content warnings: mentions of drinking and smoking, reader x peter parker crumbs, mentions of disassociation and panic attacks, she/her pronouns used
a/n: stark!reader is my guilty pleasure and has been since i was 9 lmao. might turn into a mini series…perchance…if y’all fw it…
♯ stark!reader who has lived in the tower since it was built in 2012 and her dad moved in.
♯ stark!reader who is just a little bit too much like her dad, who loves parties and attention.
♯ stark!reader who’s favorite tv show is one tree hill and other teen dramas, because shes secretly jealous of how normal their lives are.
♯ stark!reader , the girl who only got invited to birthday parties as a kid because her dad was iron man.
♯ stark!reader who never talks about her nightmares, even if they happen frequently. sometimes every night. but she wont bother anyone about them.
♯ stark!reader who first discovered alcohol at 16, and very quickly went on a 2 day bender that scared her father shitless.
♯ stark!reader who was then promptly banned from parties and alcohol, unless under very tight supervision.
♯ stark!reader who spent all of middle school and early high school practically begging to be asked out, but when someone did, her nose scrunched up and she rejected them as kindly as she could.
♯ stark!reader , the girl who found peter parker while scrolling on youtube. who immediately brought the video to her dad, grin cocky and familiar.
♯ stark!reader “those goggles make him look like a bug” she snorted, watching the video back while tony scratched at his beard.
♯ stark!reader who was taught ballet by natasha, and now whose knees crack everytime she stands up, and hips lock up if she sits cross legged too long.
♯ stark!reader who isn’t afraid of getting in trouble or caught, proven by the many times she’d snuck out, stolen her father’s alcohol, gotten high and didnt try to hide it, and said things that she should have gotten in trouble for.
♯ stark!reader who uses the “minor” card at every given chance.
♯ stark!reader who told ross she hopes he rots, and then acted like it was okay because shes a minor.
♯ stark!reader who has been punched in the face before. many times. never by a parent or family member, but by many others. she usually deserved it. she usually admitted it too.
♯ stark!reader , so lost in her head she forgets things. random childhood memories, her own phone number, sometimes its eating that slips past her. sometimes its bigger things she forgets, like where she was or what she’d been doing the last few days.
♯ stark!reader who disassociates. one minute it’s friday and shes going to bed, the next it’s sunday and shes sitting in the shower, staring blankly at the wall with no clue how long she’d been in there.
♯ stark!reader who carries sour candy spray with her 24/7. she lies and says its because she loves sour candy, but a few people close to her know its because it helps with panic attacks.
♯ stark!reader who has never been scared of getting in trouble. not until she came home wearing peters hoodie. that night had been awkward.
♯ stark!reader who hates every women her dad has brought home (except pepper).
♯ stark!reader , a smaller version of tony, which makes people afraid of her sometimes.
♯ stark!reader who likes scaring people by threatening to tell her dad.
(Inspired by this thread by Hudson Williams Updates on twitter, which I'm also basing the chronological order on.) (In parenthesis you can find the link to the original upload of the video on youtube or, in one case, the link to the website of the production house) (Trigger or Content Warnings are specified when necessary)
Detective Ultra (Langara College Film Arts), 2020 - A noir film in which the detective needs to stop a killer, before the killers stop him, many many times.
Sanctuary (Elizabeth Prosper), 2020 - A dystopian zombie action drama where all the characters want to save themselves in different ways.
Jump (Langara College Film Arts), 2020 - "In Jump, a swimmer is troubled by self-doubt and conflicting emotions around the memory of her mother." TW for suicide. [*Hudson is also a producer.]
Over the edge (Langara College Film Arts), 2020 - "Cory grapples with a deep despair in the wake of a faltering relationship with his closest connection, Shawn, in Over the edge." TW for depression and suicide.
The Ticket (Langara College Film Arts), 2020 - "Office co-workers lose it over a ticket". [*Hudson is also a producer.]
And... Action! (Langara College Film Arts), 2020 - "This actor needs the proper motivation".
The Interview (Langara College Film Arts), 2020 - "A job interview with some self sabotage". CW for anxiety attack.
A Heist of the Heart (Langara College Film Arts - [1:52:10-2:01:26]), 2020 - Three thieves are unsure of their future together, but the meeting with one security guard decides for them.
Off Objective (Ben Gough and Langara College Film Arts), 2022 - "Espionage operations are the most extremely organized events in the world. A young yet cocky agent is sent in on a mission like any other but finds that this isn't going to go the way he thinks."
The Walls (Ben Gough), 2022 - You can't even be an office employee who pretends to be a rat in the walls to scare their coworkers anymore. Because of woke.
A Girl Dies (Langara College Film Arts - [0:33-9:50]), 2022 - A girl finds herself chasing excess during a night out while hoping for a popular guy's attentions. TW for drugs.
And…Release! (Mark Masterton), 2025 - Hudson takes his audition for a laxative advertisement a little too method.
Devil Makes Three (Dark River Studios), 2023 - "When two punk bands are double booked to headline Halloween night, they must decide who will play before something else does."
House of Yes (Daisha Menzies), 2026 (first presented in 2023) - "After being told by their manager that they can only say yes, three servers cannot take it anymore and decide to rebel against the cafe's ways." CW for sexual harassment.
KTFO (Ethan Wingrove TV), 2024 - "Ethan, Shorya, and Hudson are about to give the presentation of their lives, until they face the most ridiculous obstacle they've ever encountered."
Brim Reaper (Tristan C. Pina), 2024 - "A group of friends must stop the Brim Reaper from taking one of them."
Teresa's Choice (Divine Sparks Films [only available requesting a password]), 2024 - "Teresa, early 40's, has opted for artificial insemination to become a single mother by choice. As the world pandemic strikes, she finds herself in lockdown waiting for the donor's sperm. Her deepest fears, fed by the catastrophic news of chaos, uncertainty and danger, challenge her heartfelt desire to give life and love; while her dreams prompt her to be true to herself." CW unavailable because I couldn't watch it.
Buttons - The Lover Archetype Explored Through a Pussycat Dolls Odyssey (Hudson Williams), 2024 - "A straight and narrow man must find a way to loosen up in order to save the relationship with the woman of his dreams." [*Hudson is also the writer and director.]
Super Support (Mark Masterton), 2025 - "After mysteriously losing their powers, a group of washed-up superheroes set off on a chaotic journey to get them back, while rediscovering what truly make them heroes." TW for suicidal ideation. [*Hudson is also co-writer.]
Super Support 2 (Mark Masterton), 2025 - "The powerless heroes are back — stuck in group therapy alongside their former supervillains. When a cocaine-fuelled bear crashes the party, things get gnarly, forcing them to say a heartfelt goodbye to one of their own." TW for drugs, rape, and suicide. [*Hudson is also co-writer and co-director.]
Inside Augustine Mendoza's Quotidian Apartment (Hudson Williams [Director's Cut]), 2025 - "Go inside Augustin Mendoza's quotidian apartment. Meet the artist behind the glasses." [*Hudson is also the writer and director.]
Dogging (Mark Masterton), 2025 - "A Swedish journalist stumbles across a subculture of people pretending to be dogs, in exchange for cash and free rent." TW for domestic abuse. [*Hudson is also co-writer and co-director.]
