‵、¸ 𝙡𝒐𝙫𝒆, 𝙙𝒆𝙖𝒏 pt. iv ⊹ dean di laurentis
⌗ pairing — dean di laurentis x fem!reader
⌗ synopsis — Caught between hidden music notebooks and skin-burning truths, they must decide whether to keep playing the game of ignoring each other or give in to the undeniable static that threatens to consume them
⌗ author’s note — This story features high-tension seduction dynamics, lighthearted mutual flirting, social alcohol consumption in a university pub, and relaxed, high-content erotic scenes. It focuses on regaining emotional control, testing boundaries, and dealing with the complex territorial jealousy between a hockey star and a football player.
The Crossover (Briar University × Outer Banks): This story collides the Off-Campus hockey world with the dark energy of OBX, introducing Rafe Cameron as Briar’s dangerous new football player
⌗ pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii | pt. final ⌗ MAIN MASTERLIST
The Boston winter had no mercy that night; it bit aggressively through the seams of my clothes as if in a hurry to freeze my blood. But the real storm was the thick, suffocating air hanging between us in the alley behind the pub. The flickering neon lights cast distorted shadows against the damp brick walls, weathered and cracked by time. In the distance, the muffled hum of music and students' laughter drowned out any trace of warmth, isolating the two of us in our own personal hell.
Dean’s breathing was heavy, white puffs of air leaving his lips in the dim light. His features were completely hardened, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck strained under his Briar jacket. There was an obvious territorial claim in his blue eyes, a raw frustration he no longer bothered to hide. He was too close, backing me against the wall, using every inch of his hockey-player height to try and reclaim an emotional control that had slipped from his hands a long time ago.
The tension in the alley felt physical, like an invisible vice tightening around my lungs. Every word floated in the freezing air, heavy with the unbearable weight of months of accumulated secrets—of playing the perfect alibi for the campus, and the sheer exhaustion of keeping up a lie that was finally crumbling under our feet.
I locked my eyes onto his. The cold cut deep into my bones, making me shiver imperceptibly, but I kept my chin up, refusing to show a single trace of weakness to the man trying to run my life. My mind was racing, trapped in the maze of my own conflicting emotions, utterly exhausted from carrying everyone else's disasters, runaways, and whims.
"This isn't a goddamn game, babe," Dean whispered, his voice dropping to a dangerously rough tone as he took another step forward, cutting the distance to zero and forcing my back hard against the frozen bricks. "Time's up for pretending. The theater is over. Are you really going to keep acting like absolutely nothing happens between us every time we cross paths on campus?"
I let out a bitter, dry laugh. I glanced down for a fraction of a second at the small snowflakes starting to gather on my boots before locking eyes with him again. The indignation and built-up rage burned in my chest, fighting off the night's chill.
"I’m the one acting like nothing happens?" I challenged, my voice shaking from pure, unadulterated fury. "You are unbelievable, Dean Di Laurentis! Absolutely unbelievable! I’ve spent months cleaning up your messes behind the scenes, keeping up appearances with Garrett, Logan, and Tucker at the hockey house, and pretending over and over again to be the perfect alibi for you and Allie so nobody suspects a thing. I’ve broken my back protecting both of you, sacrificing my own peace, and you have the audacity to corner me in a dark alley and demand explanations? I don't have the time or the energy for your goddamn ego crises."
Dean clenched his jaw so hard a sharp, low sound escaped his throat. Visibly stung by the coldness in my words, he slammed his right palm against the brick wall, right next to my head. The impact echoed through the alley. He didn't touch me, but he completely trapped me in his personal space, surrounding me with his body, forcing me to breathe his air.
"I don't give a shit about the alibi! And I don't give a shit about Allie right now!" he barked, raising his voice before checking himself, aware of where we were, but lacing it with a desperate, possessive intensity. "You know damn well this stopped being about Allie months ago. I found your notebook in the fraternity living room, are you listening to me? I found it lying by the couch and I read every single word. I saw what you wrote about those Sabrina Carpenter songs, babe. You describe perfectly how we look at each other when we're in the same room, how we seek each other out when no one on the team is watching. Don't look at me like I'm crazy, because I know damn well you feel the same short-circuit I do every time we share a smoke on the porch of the hockey house in the middle of the night."
