before he can pull the trigger.

"That's one you owe me," I shout over the clashing of steel.

Zoro grins. It isn't the fake, cool smirk he used to give me. It is a fierce, hungry look. He spins his blades in a circle to create a whirlwind of steel that cleared a path toward the center of the hall.

"I don't keep debts," he yells back. He steps in front of me to block a heavy mace with two of his swords. He pushes the giant attacker back with ease. "Just stay close."

Luffy and the others are finally free of their chains. I can hear the rubbery sounds of Luffy’s attacks echoing from the other side of the room. Nami and Usopp deal with the men. Sanji is a blur of fire and kicks near the exit. But I don't look at them. My world is narrowed down to the circle of space I share with Zoro.

Every time a guard tries to get between us, we cut them down together. Our movements are synchronized. When he moves left, I cover his right. It is the same way we used to spar on the deck of the ship, only now the stakes were life and death.

"The exit is through the back!" Nami yells from across the room. "We need to go now!"

I look at Zoro. He is covered in the dust of the broken table and the blood of his enemies. He looks at me, and for a split second, the years of anger and hurt seem to vanish. There is only the fight. There is only us.

"Go!" I tell him. "I'll hold the line!"

"Like hell you will," he barks. He grabs my arm and pulls me closer as more guards surround us. "We're not doing this again. You're not disappearing."

We stand back-to-back, surrounded by at least twenty men. Zoro raises his swords into his signature stance. I grip my blades tight, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline.

The Emperor’s palace is falling apart around us, but as long as we are back-to-back, the army in front of us doesn't seem to matter at all. The fight is far from over, and I can feel the heat of his body through my clothes. It reminds me of everything I had tried to forget.

The smoke from the explosion is still clearing as I slip away from the palace ruins. It takes a brief few seconds from Zoro's sight.

The Emperor is gone and his guards has scattered into the dark. I don't need to stay for the celebration. I have done what Nami asked. I have saved them. My job as a mercenary is finished.

The morning mist is thick and white as I walk toward the edge of the harbor. The air is cold and damp against my skin. I move quietly to make sure none of the Straw Hats notices my departure. I have my own life now. I have a reputation to maintain in the underworld.

I reach the end of the long wooden pier. A small boat is waiting for me in the shadows. But as I step closer, I see a familiar silhouette leaning against a tall wooden post. He is tossing a single gold coin into the air and catching it with a rhythmic click.

"The stakes were high tonight," Zoro says.

I stop walking. I don't look at him. I keep my eyes on the horizon where the sun is just starting to peek through the clouds. "I'm retired, Roronoa," I reply. I try to walk past him, keeping my head down.

He moves faster than I expect. In a blur of green and steel, he moves from the post and blocks my path. Before I can draw a weapon, he has his hands on my shoulders. He pushes me back until my spine hits the rough wood of the post.

There is no anger in his eyes this time. There is only a terrifyingly calm intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

"You're not going anywhere," he mutters.

"I don't follow your orders, Zoro," I said. My voice is shaking just a little bit. "You made that very clear the night I left. I'm a distraction. I'm not a real member of this crew."

Zoro’s expression crumbles. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he reaches for the small dagger at my belt. He pulls it from the sheath and holds it out to me. He grabs my hand and forces my fingers around the grip, then presses the point of the blade directly against the center of his chest, right over his heart.

"Then dig it out," he rasps. "If you want to leave because of what I said, then finish it. Take the heart that hasn't had a moment of peace since you walked away."

I try to pull back, but he holds my hand firm against his skin. I can feel his heartbeat through the steel of the blade.

"I was a fool," he whispers. "I let my pride speak because I couldn't handle how much I needed you. Every day you were gone was a loss I couldn't recover. I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

His eyes are raw, showing a vulnerability he never allowed anyone to see. He is tearing himself open for me. I drop the knife. It hits the wooden pier with a dull thud. My anger vanishes, replaced by the same heavy ache that had followed me for years.

"You're an idiot, Zoro," I choke out.

He doesn't argue. He leans in and presses his lips against mine. The kiss tastes like salt, sea air, and a thousand long-overdue promises. It is heavy and desperate, breaking through the walls I had built. My hands, which had been ready to fight him off, end up clutching the fabric of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back, he isn't looking away. He is actually giving me his rare and genuine smirk.

"I'm collecting," he says. "You're coming back to the ship."

Before I can protest, he ducks his head, grabs me around the waist, and hoists me up over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

"Put me down!" I shout, thumping my fists against his back. He doesn't even flinch. He starts walking down the pier toward the Thousand Sunny.