ChadGPT (Mark Masterton), 2025 - "After ordering the world's first AI-powered humanoid chatbot, Mike's life gets turned upside down."
Metal Fist Death Punch (Tristan C. Pina), 2025 - "A man goes on a quest to destroy every Toyota Corolla in the world after one killed his father."
Snow Angel (Hudson Williams), 2025 (filmed in 2022) - "With Snow Angel, we wanted to create a character study where the main character is our vessel for exploring morality in an immoral community of drug running. Stripping away any fancy set pieces, our goal was to explore unsolvable questions by putting them in a high-tension crock pot." TW for drugs and implied domestic violence. [*Hudson is also the director.]
Soakers (Hudson Williams), 2025 - "Two rendezvousing virgin's engage in a practice where they can wet their salivating beaks and keep the Heavenly Father happy." [*Hudson is also the writer and director.]
Peace of Mind (IndieVision), 2025 - "In his early 20s, a man returns to his hometown to search for his sister, who had adopted him and has now mysteriously disappeared, only to uncover a vast conspiracy that threatens the very future he had lately dreamed of."
Peaceful Protest Turned Heated Rivalry (Smashed Potato Kids and Hudson Williams), 2025 - Protestants for change have an aggressive encounter with anti-changers. Because of woke.
Hold your Back (Zack Fonzovs), 2026 (filmed in 2024) - "[T]wo men going through a violent yet passionate breakup". TW for domestic violence [*Hudson is also a producer.]
Sheepskin (NFFTY 2026 [link no longer available; I'll reupdate if it appears in other places]), 2026 - "3 young criminals are being interrogated to reveal the location of their mysterious boss. But what they don't reveal, is even more deadly." CW unavailable because I haven't watched it yet [*Hudson is also a producer]
If Dating Was A Game Show (Smashed Potato Kids), 2026 - A young woman who recently got a boyfriend invites three potential bachelors to her best friend's house, so she can also start dating.
Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore.
A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.
The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes.
You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.
It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?
As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face.
You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic.
It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger. How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was.
You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?
A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.
As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage.
The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.
You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it.
The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.
By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon.
You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger.
You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time.
The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.
Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.
You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin.
You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!
There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?
You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?
Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you.
The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass.
“Why are you so surprised?”
Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move.
“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”
“What are dreams if not another reality?”
It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.
His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar.
“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse.
He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.
“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry.
Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks.
“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”
You blink back tears. “Danger?”
“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”
“Why was it after me?”
Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”
“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”
“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”
“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.
“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”
You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”
“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory.
“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”
You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”
“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”
You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”
“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”
Silence falls between you both, the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age.
“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek.
“Is this our happily ever after?”
“It can be if we choose it to be.”
“I do. Wholeheartedly.”
Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.
Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.
Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.
Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?
Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.
It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself.
“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”
A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty.
“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it.
“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you.
“Indeed. All thanks to you.”
You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy.
“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”
“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”
“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin.
“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”
“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his.
Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Grad Student!Reader (Plus-Size)
Series Summary: Forbidden fruit. Dean knew there was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was — is it worth how good it tastes? Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, the look in your eyes, and the temptation of your lips, he had a feeling it would be more than worth it.
AN: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrated it! I hope you had some quality time with your family and friends. I'm releasing this chapter a bit early because I'll be busy with some family time tomorrow.
This is a big one, friends, in more ways than one. My advice? Bring tissues, but I won’t tell you what kind of tears you might be having… 😘
Chapter Title: From Much Ado About Nothing, Act 2, Scene 1; Don Pedro to Hero
Word Count: 10.4K
Posted on Patreon: Nov. 14, 2025
Tags & Warnings: (18+ only) Hangovers, a Dick sighting and an ex encounter (Cassie enters the chat), angst and awkwardness, another big monkey wrench, smuttt (f. receiving oral and more; AKA: Dean gets on his knees), various confessions. Also, a mention of pozole for my beloved Jules (@wvffles)
♬.ᐟ Playlist: YouTube || Spotify
ᝰ.🖋️ Series Masterlist
Part 7: Speak Low, if You Speak Love
You glanced down at the bowl of lumpy banana nut oatmeal, and you groaned. You’d experienced hangovers before, but this was another level unlocked.
You’d brushed your teeth and showered, at least. Now you nursed a cup of coffee while sitting across from Dean at the two-seater kitchen table in your apartment. He looked amused while he crunched his bacon.
“How you holdin’ up over there?” he asked.
“Like death on toast,” you muttered, with a slow caffeine slurp.
“Yeah, speaking of,” he said, getting up just in time for his toast to pop up from the toaster. It was weird to see him navigating your kitchen, but he was already a pro. He even found where you kept the butterknives in no time.
Regaining his seat, he offered you a piece of toast. You took it gratefully. Bread would be safer in your stomach than oatmeal.
“I’m sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night,” you said. “But thank you…for everything. And for staying with me.”
Dean paused in his eating. He met your eyes.
“I’m glad you called.”
Charlie probably would’ve found you without his help, but he didn’t want to think about how long it might’ve taken, or what could’ve happened to you. He didn’t regret walking out his door in sweatpants under his winter coat, or paying a frankly stupid amount for a cab, or wanting to scrub his eyes out with bleach no less than five times after what he saw at that party.
“I don’t regret making sure you were safe,” he added.
You smiled, small but true.
“Thank you,” you said. “Obviously, Charlie knows about us. She seems cool with it.”
“I’m cool with it,” Charlie said, throwing up a peace sign as she walked by in her Star Wars pajamas. She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured herself some coffee. “Would’ve been cool with it weeks ago, but you know. People like to keep secrets.”
She tried to stay bubbly about it, but you could tell that was pointed at you.
“I’m sorry,” you said contritely.
She waved you off. “It’s okay.”
Was it though? She seemed dismissive, but she wasn’t looking directly at you either.
You sighed and refocused on the man in front of you. “Did anyone recognize you?”
“Well…Adam, that dipshit. He saw me. But will he remember it? I doubt it,” Dean shook his head. “Maybe other people recognized me, but it was dark, loud music, all these kids were fucking out of their minds.”
You snorted in amusement. Adam’s name still infuriated you, but you’d have to let it go. If you confronted him, it might just jog his memory on seeing Dean last night.
“Do you need anything? Like ibuprofen or something?” Dean asked.
“Already took some,” you said. “I’m okay now, for the most part. Just going to rest for however long until this stuff works its way out my system.”
“Okay. Then I’m gonna head home. Shower up. But if you need something, just let me know,” Dean said. He got up from the table and leaned in, but he hesitated, glancing over at Charlie.
“Oh, don’t mind me!” she smirked, throwing up a hand as she looked away. “I don’t see anything.”
Dean rolled his eyes, but he smiled before giving you a gentle kiss. You held him there for a moment, your hand resting on his stubbly cheek. You breathed in, grateful, relieved, content.
You were a little sad to see him go a few minutes later. Charlie walked him to the door, giving him the “nod” from best friend to…boyfriend. She later joined you at the breakfast nook and folded her arms on its surface.
“So, why didn’t you just tell me?” she asked.
You saw the thread of hurt in her eyes, and it made yours well up with tears.
“I don’t know,” you confessed, wiping at your facew with a sniffle. “At first, I just wanted to figure out what the hell I was doing. Then I guess the longer it went on, the more it became just a reflex to keep the secret—from everyone. This hasn’t been easy, Charlie. He could lose his job. I could get expelled, and what it could do to our reputations? It would really hurt us professionally.”