I caught my breath for a second, feeling the solid ground of the alley vanish beneath my feet upon hearing confirmation that he had held my worn leather notebook in his hands. I felt completely exposed, emotionally stripped bare in my most private corner, but my pride and my sheer exhaustion from always being the collateral damage were far greater than any temporary weakness. I slowly crossed my arms over my chest, defending the little distance I had left and firing back a relentless, icy glare.
"You had no goddamn right to touch my personal things, Dean," I hissed, keeping my voice low but dragging out every syllable with a lethality that cut deeper than the Boston wind. "None. And if I wrote those notes, if I put those goddamn songs on paper, it was to get them out of my head and bury them once and for all—not for you to take them as a hunting trophy or a pathetic excuse to come stalk me outside Malone’s. I am sick of your oversized ego, your territorial jealousy, and your goddamn mood swings. If you honestly think you can demand anything from me just because you found a couple of private notes, you are barking up the wrong fucking tree."
"I don't need to be a genius to realize you're pulling away from me on purpose," Dean snapped back, breaking the last physical barrier, tilting his face down so our foreheads nearly touched. His blue eyes burned with a chaotic mix of vulnerability and purely selfish desperation. "Every time you walk through the door of the hockey house, you act like I’m a goddamn stranger. You ignore my texts, but you spend your entire afternoons in the football bleachers. I know exactly who you're spending time with when you're not with us, and it's driving me crazy, do you hear me? Driving me crazy. I'm not letting you take a single step out of this alley until you look me dead in the eye and tell me that everything you wrote in that notebook is a goddamn lie. Tell me! Tell me you feel nothing!"
The atmosphere inside the alley had grown so thick that oxygen seemed scarce. Dean’s heavy breathing, laced with wounded pride, hit my face directly. His eyes locked onto mine, demanding a surrender—an answer that would validate his ego and calm the storm tearing him apart. The space between the frozen bricks and his athletic frame had shrunk to absolute nothingness; I was cornered, feeling the impact of Dean's palm firmly planted against the wall, inches from my head.
"Tell me!" Dean pressed again, dropping his voice to a desperate, sibilant whisper that echoed in the dim light. "Tell me you don't feel a damn thing every time I get close. Tell me everything you wrote is a lie and I swear I'll turn around right now."
I kept my breathing steady, arms crossed tightly like a shield, refusing to yield a single millimeter to his towering height. My mind was racing, calculating the damage, sick of being the campus's best-kept secret and the target of his outbursts. I was about to hurl a biting retort that would bring the alley down, when a sharp, dry metallic sound cut through the suffocating scene.
The crunch of heavy leather boots crushing the thin layer of frozen snow at the mouth of the alley froze the tension entirely.
"I think the girl already gave you a pretty clear answer, Di Laurentis. And she doesn't look too interested in repeating herself."
The voice that cut through the night wasn't loud or rushed; it was slow, dragged out with a cold calmness that instantly froze the air.
Dean tensed every single muscle in his back. His jaw clenched so hard a sharp pop escaped his lips. Slowly, lifting his hand from the brick wall with obvious annoyance, he turned halfway, breaking my physical imprisonment but staying close enough to block my escape.
There, under the dim, flickering red neon light of the pub that stained the walls an almost bloody hue, stood Rafe Cameron. He had one hand casually shoved into the pocket of his dark jacket, while the other held a half-smoked cigarette, letting the gray smoke mix with the freezing Boston air. His posture was that of a predator stumbling upon an interesting scene: relaxed yet fully alert, his light eyes shining with that erratic, protective, and magnetic intensity that defined him. Rafe didn't play by ordinary college rules, and seeing Dean cornering me had sparked something dangerous inside him.
"Cameron," Dean spat, dragging out the name with deep disgust, as I took a step to the side to gain some ground. "This has absolutely fucking nothing to do with you. Beat it if you don't want trouble with the team. Nobody called you."
Rafe let out a short, dry laugh. He took two slow steps forward, closing the distance in the alley without showing the slightest hint of fear toward the hockey player's massive frame. He flicked his cigarette butt into the snow and deliberately crushed it with the toe of his boot, keeping his eyes locked onto Dean's.