As he walks up the gangplank, the crew is already lined up. Luffy is grinning ear to ear. "Welcome back! I knew Zoro could catch you!"

"I'm being abducted, Luffy!" I yell.

Nami crosses her arms, looking smug. "Took you long enough, swordsman. I told you she never played those kissing stakes with anyone but you."

Zoro just grunts and carries me straight toward the galley. He sets me down on a bench and stands in the doorway, blocking the exit. He leans in again, his eyes dark and focused on my lips. He wants another kiss.

I move my head at the last second, and his lips hit my cheek instead. I push him back with a smirk of my own.

"Not so fast, Roronoa," I tease. "You won the surrender, but you didn't win the prize yet. You won't get another one of those easily after all these years."

Zoro blinks, looking surprised. Then his smirk returns, wider than before.

"Fine," he says. He steps closer until he is towering over me. "What are the stakes?"

I lean back, crossing my arms. "Gamble for it. If you can beat me in a fair fight on the deck tomorrow, maybe I'll think about it."

Zoro laughs. He leans down, whispering into my ear, repeating the words I have used to tease him for so long.

"You know, y/n... if you just kissed me, I’d surrender right now. I’d do anything you asked."

I roll my eyes. I'm trying to hide my soaring heart as the ship began to move. "Nice try, moss-head. But I'm the one holding the deck now."

Zoro doesn't move. He stays right there in my space, his heavy presence anchoring me to the bench and the ship. He looks down at me with a look that says he is willing to play whatever game I throw at him, as long as the game ends with me by his side.

"I can wait," he murmurs confidently. "I've waited years. One more night won't kill me."

He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his rough fingers lingering against my skin for just a second too long. Then, he turns and walks toward the door. He stops only to glance back over his shoulder.

"But don't think I've forgotten the stakes," he adds with a wicked glint in his eye. "You said you’d do anything I asked. And I have a very long list."

I watch him walk out onto the deck. I have spent years running from the ghost of Roronoa Zoro, but as the ship hits the first big wave of the open sea, I know I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

The game isn't over, but for the first time in my life, I'm not worried about the house winning. I already have the only card that matters.

Just My Luck l Roronoa Zoro x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro (OPLA) x Fem!Reader Genre: Rom-com, action, fantasy Summary: After an accidental collision in a busy port city, you, who are legendarily lucky, and the infamously unlucky Roronoa Zoro swap fortunes with a kiss. To survive the dangers of the Grand Line, you must navigate a series of chaotic luck transfers. Note: My masterlist Just rewatched Just My Luck, and I couldn’t help but think of Zoro! :P

I walk down the street of the port city with a smile on my face. As I pass a small alley, a gold coin rolls out and stops right at my feet. I pick it up and tuck it into my pocket. This is normal for me. People call me the Charm of the Island because nothing ever goes wrong in my life.

Suddenly, I hear shouting in the distance. A group of Marines is running toward the docks. I decide to turn the corner to stay out of their way. At the same time, a tall man with bright green hair sprints around the same corner. He looks frustrated. One of his sandals is snapped, and he is limping slightly.

We hit each other with a loud thud. I trip over the long white scabbard at his hip. He tries to grab my arm to steady me, but his broken sandal slips. We both fall hard onto the stone pavement. My face lands directly against his. In the confusion of the tumble, our lips meet.

The world feels like it vibrates for a second. We pull apart quickly. I am breathless and my face is hot. The man stares at me with eyes wide in shock.

"Watch where you are going," he grunts.

He stands up and shakes his head. He looks toward the harbor. Usually, he looks confused when he moves, but now he looks confident. He starts walking with a fast, steady pace.

"Wait!" I call out.

I try to stand up, but my foot catches on a flat stone. I fall forward and scrape my knees. As I try to brush off the dust, my sleeve catches on a crate and rips a huge hole in my favorite shirt. I blink in total shock. This never happens to me.

I look up just in time to see a heavy clay flowerpot slip from a balcony above. It is falling right toward my head. Suddenly, a gust of wind pushes it aside. It misses me and hits a Marine who was running behind me.

I look at the green-haired man. He is already far ahead. He is walking straight toward the docks without stopping or turning around. He looks like he knows exactly where he is going. I feel a cold shiver of fear. My luck is gone, and the world feels dangerous.

"Hey! Green hair! Wait for me!" I yell.

I scramble to my feet and trip again. I manage to catch myself and run after him. I don't know why, but I feel like I have to stay close to him. He is the only thing that feels safe right now.