“You think I would tell on you? What is this, Kindergarten?” she said.
“No, obviously I didn’t think you would tell someone on purpose, but you never know. It might slip one day while we’re talking. The wrong person overhears us, and it’s over,” you said. “And after…I don’t know if Dean and I could get past that. I mean in our relationship. I think it would all really be over.”
Charlie softened. She understood then what you were really afraid of.
“You really like him, don’t you?” Charlie asked.
You bit your lip, and you nodded.
“He’s a good guy.”
She slowly smirked. “How good are we talking?”
Your lips tugged at a smile, but you dropped your face into your hands.
“Oh my God.”
“Is that how you say it every time?” she teased. “Nah, probably depends on what he’s doing to you.”
You screamed a muffled laugh into your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your giggles. Charlie cackled, tossing a small piece of toast at your head.
You spent the rest of the weekend sleeping off not only your hangover, but the entire first half of the semester. It had run you ragged, but there was only one week left until Spring Break and you only had a couple of exams. Most of your classes ended for the quarter when you submitted your midterm papers.
Come Monday, Charlie met you for lunch in a café across from campus. You took a booth in the back corner to eat your salads and sandwiches in peace.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked.
“I’m okay, honestly.” You smiled a little. “D was sweet about it. He called me again this morning just to see how I was doing, and if I needed anything.”
Charlie shook her head. “Okay, we’re going to have to come up with a better codename, because I’m gonna get confused with my Dee or your ‘D.’ Whose D is it anyway? Certainly not mine.”
You chortled. “That’s your future magic act: a dick in a box.”
As always, she went along with your silly proposition like this was some kind of improv. She mimed presenting said box to her audience like she was a magician in her own show.
“Is this your dick? No? All right, how about you, sir? Yes? Awesome! We got a match. For my next trick, I shall reattach it without surgical tools.”
You gagged and laughed at the same time.
“Okay, we’re fucking weird,” you said.
Charlie pointed at you with a baby carrot.
“And proud of it, baby,” she said, biting off the end like Buggs Bunny. “But I gotta ask, how serious is this thing? Like, is he your boyfriend? You guys have essentially been dating hardcore for almost three months now.”
You sighed. “I think so? We have a lot of fun, and we talk a lot, about everything. It goes deep, you know? He’s told me about his family, about the book he wants to write, about who he is. I’ve told him things that I’ve only ever told you.”
And he’d done things for you that you’d never experienced before, even something as simple as waking up to the talents of his mouth between your legs. (That one still made you blush.)
You trusted him in ways that sometimes didn’t feel real.
“Okay, well, I may not be a fountain of knowledge on men, but I saw it the other night,” Charlie said. “He cares about you. Like, for real. He watched you throw up in my purse and still didn’t want to leave you.”
“Ugh,” you grimaced. “Yeah, not my finest hour. I’ll reimburse you, by the way.”
She just waved you off. “It’s okay. Count it as my penance for ditching you that night.”
You snorted in amusement. Your mind turned on what she said though.
“Maybe it is time to have the ‘where are we’ talk, but I don’t know. I don’t want to push him into anything,” you said. “I’d rather it come from him.”
Charlie frowned. “Come on, dude. You’ll never get what you want if you don’t fight for it. But maybe that’s just it. What do you want here?”
You didn’t have an answer for her yet. At least, not one that you could voice.
Your heart already knew.
Friday, the last day of school before Spring Break.
Dean narrowly skirted a freshman sprinting down the hall to make it to his next exam. He must’ve overshot a midday nap, because he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, wearing some anime character on his pajama pants and a hoodie with his socks and Nike slides. He almost lost one of them when he swerved to avoid Dean.
“Hey, slow down!” Dean barked after him. “This is a hallway, not the highway.”
Geez, I sound like Dad.
Rolling his eyes at himself, he adjusted his shoulder bag and continued on the well-worn path to his office. He heard Benny’s voice before he came into view, talking to a young black woman. From behind, Dean noted her dark curly hair, her petite frame.
“There he is,” Benny pointed out.
When she turned, Dean felt the proverbial sucker punch they always talked about in the movies, the cliché that time stood still, his lungs taking a break.
“Cassie?” Her name fell from his mouth, the way it hadn’t in eight years. It was familiar, a bittersweet taste to match her smile.
“Hey, Dean,” she said.
She hadn’t changed much. Her long lashes and dark lipstick were familiar, but she was dressed sharp and professional in smart black slacks and a blue silk blouse. She had always liked blue.
Behind her back, Benny gave him a raised brow in question. You good?
Dean quirked a smile, subtly nodding in return before he focused on her.
“Hey, been a while,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m just here visiting my dad,” she explained.
And that tracked. Her father was in the Communications School teaching broadcast journalism and photography. Like father, like daughter.
“But when I heard you were teaching here, I just wanted to come see you,” she said, though she hesitated there at the end, like she hadn’t been sure if she should. It wasn’t often he saw her confidence dip. She looked a little hesitant, but hopeful. “I know this is out of nowhere, but are you too busy for a cup of coffee?”
Dean hesitated too, but he couldn’t deny, he was curious. Not just about why she was here, but why she’d sought him out. He knew it would probably be better for him if he gave some kind of excuse to politely decline, but what came out his mouth was…
“Sure,” he said.
Cassie smiled. She glanced over at Benny, a slightly awkward, polite offer to join them on the tip of her tongue, but he beat her to it.
“You guys go on. I’ve got some work to do,” he said.
Nodding, he gestured at Cassie to follow him down the hall. “Campus café hasn’t changed much. Hope you still like burnt hazelnut.”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, yeah. How could I forget that EU delicacy?”
Dean found himself smiling. He didn’t see you turning the corner on the far end of the hall, but Benny did. You watched the couple go, mostly in curiosity, but there was something about it that caused a thread of unease to coil in your stomach.
“Who was that?” you asked Benny.
“Uh, well, you know Professor Robinson?” he said.
You nodded. “Yeah, the Journalism professor?”
“Yep. That’s his daughter, Cassie.”
“Oh,” you said, trying to keep your reaction down to mild interest. “How does she and Professor Winchester know each other?”
“They both went to school here,” he revealed. “They, uh, dated for a while too.”
Your teeth sunk into your lower lip as he confirmed your suspicion. Dean had never talked about his past relationships, but you had heard about an engagement that fell apart a few years ago. You’d never had the courage to ask him about it, to pry into that chapter of his life. You had a feeling Cassie was that chapter.
“Did he forget you were working today?” Benny asked. It broke you out of your thoughts.
“Oh, no, I’m done for the week. I just wanted to say goodbye before Spring Break,” you said. “I’ll still be around though. I’m doing some hours at the library.”
“All right, well, hope you have a good break,” Benny said.
“You too!”
You waved goodbye to him as you left, but you didn’t see the contemplative expression he wore as he watched you go.
Later on your train home, you tried to ignore the stale smell of weed and piss, as well as avoid a mysterious stain on one of the seats next to you. You were zoning out on the ride. You kept picturing the way Dean looked walking side-by-side with his ex.
They’d looked good together. They made sense.