"I don't give a rat's ass about your team, Di Laurentis," Rafe replied, his pitch dropping to a dangerously low, calm register—the one he used right before losing his mind entirely. "And I care even less about what you think your territorial rights are on this campus. I see you bothering her, I see she asked you to get the fuck out of her way, and coincidentally... it really pisses me off when someone doesn't know how to listen to a 'no'."
The scene shifted into an ultra-tense chessboard. Dean turned fully toward Rafe, squaring his chest, fists clenched at his sides, ready to start a fistfight if necessary to save his pride. Rafe didn't even blink; he just tilted his head, analyzing Dean’s movements with analytical coldness, as if measuring exactly where to strike if the athlete made the mistake of stepping forward. His protective instinct was peaking, and the secret understanding he shared with me in the bleachers and on those quiet drives in his car became an absolute shield in the dead of night.
I stood caught in the crossfire, feeling the static electricity in the alley threatening to blow Malone's sky-high. I knew damn well that Rafe wasn't someone Dean could mess with, and that the situation was a single breath away from spiraling completely out of control.
The silence that settled between Dean and Rafe was so sharp it could have cut through the freezing air. Both measured each other up, shoulders tense, male pride inflated in an absurd clash of territories in the middle of a dark alley. Dean’s fists were clenched, ready to snap at any second, while Rafe maintained that erratic, dangerous calm, waiting for the slightest excuse to break the peace.
I took a step forward, stepping right into the crossfire. I didn't do it in a rush or out of fear; I moved with a cold, almost bored composure, sliding my hands into my coat pockets. My eyes locked onto Dean first. I held his gaze with unyielding intensity, but behind the stone mask I had built to protect myself, my chest tightened in a bitter ache.
There was a dull, deep sadness lodged at the back of my throat, a subtle pain burning me from the inside out. I loved him. God, I knew I loved him so much it scared me sometimes, but looking at his face only brought back the echo of suspicions, secrets, and the unbearable weight of knowing he had been with Allie. It wasn’t cheap spite; it was the painful certainty that, as much as my soul hurt, something inside me had broken for good. I couldn't trust him anymore. Faith had vanished the exact moment I realized I had been the second choice in his own web of lies.
"Are you two seriously doing this right now?" I let out. My voice wasn't a shout; it was a slow, dragged-out whisper, using that lethal, flat tone as my shield. "It’s pathetic. Look at yourselves. It’s midnight in a filthy alley and you’re acting like two dogs fighting over a bone."
Dean blinked, completely thrown off by the absolute lack of drama in my reaction. His jaw slackened a millimeter, losing some of that aggressive posture.
"Pathetic?" he repeated, his voice cracking with frustration and wounded pride. "Babe, this asshole is sticking his nose into our business. I was just trying to get you to tell me the truth about what you wrote in—"
"Don't call me babe, Dean. We've moved past that page," I cut him off cleanly. My tone was so flat and sharp it left no room for arguments. Maintaining that facade took a monumental effort, but I would rather die than let him see the chaos inside me. I completely shifted my attention away from him, ignoring his territorial desperation like it was mere background noise, and looked at Rafe. He was watching me with a raised eyebrow, noticing that tiny shift in my tension that no one else on campus would know how to decipher.
I walked the two steps separating me from Rafe, seeking the safety of his presence so I wouldn't fall apart. When I reached his side, I slowly turned one last time to look at Dean over my shoulder, tilting my head with an absolute coldness that hid my disappointment.
"Your doubts and your tantrums are no longer my problem," I said, holding his gaze with a steadiness that froze him in his tracks. "I already told you before, but you seem to have a hard time processing it: it’s over. There are no second acts, no clearing-the-air talks, and you definitely have absolutely no right to corner me anywhere."
Dean took a step forward, his blue eyes wide with disbelief, wounded by the way I was discarding him so cleanly and definitively right in front of Rafe.
"You're leaving with him? Is this a joke?" he spat, pointing at Rafe with a contempt that sounded more like a wounded plea than a threat. "It's Cameron, for Christ's sake! He doesn't even belong in our circle."
For a split second, the reproach stung right in the center of my chest, reminding me how hard it was to let him go. But the memory of Allie crossed my mind again like an impassable wall. I simply adjusted the collar of my coat with exasperating calm, delivering the final blow with the most lethal response possible: absolute indifference.