He stops at the edge of the pier. A large ship with a lion head is docked there. A blonde man in a suit waves at him.

"Zoro! You actually found the ship on your own?" the blonde man shouts. "Is it going to snow?"

The man named Zoro ignores him and steps onto the deck. I run up the ramp right behind him. I am panting, and my hair is a mess.

"You can't be here," Zoro says. He looks at me and frowns.

"I have to be here," I say. "Everything is breaking. I just ripped my shirt and fell twice. I never fall."

A girl with orange hair walks over. She looks at my torn clothes and then at Zoro.

"Did you kidnap someone, Zoro?" she asks.

"She followed me," he says. He reaches for his canteen and drinks. He doesn't drop it. He doesn't spill a drop.

For the next few hours, I stay glued to his side. It is the only way I stay safe. When a wooden beam swings near us, Zoro moves his head an inch, and it misses him. I almost get hit, but I grab his arm, and the beam grazes my hair instead.

"Why are you touching me?" he asks. He looks annoyed, but he doesn't push me away.

"Because if I don't, I think a giant bird will carry me away," I whisper.

Later that night, a storm hits. The ship rocks violently. I am sliding across the deck toward the railing. I am terrified. My luck is so bad now that I am sure the ocean will swallow me.

Zoro is standing near the mast. He looks perfectly balanced. I lunge at him and grab his shirt. I don't know what else to do. I remember the feeling of the world vibrating earlier. I pull his face down and kiss him again.

Zoro goes completely stiff. He stands there like a statue. His arms stay locked at his sides. He doesn't move a single muscle. His face turns bright red, even in the dark.

I pull away and suddenly the wind dies down. The ship stops tilting. I feel a sense of peace again.

"What was that for?" he asks. His voice is tight. He is still frozen in place.

"I just needed to," I say.

"Don't do it again," he says, but he still hasn't moved an inch.

He stays frozen for five minutes even after I walk away. I smile. I think I finally understand how this works. I might be stuck on this ship, but at least I know how to get my luck back.

I sit on a crate and sigh. My life has become a total mess. Every time I walk across the deck, something goes wrong. I have already tripped over the same rope three times. My hair is messy because a bird decided to build a nest in it while I was napping. I am the unluckiest person on the sea.

Zoro is standing at the front of the ship. He looks like a king. He is perfectly balanced. He never slips on the wet wood. He even found his way to the kitchen this morning without asking for help. It is making me crazy. I know what happened. I know that kiss in the city changed us.

"Zoro, we need to talk," I say. I walk toward him very slowly so I do not fall.

"I am busy," he grunts. He doesn't even look at me.

"You are not busy. You are just standing there," I say. "Listen to me. Something is wrong. I have your bad luck, and you have my good luck."

Zoro finally turns his head. He looks at me like I am speaking a different language. He raises an eyebrow.

"Luck is not a thing you can trade," he says. "I am just having a good day. You are just being clumsy."

"No, it was the kiss!" I shout. I point at his face. "When we crashed into each other, it swapped. I read about this once. Physical contact moves the luck back and forth."

Zoro starts to laugh annoyingly. He turns back to the ocean.

"Go lay down," he says. "You are clearly sick."

I huff and turn around to walk away. Suddenly, the ship jolts. A heavy wooden boom swings across the deck. It is moving fast and it is heading straight for the back of my head.

I don't even have time to scream. But Zoro moves like lightning. He reaches out and catches the heavy wood with one hand. He does not even look stressed. He is so lucky that he was standing in the perfect spot to save me.

"See?" I yell. "That should have hit me! You saved me because you have the charm!"

"I saved you because I have fast reflexes," Zoro says. He lets go of the wood and walks away. "Stop following me."

He tries to avoid me for the next two days. He stays up in the crow's nest or at the very back of the ship. But the world has other plans. The more he avoids me, the more the luck proves me right.

We sail into a thick fog. Nami is shouting that we are going to hit rocks. The ship is spinning. I am sliding across the deck again. I look up and see a jagged rock appearing through the mist. It is right in our path.

I see Zoro standing near the rail. He looks confused. The fog is making his "new" direction skills fail because he is starting to lose the luck. He trips over a bucket of water and slides toward the edge.

"Zoro! The rock!" I scream.

I scramble over to him. I grab his shirt and pull him up. I don't give him time to argue. I grab his face and pull him down. I kiss him hard.

Zoro goes completely rigid. His eyes go wide like dinner plates. His hands fly up and stay stuck in the air. He looks like a statue of a man who has just seen a ghost. He is frozen solid.