You’d just looked her up on your phone—Cassie Robinson, an award-winning journalist at the Chicago Tribune. She’d won the American Mosaic Journalism Prize for one of her long form exposes on the treatment of Asian Americans after the COVID pandemic.
Back in 2019, one of her articles that got notable acclaim was a tribute to the late Toni Morrison. Cassie argued that Morrison’s novels had won her a Nobel Prize not only because of the way they illustrated the complexities of Black culture in American society, but because they illustrated the complexities of life, and most, if not all racial minorities in this country could find an aspect of themselves in her work.
Cassie wasn’t just an excellent writer. She was persuasive, passionate, with the attitude of an activist. You could see what Dean must have seen in her, and obviously, the fact that she was a knockout totally helped your self-esteem.
You found yourself in a weak woman moment.
You texted Dean, knowing full well where he was right now.
Hey, I’m officially on break! Want to go out to dinner tonight? We could try that Italian place you’ve been talking about. The one with the cheese-filled meatballs or something?
He took a while to text you back. You were already getting off the subway when you felt the buzz in your pocket.
Sorry, can’t tonight.
You deflated a bit, but you tried not to let it bring you down. You texted back a quick reply.
Tomorrow?
Yeah, that could work. Sorry, out right now. I’ll let you know.
Well, there it was. He had a perfect opportunity to tell you what he was doing, but he hadn’t.
You breathed out disappointment, but you didn’t want to believe it was a problem, or a signal of worse things to come. What was that old line?
Oh, yeah. Beware the Ides of March.
But you attempted to reason with yourself.
They’re just talking. He’ll probably fill me in later.
In the meantime, you’d just try to focus on being productive—by filling your schedule with more tutoring gigs for over the break.
Dean didn’t really know what this was. Sitting across from Cassie at one of these plastic booths was like seeing a ghost of his twenty-six-year-old self: cocky, a bit aimless, and totally unprepared for the live projectile about to drop on him.
Cassie was that beautiful missile. She sipped her coffee now with the same smooth confidence she had back then. A smile played at her lips.
“Yeah, still shit,” she said, setting the paper cup back down.
Dean chuckled. “The amenities haven’t changed much. Though we finally got an ice cream maker. Works about as well as a McFlurry machine. Gotta wonder where all that tuition money’s going.”
She smiled. “So you’ve got both undergrad and graduate students?”
“Whatever they want to throw at me,” he said. “You’ve made a name for yourself though, over in Chicago. The awards, and the, uh, interview with that senator?”
“Thanks, but it’s only because of my dad that I got that connection,” she said. “I’m actually collaborating with him on an article. That’s mainly why I’m here…I wondered if I should try to call first, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”
Dean paused, shaking his head. “That’s all in the past, Cass. You seem to be doin’ good. More than good. Looks like you got everything you wanted.”
She flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Yeah. Um, so what about you? Think you’ll go for your doctorate?”
“Hell no,” he chuckled. “I barely made it through the second time around. Doubt I’d make it through Round 3. I’m working on other stuff now.”
That piqued her interest. “What, besides teaching?”
He nodded, unsure if he wanted to admit this or not. But screw it, he’d already opened his mouth.
“Yeah, uh, I might be working on a book,” he said. He was tempted to smile, remembering the way you’d encouraged him after finishing the first chapter. Talk about incentive.
Cassie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, seriously? What’s it about?”
“Mostly just stories from mythology, trying to show the connections between cultures that share similar legends and myths. Occasionally I add in my own takes, a couple personal anecdotes, that kind of thing,” he said. “Nothing crazy. Just a project I’ve been working on.”
She nodded, smiling.
“Look at you, Dean Winchester. I’m impressed.”
He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s probably not gonna be done for a while, but I’m working on it.”
“Well, I think that’s amazing. I mean seriously, that’s a big deal for you,” she said.
It made his head quirk. “A big deal for me? Okay.”
She laughed a little. “Well, come on, Dean. This from the guy who complained about writing a five-page essay back in grad school. You used to fall asleep in class.”
“That’s because that professor was boring as hell.”
“You said that about all of them.” Her smile turned sly. “Remember when you almost got kicked out for unscrewing the hubcaps off of Professor Chambers’ car?”
“Hey, there were barely any cameras back then. No hard proof means innocent until proven guilty,” Dean said with a smirk. Though he leaned in across the table, a conspiring gleam in his eye. “Though I seem to remember someone sitting on the edge of the second-floor balcony playing lookout.”
Her lips were sealed, but her playful smile didn’t lie.
“All I remember is you meeting up with me on that balcony. If there had been more security cameras back then, I would’ve wanted to steal that tape of what we did in front of Crowley’s office.” Her voice was smooth, and the best memories were hidden behind her eyes. “Strictly to protect the evidence, of course.”
Dean’s lips twitched. He didn’t need the tape; there was already a little movie reel playing inside his mind. His gaze dipped from her face, her full lips, down her neck and shoulders, to her slender hands. But they weren’t yours. The edge of that heat faded along with his good humor.
He nodded briefly, sitting back in his seat.
“Yeah. With all the dumb shit we did back then, who knew we’d be where we are now,” he said.
Cassie noticed his shift, biting the inside of her lip. She nodded.
“Yeah. Honestly, I still can’t believe you stayed here, and to teach.”
“Hey, no one saw that coming less than me. I was ready to pack my shit and head home after I graduated,” he said.
“What stopped you?” she asked.
He hesitated then. “I told myself it was for Sam, but maybe I just wanted to prove I could make it. Make something of myself.”
Her eyes softened. “I remember. Your brother’s the reason you came up here in the first place, but it was just for a visit, right? Why’d you stay?”
Dean’s lips quirked. “You.”
Cassie’s mouth parted, a soft “oh” of unspoken realization.
He sipped his own shitty coffee, just for a distraction. “But you knew that.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said. She took a steadying breath. “Look, Dean, I’m gonna admit to something…a little embarrassing. Which you know is hard for me.”
His almost smiled, but he just nodded, letting her continue.
“When I knew I was coming back here, it had me thinking about everything. About us. About the way I left,” she said.
It came all too easy out of her mouth, but there was a weight behind her eyes. Was it the same one he’d carried all this time?
“There’s a lot I didn’t know back then,” she said. “I was impatient, and I took some things for granted. I just wanted to say I’m sorry about that… And I’m glad you’re doing well too.”
Slowly he nodded, as he tried to process her words.
“Like I said, I’m gonna be here for a couple weeks while I work with my dad on this article. He’s writing freelance for the Tribune,” she said. “So we might just run into each other again. Unless that’s too, you know, awkward.”
Dean shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“It’s good to see you,” she said, again with that smile that used to make his chest tight.
Bullseye.
“Yeah, you too,” he said.
Spring Break came and went in a week that felt like missed opportunities. Dean thought he’d see more of you, but you told him you had to work through most of the break, taking on more tutoring jobs, since you couldn’t get your usual TA hours.
He understood that you needed to make rent, but after seeing you almost every day for the past two and a half months, his days off felt emptier, and lonelier than they should’ve been.
For once, he actually looked forward to Monday. He’d see you in the afternoon at least, even if it was within the professional context of you showing up for work at his office. Meanwhile, his ex was going to be popping up randomly across campus—a fact that you still didn’t know about, because he hadn’t been able to pin you down long enough to talk to you in person. He didn’t think that was the sort of thing you’d appreciate over text, or even over a phone call.