"I’m leaving with whoever I want, Dean. And right now, anywhere you aren't sounds perfect," I sentenced.
Without waiting to see his expression finish breaking, I turned fully toward Rafe. My face softened just a fraction, finding in his gaze the quiet refuge I so desperately needed in that instant.
"Let’s get out of here, Rafe. The air’s getting too thick."
Rafe nodded with a serious look, understanding the true weight of the situation, and placed a protective hand near my back, gently guiding me toward the alley exit. I walked beside him with a firm stride, keeping my back straight and my chin up. Only when I completely turned my back on Dean and we melted into the darkness of the night did I allow my eyes to blur a little, swallowing the bitterness of having loved someone who simply didn't know how to care for me.
The slam of the front door echoed through every corner of the hockey house, shattering the tense silence of the early morning. Dean walked in like a whirlwind of suppressed fury, his Briar jacket half-open, his knuckles red and swollen from the punches thrown at Hunter, and his jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to snap. His hair was a mess and his breathing was erratic—the breath of someone who had completely lost his mind in Malone's alley.
In the living room, illuminated only by the faint glow of a couple of lamps, Garrett, Logan, Tucker, and Beau were waiting for him. The atmosphere was tense; they were already aware of the disaster that had unfolded after Dean was separated from Hunter, and they were in no mood for games.
"You find this funny, Di Laurentis?" Garrett snapped, rising from the sofa with his arms crossed and an expression of total disapproval. "We had to talk to the owner of Malone so he wouldn't call campus security. You got into a fistfight with Hunter at Malone like a total savage."
Dean didn't answer. He walked toward the kitchen bar, pouring himself a glass of water with shaking hands, completely ignoring his captain's reprimand.
Tucker took a step forward, looking at him with that mature, disappointed calmness that always hurt worse than any shouting.
"This isn't just about the mess with Hunter, Dean, and you know it," Tucker sentenced, crossing his arms. "You're acting out of pure ego. You let her go, you let everything break because of what happened with Allie, and now that she decided to set a boundary and protect herself, you show up claiming territory. You can't go around campus pretending she belongs to you when you were the one who didn't know how to take care of her."
"She was with Cameron!" Dean exploded, slamming the glass down on the counter, sending water splashing everywhere. "She left with him right in my fucking face! Hunter started baiting me, saying she was already over it, and then Rafe shows up acting like he’s her goddamn protector. I wasn't going to just stand there!"
Logan, who had been leaning against the wall watching the scene in silence, let out a dry laugh. He took a few steps forward, locking his eyes onto Dean with sharp seriousness.
"Don't mix things up, Dean. Hunter is an asshole who just wanted to get under your skin, and he succeeded," Logan said, his voice dragged out. "But Rafe wasn't using her as a trophy. Rafe was getting her out of a place where you were suffocating her. I know her, Dean; I know when she uses that icy look of indifference. She was broken inside because Allie's shit still hurts, but she preferred to leave with anyone else rather than give you a second chance. If you keep pushing her like this, the only thing you're going to achieve is making her hate you forever."
Dean fell silent, feeling Logan's words hit him right in the center of his wounded pride. He ran a hand over his face, frustrated, feeling cornered by his own friends.
That was when Beau, who had remained seated on the stool watching Dean's body language, intervened. His tone wasn't aggressive like Garrett's, nor sharp like Logan's; it was a direct question, loaded with a brutal honesty that left the air thick.
"Drop the tantrums for a second and look at me, Di Laurentis," Beau asked, tilting his head. "I just want you to answer one thing with total honesty: Do you actually like her? Are you really in love with her to the point of losing your mind... or do you just miss her attention? Because you’re too used to being the rich kid from Connecticut who has everything easy, the one who snaps his fingers and gets whoever he wants. She adored you, she was your unconditional partner in crime, and now that she shut the door in your face and took her eyes off you, you're panicking."
Beau's question floated in the space like a silent grenade. Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, to let out one of his typical arrogant replies, but the words got stuck in his throat. He looked at the four guys, realizing he couldn't fake it in front of them anymore.