I pull away and feel the spark of luck hit my chest. I run to the wheel. I grab it and spin it to the left. The ship misses the rock by an inch. The fog suddenly lifts. We are safe.

I walk back to Zoro. He is still standing in the exact same spot. His face is turning a very bright shade of red. He looks like he is about to explode.

"The luck is back with me," I say. "That's why we didn't hit the rock."

Zoro finally blinks. He shakes his head and looks at his hands.

"That was just a coincidence," he mutters. He won't look me in the eye.

"Zoro, you were frozen for a whole minute," I say. "Admit it. The kiss works."

"I was not frozen," he says. "I was... thinking."

He turns to walk to the pantry to get a snack. I watch him. He walks five feet, misses the door, and walks directly into a wall. He bounces off and looks around, completely lost. He is in the middle of the deck, and he has no idea where he is.

"The pantry is behind you," I say.

"I knew that," he says. He turns around and trips over a mop. He falls onto his face with a loud thud.

I feel bad for him. He looks so defeated lying there on the wood. He is a great swordsman, but without luck, he can't even walk in a straight line. I walk over and sit next to him.

"Do you believe me now?" I ask softly.

Zoro sighs. He rolls onto his back and looks up at the sky. He looks exhausted.

"Everything is breaking," he whispers. "I can't find my swords. I think a fish stole my shoes while I was sleeping."

"I can give it back," I say. "But you know how it has to happen."

Zoro closes his eyes. He looks like he is preparing for a battle. He sits up and leans toward me. He looks very nervous.

"Just do it quickly," he says.

I lean in and kiss him again. This time it is a soft touch. Just like before, he stops breathing. He turns into a block of wood. His brain seems to turn off completely. His cheeks are pink, and his mouth is pulled into a straight line. He stays like that even after I move away.

"There," I say. "You should be able to find your shoes now."

Zoro stays frozen for three minutes. Finally, he stands up. He walks straight to his shoes, which were sitting right behind a barrel. He picks them up and looks at them.

"This is a curse," he mutters.

"It's not a curse," I say. "It's just us."

For the rest of the journey, he keeps his distance, but he watches me. He doesn't say I am crazy anymore. Whenever a storm starts to brew, he looks at me and sighs. He knows what is coming. He knows he is going to be a statue again.

"Is it storming yet?" he asks Nami.

"No, Zoro," Nami says. "Why do you care?"

Zoro looks at me and then looks away.

"No reason," he says.

But I see him adjust his shirt and stand a little straighter. He is waiting. He still hates being unlucky, but I think he is starting to get used to the frozen moments. Even if he won't admit it, he is ready for the next swap.

The sky over the island is an angry gray. Explosions shake the ground every few seconds. Smoke fills my lungs and makes my eyes sting. I am running through a courtyard filled with rubble and broken stone. Around me, the chaos of a massive battle is unfolding. Marines are shouting, and cannons are firing from the high walls.

Despite the danger, I feel strangely calm. I am currently the lucky one. I run across a bridge just as it collapses behind me. A shower of bullets flies through the air, but they all miss me by several feet. I don't even have to try to stay safe. The luck is protecting me like an invisible shield.

I look ahead and see Zoro. My heart stops. He is in a terrible position. He is standing in the middle of a wide-open space. Five powerful Marines are closing in on him with long spears. He reaches for his swords, but he is in the middle of his worst bad luck streak yet.

"Damn it! Not now!" Zoro yells.

He pulls on the hilt of Shusui, but the sword is stuck fast in its scabbard. He tries the other two, but the leather straps have somehow twisted into a knot that won't budge. He looks down at his waist in total frustration. He tries to step back to gain some space, but he trips over a small rock. He stumbles and falls hard onto one knee.

I look up at the castle wall. A giant cannon is being pushed into place. The Marine behind it is smiling. He lights a long fuse. The cannon is aimed directly at Zoro while he is struggling to stand up.

"Zoro! Get out of there!" I scream.

He looks up and sees the cannon. He tries to scramble away, but his sandal snaps. He is stuck in place. He growls and tugs at his swords one more time. They still won't move. He looks like a man who knows his luck has completely run out.

I don't think about the risk. I just run. I sprint across the open courtyard. A group of Marines tries to stop me, but a piece of falling roof hits the ground in front of them. It forces them to stop. I am the only person who can reach him in time.