For fuck’s sake. When did his life get so complicated?
Regardless, he managed to have a stress-free morning come Monday, aside from his students staring at him like zombies, not used to being back from vacation. He’d been in their shoes once, so he let it slide, keeping his lectures brief and letting his classes go a few minutes early.
On his way to lunch at the school’s small food court, he got a call from Sam.
“Hey, what’s up,” Dean answered. He got in line for Shake Shack. He was in the mood for his usual: a double bacon cheeseburger with fries, extra Shack sauce.
“You want to come over tomorrow for dinner? Eileen’s making lasagna,” Sam asked.
“Sure, why not. I’ll bring the garlic bread.”
“You could bring your secret girlfriend. That’s still going on, right?”
A brief sigh fell from Dean’s lips. “You could say that.”
Sam chuckled. “What does that mean?”
“It means mind your business, Sammy,” Dean smirked. “When I’m ready for her to meet the family and have you give her the business, you’ll know.”
“What is this, The Godfather? I’m not gonna give her the ‘business,’ Dean. I don’t know why you’re being so cagey, but I’m just trying to…you know, check in.”
Guilt started to prick behind Dean’s ribs. He realized that he was keeping his brother at arm’s length more than usual. He just wasn’t ready to come clean about you. Sam worked at EU too. His father-in-law was the damn president of the school. It was just too risky.
“I get it,” Dean said, wiping a hand over his jaw absently. He was due for a shave. “Look, I appreciate it. Just give me some time, okay? If…when this gets on even footing, I do want you to meet her.”
And that was the truth, he realized. He didn’t just want you. He didn’t just care about you. He wanted this to stick. He just hadn’t felt that way since…
“All right,” Sam agreed. “Though you know, I heard Cassie’s back in town.”
Dean chuckled without much humor. He paid for his food, grabbed the tray, and tucked his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder.
“Oh, I know. I saw her right before Spring Break.”
“Jesus. How’d that go?”
“Okay, I guess. We’re civil. She’s just here to help her dad with an article he’s writing freelance for the Tribune.”
“But she sought you out.”
“Yeah. I mean, we reminisced a little. Nothing major,” Dean said. Now that he had his food on a tray, the trick was finding a damn table to sit at. This place got packed around noon, between students and faculty, and even visitors.
“You know I know you’re majorly downplaying, right?” Sam said.
“It’s fine, dude. I’m fine,” Dean stressed. “Look, I gotta go. My burger’s getting cold.”
“All right, whatever. See you tomorrow.”
Dean could hear his brother’s sass without even needing to see it. He pocketed his phone, turned, and had the unfortunate bad luck of bumping into Dick Roman. The guy had his own lunch tray, some kind of Asian salad with dry noodles, vinaigrette on the side, no croutons. No wonder the guy had no joy.
Dick similarly judged Dean’s tray. “Did you order a side of renal heart failure alongside the cheese fries, or is that just complimentary?”
Dean nodded wryly. “That’s cute. How’s construction going over at Club AARP? You gonna get your own statue in front of the school too?”
Dick maintained that dry, snake-oil-salesman-smile.
“Make sure they get those proportions right,” Dean added, gesturing at the guy’s lithe form. “Don’t wanna end up looking like Jack Skellington.”
He figured that was enough damage for one day. He aimed to pass by on his way to a finally free table, but Dick got one last dig in.
“You know, you had the right idea getting a TA,” he said. “What better way to show your hard work and dedication, than by letting a student do it for you.”
Dean’s lips pressed into a line, and Dick passed by him to claim that free table.
Fucking prick.
Dean’s afternoon classes seemed to drag on from there. He perked up, though, when you showed up at his office. His door was open, waiting for you.
You came in with a soft smile the moment you saw him, and you shut the door behind you with a soft click.
He smiled too. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you giggled lightly.
He got up from his desk chair and went to you. You met him in the middle and smiled into his kiss. His arms wrapped warmly around your waist, and your eyes fell shut as you clung to his arms. Had you missed this too?
He pulled away slow, blinking his eyes open to find yours. Seeing you was a weight off his mind.
“Long time no see,” he teased.
Your brightness dimmed. “Yeah, I’m sorry for being so busy this past week. I just…”
You were interrupted by a knock on the door. You uttered a small gasp and stepped away from him. Dean had just enough wits about him to rub your lipstick off his mouth, then clear his throat.
“Who is it?” he asked, raising his voice.
“It’s Cassie,” came the reply.
Your brows rose as you shot him a look. Dean wasn’t sure what it meant, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened, and there she was. She seemed a little surprised to find you there too.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”
Dean shook his head and beckoned you over. “This is Cassie Robinson. She’s an EU survivor, but more than that, she’s now one of the Chicago Tribune’s top journalists. Cassie, this is, uh, my TA.”
You shot him a look, trying to temper your frown. But you nodded and shook her hand, introducing yourself as well.
“I’m a grad student, English major,” you said, managing a smile. “And also his TA.”
“She keeps me put together,” Dean chimed in.
“I’m sure. Good to meet you,” Cassie said politely. Her gaze soon drifted back to Dean though. “Hey, do you have a minute?”
Dean felt your eyes on him, but he felt he had to nod. “Sure. One sec.”
He went to his desk and handed over the smallest stack of essays he could find from last quarter. He was, admittedly, a bit nervous. He wanted to make sure he sold this little play he had going on with you.
“Could you start with these?” he asked.
You nodded and played along. After all, it was your job.
You just couldn’t help staring after them as Dean led Cassie out of his office and into the hall. He drew the door in behind him, but left it open a few inches. You couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or by accident, but for you, it was just enough to hear the voices on the other side.
“So you got yourself an assistant, huh?” Cassie said.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. Benny suggested it. He was tired of me turning in shit late. In my defense, they overloaded me this year. And last year.”
Cassie nodded in amusement. “Well, it seems like it’s working out.”
“Yeah. We make a good team,” he said, crossing his arms. “So, what can I do for you?”
She seemed to steel herself a little.
“Okay, well, feel free to say no,” she said, with a breathy laugh. “But my dad told me about a really good Mexican place around the corner.”
“El Camino?” he guessed.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Dean nodded. He took you there a few weeks ago. He was just going to try the fajitas, but you put him onto pozole, some kind of meat stew with a bunch of rich spices. Now he couldn’t go there without splitting it with you.
“I’ve been. It’s good,” he said.
“Okay, great.” Cassie smiled, the kind that used to knock him on his ass. “You wanna come with, tell me what’s good? Maybe add a Happy Hour margarita or two, like we used to?”
Dean let out a heavy breath. He glanced over his shoulder and closed the door a bit more.
“Thanks for the invite, but I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Her face slowly fell. She nodded, however. “Yeah, I’m sorry. You’re probably seeing someone. I didn’t think to ask.”
“No, it’s not that,” he said, even though the lie stung on his tongue. “I just, uh…I can’t do this.”
Cassie considered him with a tilt of her head, trying to get a read on him. It was harder than it used to be.
“I know it’s been a long time. I probably don’t have the right to do all this,” she said. “I know I’m not here that long, but I just kind of…miss us. I miss how easy it was. At least, until that last bit.”
He nodded at that. A few years ago—hell, even a few months ago, he would’ve stared into her eyes and fallen back into that place; familiar, full of young idealism, where just two years felt like the precursor to a lifetime.