"It’s not just her attention," Dean confessed in a broken whisper, losing all his haughty posture and showing, for the first time, the real desperation in his blue eyes. "I’m losing my mind. The problem isn't Hunter, or Rafe, or Allie... The problem is that I close my eyes and she's the only thing I think about. And knowing she doesn't trust me anymore is destroying me."
The guys exchanged looks, noticing the drastic shift in their friend. The ego drama had vanished, revealing the raw reality: Dean Di Laurentis was completely lost over her, but the damage was already done.
The winter in Boston had no mercy, but the walls of Briar University seemed to suffocate me even more. Two full days had passed since the absolute disaster at Malone's. Two days in which the campus had transformed into a minefield for me. My strategy had been radical and exhausting: disappear completely from the social map. I had muted group chat notifications, changed my usual routes between class buildings, and bought my coffee at the far south cafeteria just to avoid crossing paths with anyone.
I didn't want explanations, I didn't want apologies, and above all, I didn't want pity. I was tired of cleaning up other people's messes and carrying the weight of an alibi role I never asked for. I wanted to avoid Dean's intense gaze at all costs, Hannah's worried questions, the fraternity drama, and even Rafe’s protective presence and Allie’s guilt. I needed silence.
That was why I ended up there, on the third floor of Briar’s central library. It was the sanctuary of the desperate and the perfectionists; a forgotten corner between colossal solid wood shelves that smelled of old paper, medical outlines, and accumulated dust. The large Gothic windows showed the university grounds covered in a thick layer of grayish snow. Sitting at one of the individual desks in the back, semi-hidden by the shadow of an encyclopedia shelf, I spread out my study notes. I placed the large headphones over my ears; they weren't playing any playlist, but they functioned as the perfect shield with an invisible 'do not disturb' sign.
Or so I thought.
A soft shadow fell across the grid pages of my notebook, blocking the dim yellow light from the desk lamp. Looking up with a mixture of annoyance and resignation, my eyes met the understanding and somewhat tired gaze of Allie Hayes.
Allie didn't wear her usual electric glow or the loud energy she typically dragged everywhere. She wore an oversized cream-colored wool sweater that seemed to swallow her whole and held a thermal coffee cup with both hands. With a slow, careful movement so as not to break the floor's strict silence code, Allie dropped her bag onto the worn carpet. Without asking permission, she pulled out the back of the adjacent wooden chair and sat right next to me, closing any cautious distance.
I took off my headphones, letting them rest around my neck, and dropped my pen, which rolled across the paper. The silence between the two of us stretched for a few seconds, heavy but strangely lacking any hostility.
"Are you avoiding me too?" Allie finally asked. Her voice was an incredibly soft whisper, almost inaudible, tilting her head with a small grimace that mixed sadness with unconditional affection.
I let out a long sigh and let my shoulders drop. There was no longer any point in running; the library had ceased to be a safe hiding place. Allie reached out across the wooden tabletop and brushed her fingers against mine—a gesture of pure support before breaking the tension with disarming honesty.
"I know you’ve been haunting the hallways like a ghost," Allie continued, glancing down at her coffee cup for a moment before looking me straight in the eye. "And I completely understand. I feel terrible about everything that happened at Malone's. It kills me knowing you got caught in that storm because of me—because you were covering for me—and ended up shouldering drama that wasn't even yours. That’s why I sought you out. I need you to listen to me, friend to friend, with no guys around and no hockey team suddenly showing up. I need you to get that weight off your shoulders once and for all."
Allie readjusted in her chair, leaning her elbows on the table and moving closer, creating a bubble of absolute intimacy in the middle of the massive library.
"You need to know the truth: the fact is, I was never interested in Dean. Never. And he wasn’t interested in me, either. What happened between us was just a typical fling—two unattached adults; it happened exactly three times, and that was it. We were bored, we were lonely at different times, and we made the grave mistake of using our bodies to fill voids neither of us understood. There was no real chemistry, no butterflies—nothing but two people killing time. Get the idea out of your head that you’re betraying something, because there is nothing to betray."
I swallowed hard, feeling part of the constant knot in my chest begin to loosen at my friend's words. Allie squeezed my hand, making sure not to look away, for she wanted every word to be seared into my memory.