The fuse on the cannon is almost gone. I see the spark reach the base of the metal tube. I know how this works. I know the rules of our strange game. If I kiss him now, I can give him the luck. He will become the legendary swordsman again. He will be able to cut that cannonball in half.

I reach him just as he finally gets to his feet. He looks exhausted and angry. His green hair is covered in dust. I don't say a word. I reach out and grab the collar of his shirt. I pull him toward me. I close my eyes and wait for the familiar feeling.

I expect him to go rigid. I expect his eyes to go wide and his arms to lock at his sides. I am ready to be the one who does all the work while he stands there like a stone statue. I am ready for the magic to swap one last time so he can save us.

But Zoro does something he has never done before.

Before I can press my lips to his, his hands move. They are not hovering in the air. They are not frozen. He lets go of his stuck swords completely. He reaches out and wraps his strong arms around my waist. He pulls me flush against his chest.

One of his hands moves to the back of my head. His fingers tangle in my hair. He leans down and kisses me fiercely.

It is not an accident. It is not a quick touch to trade a curse. It is deep and intentional. He is not a statue. He is warm and alive and moving. He holds me so tightly that I can feel his heartbeat against my own.

A massive boom echoes through the air. The cannon has fired. I hear the whistling sound of the heavy iron ball flying toward us. I expect to feel the impact, but it never comes.

Because Zoro is holding me so firmly, he has stepped back into a steady stance. He has pulled me into a dip that moves us out of the direct line of fire. The cannonball hits the stone pillar behind us. It shatters the rock into a thousand pieces, but we are untouched.

Zoro pulls away slowly. He does not look shocked. He does not look embarrassed. He looks at me with a look of pure determination. His eyes are sharp and clear.

"I am done being a statue," he says. His voice is deep and steady.

"Zoro? The luck," I whisper. I feel breathless. "Did I give it back to you?"

"I don't need magic to protect you," he says.

He lets go of me and reaches for his swords. He does not tug at them with frustration. He just places his hand on the hilt of the Wado Ichimonji. He breathes out slowly. He pulls, and the blade slides out of the scabbard with a sharp, silver ring. There is no knot. There is no struggle.

He stands in front of me like a wall of iron. He is not lucky, and he is not unlucky. He is just himself. He has found his footing because he chose to move.

"Stay close to me," he commands.

He charges into the group of Marines. He moves with perfect precision. He does not win because of a lucky coincidence. He wins because he is the strongest man I know. Every strike is deliberate. Every move is his own.

I follow him through the smoke. I don't feel the strange buzzing of the Charm anymore. I trip over a bit of rubble, but I catch myself. I am not perfectly lucky, but I am not a disaster either. The magic has settled right in the middle. It has balanced out for both of us.

When the battle finally ends, we are standing on the shore. The ship is waiting for us. Zoro sheaths his swords and turns to me. He looks tired, but he is smiling just a little bit.

"You're not going to try to take it back?" he asks.

"I think I'm okay with being normal for a while," I say.

"Good," he says.

He walks over and takes my hand. He doesn't look for a sign from the sky. He doesn't wait for a miracle. He just walks toward the ship with a steady pace. He still takes a wrong turn near the gangplank, but I just pull on his hand to lead him the right way.

"The ship is this way, Zoro," I laugh.

"I knew that," he grunts.

He doesn't let go of my hand. He holds it for everyone to see. He isn't frozen anymore, and he isn't waiting for the luck to change. He has finally decided to keep moving forward with me.

We walk up the wooden ramp of the ship together. The crew is busy shouting and laughing about our victory, but the world feels very quiet between us.

I look down at our joined hands. I don't feel the strange hum of a magic charm anymore, and I don't feel the heavy weight of a curse. For the first time since that day in the port city, everything feels exactly as it should be.

Zoro stops near the main mast and looks at me. The sunset is hitting his face, making his green hair look like gold. He isn't hiding his face or looking away anymore. He is standing tall, and his grip on my hand is firm.

"So," I say softly. "No more freezing like a statue?"

"No," Zoro says. He leans against the railing and pulls me a little closer. "I think I like being able to move just fine."

"I guess I'm not the Charm of the Island anymore," I joke. I look at my torn sleeves and the dirt on my knees. "I'm just a normal person who trips over things sometimes."

Zoro reaches out and brushes a bit of dust off my shoulder. He looks into my eyes with a soft expression I have never seen before. It isn't about magical swaps. It is just him.

"I don't need a charm," he says. "You are just my luck."

"So are you," I smile and lean my head against his shoulder. I know that as long as I am with him, I will always be exactly where I am supposed to be.

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