Since then, Dean had come to realize that loneliness was a bitter thing, and it too often shook hands with regret.
“I get that,” he said, a rueful quirk of his lips. “What we were, it was good, Cass. I don’t regret that. Never will. But I think you and I were meant to walk away from each other when we did.”
Her face dimmed further. Emotion gathered the beginnings of tears in her eyes, but she managed to blink them away.
“I understand,” she nodded. After a brief hesitation, she touched his arm. “I am sorry, you know.”
He covered her hand with his.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
After he shut the door, you couldn’t hear what was said until Dean came back into the office. He and Cassie said their goodbyes, and you tried not to make it seem like you’d been straining to listen into their conversation. You were only human.
You tried to continue working, even as Dean sat back down in his chair, expelling a long sigh and rubbing his face with both hands.
“Sorry about that,” he said, but he didn’t offer any other information.
Your brows furrowed. You set down your red pen and turned toward him.
“Wasn’t that your ex-fiancé?” you asked.
The question surprised him, even though he knew it shouldn’t have. Word had a way of getting around this school. If you knew though, he was also surprised you hadn’t confronted him with it earlier.
“Who told you that?” he asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you countered, getting up from your seat. “I saw you with her last week, before Spring Break. And you lied to me.”
Dean’s face fell in confusion. He rose to his feet along with you.
“Wait a minute, I didn’t lie to you.”
“When I asked you if you wanted to grab dinner after work, you didn’t tell me you were with her, talking, reminiscing, waxing nostalgic over cappuccinos,” you said.
He expelled a breath, swiping a hand over his chin. It was a tick of his you knew well.
“Don’t I deserve a heads up?” you asked. “If not, then what are we doing here, Dean?”
He briefly closed his eyes on a sigh. “Look, let’s not do this here, okay?”
You huffed and began to pack up your stuff. So he could fuck you here, but he couldn’t be honest with you about his past?
You slung your bag over your shoulder.
“Fine. I’m just going to take these essays to-go. Humanities I, right? They’re a hot mess as usual, so I suggest giving a 5-point curve after I’m done.”
“Sweetheart—”
“After that, I’ve got a tutoring session at 7:30. See you tomorrow.”
He watched you go in annoyance, his imploring hand hanging in mid-hair.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Anger and upset fueled your steps. You were just going to take the essays you collected in your bag to the library. There was no hard rule that said you had to work in his office.
But you did end up almost clipping someone’s shoulder on your way to the elevator. Of fucking course it was Adam Milligan.
“Whoa, trouble in paradise?” he said with a smirk.
You turned toward him in annoyance just at the sight of him, but once his words registered, your eyes narrowed.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Adam leaned in, all conspiring like, and lowered his voice. “Not sure you want me to say that one out loud. You know, I don’t like to gossip about workplace relationships.”
Your mouth slowly fell open in shock.
But then, your jaw locked, and your face hardened along with your resolve. You grabbed his wrist and pulled him with you into the closest stairwell, ignoring his protests until the two of you were out the first-floor exit door and behind the building.
You finally let go of his wrist, spinning to face him.
“All right, what’s your problem?” you snapped. He crossed his arms.
“Me? I got no problem.” He smirked. “You’re just not exactly the kind of teacher’s pet I took you for. Fucking your professor is a hell of an easy A.”
You almost slapped him. Your fists clenched at your side as a rage-filled sound escaped your lips.
“You’re such a fucking asshole, you know that, right? Where do you get off making this kind of shit up? It’s not funny—”
“Oh, save it,” Adam said. “I saw Winchester there at Joey’s party. I saw him and some redhead helping you out to the cab.”
But then, his assholeness seemed to soften. Guilt began to bleed through his blue eyes as he shifted, jaw clenched as he stared at the ground, then back up at you.
“I’m sorry for that night, okay? It was a dick move, giving you that drink. I’d already had a few…”
“Normal ones, or cocktails infused with magic mushrooms?” you deadpanned.
“Normal ones,” he said, with a wan smile. “I just thought it’d be funny to see you loosen up. I didn’t know you’d drink the whole fucking thing, let alone react like that…but it’s good he was there to help you. I’ve been through bad trips. It’s not fucking fun.”
You were more than a little surprised by his apology, but you slowly accepted it with a nod.
“Yeah, that’s now in my top 5 worst core memories, so thanks for that,” you said wryly. You bit your lip. “Adam, please, don’t tell anyone what you saw, or what you just said.”
His smirk slowly returned. “Sure, I can do that. If you’ll write my essays for the rest of spring semester.”
And just like that, he was back on your hit list.
“How about this. I will tutor you and help you work on your essays for $25 an hour,” you said, raising a hand when he scoffed. “Or I’ll go to the police and fill out a report—all about how you roofied me with illegal drugs at a party. I have my roommate and at least three other witnesses.”
Not including Dean.
Adam’s eyes narrowed. “It’s been weeks. You don’t have actual proof it was drugs.”
“Maybe not, but do you really want to take a chance on the school hearing about our ‘he said, she said’? You don’t want to play with your scholarship, do you?” you challenged.
“How do you know I’m on scholarship?”
“You look like you shop at Target blindfolded. I know, because I shop there too. We’re all on scholarship here, except for the trust fund kids.”
Again, Adam eyed you like he’d underestimated his enemy, but was begrudgingly impressed.
“You’re more devious than you look,” he said.
You leveled a pointed finger at him in warning. “You out me, and I’ll out you.”
The two of you were at the equivalent of a Mexican standoff.
He caved first.
“Truce?” he offered, along with his hand. You shook it once.
“Truce,” you said. “I’m available for tutoring on Thursdays at 2:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m.”
He frowned. “I typically hit the gym during that time.”
You shrugged and opened the door to the school building.
“Figure it out, flunkie. You’re the one who’s failing Screenwriting. Kind of important for a future filmmaker, right?” you said. You’d learned that from Joey, who’d been making fun of him for it loudly in the hallway a couple of weeks ago.
Adam followed you back inside the building, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“You’re annoying,” he groused.
“And you’re trying my patience,” you snapped. “See you on Thursday. I accept cash, Venmo, and PayPal.”
Adam tipped his head back and groaned.
You smiled in satisfaction. You were a little proud of yourself, but it didn’t change the fact that yet another person knew about you and Dean, and this little “truce” wasn’t exactly foolproof. But, at least it was under control for now. Adam was lazy, but he didn’t want to fail. You also knew (from Adam’s loud complaints) that his parents would actually make him work for their money back if he flunked out of grad school.
You two parted ways after leaving the stairwell. You were continuing on your path to the library when your phone trilled a familiar ringtone—the one you set for Dean. It was a simple text message.
Hey, can we talk?
Despite your better judgment, you agreed to meet him at his apartment. By the time he welcomed you inside, you were less mad and more upset. And tired. Exhausted really. All of this stress was starting to take its toll again, on your mind and on your body.
“You, uh, want a beer?” he offered.
You sighed and dropped your bag on the floor by the couch. Your hands went to your hips.
“I really just want you to answer my question. What are we doing here, Dean?” you asked. “After months of being together, going to dinner, talking, and hanging out…after you held me through literally the worst night of my life, is this still something casual for you? Or am I just something to do in the meantime, before you get to reconnect with Cassie?”