"The night you sang at Malone's…" Allie’s voice took on a telling tone, and a faint smile—completely devoid of jealousy—touched her lips. "That night changed everything for me. I was sitting at the bar, watching you shine on that makeshift stage, and at one point I turned to see how the table was reacting. I looked at Dean. I swear on my life: I have never seen a Di Laurentis look at another human being the way he was looking at you right then. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly parted; he was completely lost to the world. It was as if the rest of the bar, the background music, the drunken crowd, and even I had vanished entirely from his galaxy. There was only you."
Allie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at the memory.
"In that moment, while you were holding the microphone, I realized the reality everyone else talks about but he's too much of an idiot to admit out loud: Dean is completely in love with you. He's dying for you, girl. He's crazy, out of his mind for you. It's just that his goddamn star-player ego, his chronic immaturity, and the fear of losing control of his life wouldn't let him process it in time before messing things up the way he did. But his eyes don't lie. He's hooked on you to the core."
I was left speechless, processing the weight of the confession. The impact of knowing that Allie saw the situation so clearly lifted a huge moral burden from my shoulders. Sensing the whirlwind of emotions I was feeling, Allie let out a soft laugh and gave me a playful nudge on the shoulder.
"And don't you dare look at me with a guilty face. Please! You know damn well I love being single," Allie added, a spark of genuine fun gleaming in her eyes. "I've discovered over the last few days that I'm much better off alone. I'm focused on my projects, my classes, getting my full hours of sleep, and without a single specimen from the hockey team draining my energy with their existential crises and competitive hormones. I'm happy like this. That's why I want to make it clear: I'll stand by whatever decision you make, whatever it is. If you decide Dean's pride deserves to be stomped on and you want to send him to hell forever, let me know and I'll personally help you pack up his memories or ignore his calls. But if you decide you want to give it a shot, to see what's behind all that arrogant bad-boy facade, I'll be the first one to hold your hand and support you along the way. You're my friend, I adore you, and the only thing that matters to me on this frozen campus is that you are okay and at peace with yourself. The rest is just background noise."
The relief in my chest was immediate and overwhelming, as if I could finally take a breath of clean air after days of being submerged. The conversation stretched for nearly another hour, transforming into an exchange of whispered secrets, class anecdotes, and suppressed laughter we had to stifle with our own hands to avoid being kicked out by the strict third-floor librarian.
When Allie finally stood up, giving me a warm, tight hug filled with that sweet vanilla scent that always characterized her, I felt like I was reclaiming control of my own narrative. Allie waved with a wink and walked toward the spiral staircase, leaving me alone once more.
However, the bubble of silence didn't last very long. As soon as Allie's footsteps faded on the floor below, my phone, resting face down on my anatomy notes, buzzed insistently, lighting up the screen.
Picking it up and unlocking it, I found a sequence of messages. I read them one by one, feeling my heart give a different kind of thud—a steady, secure, and comforting beat:
Rafe: You deserve the best in this world. Someone stable! Someone you can feel confident loves you and will always choose you, someone who would swallow their pride before losing you, someone for whom you are a priority, not just an option. You deserve honesty, love, and respect.
Rafe: You deserve to be treated with the utmost kindness, please don't expect anything less.
Rafe: Where you don't have to wonder if he'll choose you tomorrow, then that's where it will be.
Dean 🤍: I know you're on the third floor of the library, hiding out at the desks in the back. Allie just texted me saying she was leaving and that she left you a bit more relaxed.
Dean 🤍: I'm not coming up, babe. I promise. I'm not going to suffocate you, or demand explanations, or make another ridiculous scene like the one in the alley in front of that asshole Cameron. I know you need your space and time to breathe.
Dean 🤍: I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Your favorite coffee with an extra pump of vanilla and the muffin you like are waiting for you downstairs at the front desk. I left it with the guy at the entrance under your name so it wouldn't get cold. Take all the time you need, babe. No rush. I'm still here for whenever you decide to come down.
I stared at the screen for a few long minutes, an involuntary smile settling onto my lips. The contrast between the chaotic intensity of the hockey boys and Rafe's constant, protective, and quiet patience had never been so obvious. I slipped the phone into my coat pocket, looked at my now much less threatening notes, and felt that, for the first time in two days, the Briar winter didn't cut quite so deep into my bones.