Dean stared back at you, a kind of sadness weighing his brows. It took him long enough to answer that hot tears began to well up in your eyes, against your will.
“I can see why she’s the one who got away,” you said, as you crossed your arms. Part of you was just holding yourself, waiting for the final blow. “She’s sharp, beautiful, literally an award-winning journalist.”
And you…
“And I’m just the TA, right?” you shrugged, a wry edge in your voice. “Not a graduate student, soon to have a master’s degree in English, but the lowly assistant. Coffee and a blowjob, coming right up.”
Dean frowned in earnest. He shook his head, stepping closer to you.
“Come on, you know that’s not how I meant that,” he said. “She surprised me today, okay? I was just trying not to let on that this was more than it looked like.”
You paused. You turned that around in your mind, and as you replayed the scene a couple of times, you began to see his point.
“Okay, that’s fair.” You calmed yourself down enough to formulate the rest of your thoughts. “Look, I don’t know how you feel, or what you see when you look at me, but I care about you. I think I could really fall for you.”
A shaky breath fell from your lips, and you wiped at your cheeks in vain. Dean approached you in measured steps, his boots thumping on the hardwood floor.
“Actually, I think I’m already there. So, if you’re not, then maybe we should stop—”
Dean held you by your shoulders and interrupted you soundly with his kiss. The kind of kiss that answered all half-spoken questions.
You grabbed onto the open edges of his green flannel and sighed lightly into his mouth. His brows furrowed harder as he cupped your cheeks, stroking your jaw with his thumbs. He only pulled away when he was satisfied you understood, blinking his eyes open and staring into yours.
“You don’t have to compare yourself with Cassie,” he said. “Because there is no comparison. She’s the one who left me. You’re the one I want to stay.”
Your voice got trapped somewhere in your throat. He wiped the tears from under your lashes, gently.
“You’re the one I think about every goddamn day,” he confessed. “I look at you, and it scares me. It fucking terrifies me, because I can see it already. I can see myself jumping the gun all over again, like trying to convince you to move in with me the minute you graduate. I see movie nights, pizza and beer, and other greasy bad decisions. Hell, I want you to meet my brother. Though I’m still gonna have to figure out how to explain that one.”
His words steadily softened your heart from its breaking, but at that last part, your eyes widened.
“That might be a bit difficult,” you said softly.
“Yeah, but Sam and Eileen are cool. They’ll love you once they get to know you. I can see us making a trip to Kansas, so you can meet my mom. She’ll fall in love with you too…” He chuckled. “Shit, I see too much, probably.”
You shook your head. He held you closer, his hands moving down your waist, allowing you to reach up and caress his face with both hands. His stubble was rough and halfway to a beard, prickling at your palms.
“All of that sounds just right to me,” you said.
Dean smiled, then he bowed his head to claim your lips again. Once, twice, sucking your lower lip into his mouth, dragging with teeth when he pulled away. He backed you up until the wall met you. An idea grew in his mind as he trapped you there, plundering your mouth with his tongue, taking your heady moans as a sign.
You undressed each other in between him grinding his hips against yours. His layers of jacket, shirt, and belt were cast away with your sweater and tank top, bra and jeans. His lips trailed down your neck, a burning path that already had you panting in his ear. His fingers pushing aside your panties and finding their way inside your wet, slippery channel had you whimpering, clenching on his fingers.
“I got you, sweetheart,” he said into your skin. “Don’t hold back. I wanna hear that pretty mouth.”
Despite the bravado, his shaky breaths traced your collarbone as he kissed his way lower, squeezing one of your tits as he mapped his way down your body. Your thighs were already trembling by the time his knees hit the hardwood, and he dragged your panties all the way down to your ankles. You grabbed his shoulder for balance when he slipped your thigh over his shoulder.
He looked up, meeting your wild eyes. A hot flush heated your cheeks, your mouth parted with something like awe.
Dean took it a little slower then, letting his lips graze the inside of your thigh. Occasionally he left small bites behind, sucking harder on sensitive skin the closer he got to your pussy.
He parted your slippery folds with two fingers and dove in with his mouth. His tongue prodded at your sensitive hole, causing a full body shudder ran through you as you tried to stay upright against the wall. Your legs shook, and you could imagine that his knees were hurting on the hard wood.
“Dean, you don’t have to…” Your voice faltered with a moan. “Bedroom is right around the corner.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he said.
You felt the shape of his words on your pussy. You sunk your fingers through his hair, caressing, then clenching tight, your mouth falling open in a near silent cry when he sucked on your clit. You bucked against his mouth on reflex.
“Jesus, Dean…”
Two long fingers slipped deep inside you, curling just right. With a few well-placed strokes, he was making that hot coil snap in your core. You came hard on his fingers, a harsh breath punching out of you. Your nails scraped against his scalp.
“Holy shit,” you breathed.
He laughed, letting his forehead fall against your thigh. You held him to you more gently, more soothing through his hair. He got to his feet and led you back into his arms. Your kiss connected with his, sloppy and imperfect. But he was yours. You knew it now.
Words were powerful, but actions were just as important. No man had ever got down on his knees for you.
“Come on,” he said. His hand pressed into the small of your back and led you around the corner, into his room. You liked the simplicity of it—beige walls and dark wood furniture to match the rest of the apartment, brass lamps on each nightstand, dark green bedspread.
You thought it all suited him well, but you liked it best when he was guiding you to his bed and stripping off the rest of his clothes, boots and jeans and anything that didn’t mean skin against flushed skin. He followed you into bed, until his arms were a cage on either side of your head. His knees caused divots into the mattress as he lowered into the cradle of your soft thighs.
You pushed on his chest lightly. “Wait, I wanna taste you first,” you said, a teasing gleam in your eyes. “Repay the favor.”
A playful smile spread across your lips, and Dean returned it in amusement. He gave you a kiss that hinted with teeth. But instead of pushing away, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, digging into the pillows. Your eyes widened, alight with surprise.
“I like how eager you are to please, but tonight, I want you like this,” he said. “That okay?”
You nodded breathlessly. He shook his head.
“Uh-uh, that’s not gonna work, sweetheart,” he said. His thumbs caressed the inside of your wrists. “Tell me if you want it like this.”
“Y-Yeah,” You managed, with difficulty, while he leaned down to kiss your neck. You tilted your head to give him more room, your eyes fluttering shut. His stubble prickled along your skin, causing a delicious shiver down your spine. Your nipples tightened, brushing against his chest.
“Yeah? Just yeah? Be specific,” he growled. “You want me to fucking ruin you, don’t you?”
“Yes, Dean. Please, for fuck’s sake,” you begged.
He smiled into your skin. That was what he was waiting for, the desperation in your voice.
So he rewarded you by keeping your wrists pinned together with one hand while he teased you with the other. His hips ground against your bare pussy while he kissed your neck, teased your tits, so full in his hands; he rolled and pinched, and eventually traced his tongue around your sensitive nipples. His mouth and fingers did anything and everything to work you up, until his name was a desperate moan in your mouth.
You rolled your wrists under his grip on reflex. You squirmed and writhed and panted while his hand found a smooth path over every curve of your body, squeezing the flesh of your hip, and finally dipping between your legs. His fingers breached your folds and began to play with your pussy, getting you hot and worked up again.
He dipped two fingers inside your weeping hole, then moved up to your clit, just brushing it with his fingers light enough to make little sparks erupt in your lower belly, but nowhere near enough to help you find another release.
Your nails bit into his wrist on reflex. “Dean.”
He smirked down at you. “What’s the matter?”
“Wanna touch you too,” you said, a smile reflexively forming on your lips. “Either that, or fuck me already.”
His grin turned into a chuckle. “Oh, we’ll get there. Just be a good girl and be patient for me.”
He licked your wetness off of one finger, but had you taste yourself on the other. You sucked his ring finger down to the knuckle and met his eyes. There was a challenge in yours, as if telling him what he could have right now if he let you go.
He knew he could let you take charge, twist him onto his back, work your way down his body until your perfect mouth made him see God.
But he tightened his grip on your wrists and withdrew his other hand from your lips. He then grabbed your thigh and angled you just right, so he could finally push inside you. You were more than ready for his cock, warm and slick and thrumming with need.
Your cry of pleasure rang right in his ear, had his balls clenching.
“Fuck. You always feel so goddamn good,” he gritted into your skin. He liked the place where your neck met your shoulder. He often made his mark there, sucking and biting while he was this deep inside you. Especially now that you were on birth control. Letting him fuck you raw made him fall half in love with you right then and there.
“You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?” he said. “Wanna know one of my fantasies?”
“What?” you asked, breathless, but curious. You were clinging to his back, aimlessly seeking any divot of muscle to find purchase on.
“I think about bending you over my desk like that first night, over and over again ‘til we break the fucking frame. Matter of fact…”
He pulled out of your heat, just to guide you onto your stomach. You gasped at the motion, but you looked over your shoulder at him with a smile. Your eyes were molten with arousal, excitement. It satisfied him on a primal level.
He pulled one of your wrists behind your back, carefully, as not to hurt you. He let you keep your other hand just to keep yourself stable against the mattress. Your nails bit into the sheets when his cock breached you again, sliding back in. You moaned. Your inner walls gripped him tight, as if welcoming him home.
He covered your body with his and swept your hair away from your back, so he could lay a tantalizing kiss along your spine.
“This okay?” he checked.
You nodded. “Mhmm.”
“Words, baby.”
“Yeah—yes. Yes, Dean. Please.”
“Okay, I’ve got you. Just relax.”
He could later admit, he pushed you to the fucking brink. Despite how he might’ve wanted to be softer and slower for you, he took you hard and fast. Your cries and whines muffled into his pillow, especially when you came around his cock, toes curling, breath shaken.
He followed close behind, his body locking up on him as he spilled deep inside you. A ragged groan fell from his lips.
He released your wrist, and his damn near oppressive hold on your hip and ass cheek became less bruising, more soothing. As he caught his breath, he kissed lazily up your spine, tasting the slight salty tang of sweat as you shuddered. You were boneless against the bed. Your heart felt like it was beating in and out of rhythm.
Dean soon pulled out and guided you to lay out more relaxed into the mattress. He held you from behind, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
“You okay?” he chuckled.
You reached back and finally got the chance to sink your fingers back in his hair, scratching his scalp fondly with your nails.
“Oh, yeah.”
His hand slipped back around you, first just soothing across your skin. But you realized that his hold was possessive—tender, but firm along your hip, up your side, across your stomach, and back down in between your legs. His fingers found the mix of his spend and yours, rolling your clit with plenty of lubrication to spare. You whimpered, even though your hips bucked into his hand a little on reflex.
“Dean, I can’t…can’t come anymore.”
“Oh, yes you can,” he said. His voice was a rasp of aged whiskey. “Just one more for me, baby. Come on…”
He nibbled your ear, eliciting your shiver as his fingers strummed you gently, like a five-string guitar. Your thighs trembled, and your inner walls eventually clenched around his fingers. Shallow breaths escaped you as your pleasure built again, slow rolling to that heady rush.
He coaxed another orgasm that had your body shaking and a curse falling from your lips. He leaned over and captured them in an all-consuming kiss. His hand didn’t stop until you whined at the overstimulation, grabbing his wrist. He finally eased up and let you rest.
You turned onto your back and caught your breath. There you reached up to caress his cheek with a slightly trembling hand.
You sighed and smiled, “Okay, I’m officially calling you my boyfriend.”
He blinked at you. A beat of confusion, then a rush of fond amusement sucker-punched a laugh from deep in his gut. He turned his head and kissed your palm.
“Yeah, we’ll go with that,” he said.
“Yeah? Just yeah,” you teased. You tugged him down to you for another kiss, whispering near his lips, “Be specific.”
His whole chest shook with laughter.
He had you in his arms for the rest of the night.
You woke beside him in the early morning. It wasn’t the first time, and you hoped it wouldn’t be the last. He forgot to close the blinds last night, so the open window let in a few golden rays behind your head. For a moment, you watched little tiny dust particles dance in the air, illuminated by the day’s first light.
Dean had turned over in his sleep, so you were faced with the constellation of freckles across his back. You began to plot out another few from where you’d left off before, itching to trace every single one. You did give into the urge to kiss a small, faint cluster beneath his shoulder.
Dean took in a deeper breath. It told you he was awake.
You shimmied closer behind him and slid your arm around his waist, pressing another kiss between his shoulders. He covered your hand with his and squeezed.
“You’re up early,” he rumbled.
“What time is it?” you whispered.
“Seven.”
“Sorry, did I wake you up?”
He grunted softly. “I’m a light sleeper.”
“Hmm. You don’t snore like one,” you teased.
He gave you some side-eye over his shoulder. But he turned in your arms so he could welcome you against his chest. You spread your palm against his chest, letting your nails graze back and forth against his skin. Your lower lip got gently grabbed by your teeth, as was your habit.
Dean recognized it as your thinking face.
“All right, ask your question,” he said, smiling as his eyes slid shut. “I might fall back asleep before I answer, but let it rip.”
You were amused, but you knew he wasn’t going to like what you had tumbling around in your mind.
“Why did Cassie break off your engagement?” you asked.
That made the smile slip from his face. He sighed.
“That’s a conversation better had with coffee.”
“...Yeah, I’m sorry,” you said. “Just go back to sleep.”
Dean opened his eyes and glanced down at you. He almost groaned. Instead, he just tried to wipe the grogginess from his face.
“We met when I came up to visit Sam at law school,” he said. “He dragged me to some function his girlfriend’s family was hosting. Turned out to be here at EU. Cassie was there with her dad. I met her, and I stayed, applied and got into grad school. Just one semester later, I moved into her place. A year and some change after that, we were engaged.”
“Wow. Whirlwind romance,” you quietly remarked.
He shook his head at those memories. “It was too fast. I proposed right after we graduated. She was just starting out in her career when she got the call from the Tribune. Not that she told me she was applying out there in Chicago.”
That had been a “fun” argument. Dean looked back on it now with a shake of his head, rubbing his eyes. They both had been young, and so not on the same page on virtually anything, except for the fact that they cared about each other. Cassie just realized it first.
“You didn’t want to follow her?” you asked.
“I was willing,” he admitted. “She cleverly pointed out that I still didn’t really know what the hell I wanted to do. But truth is, I wasn’t crazy about moving again, let alone to Chicago, trying to find a job there. It was too far from my brother, the rest of my family.”
He let out a deep breath.
“And she knew that. One night, I came home from school and saw her bags packed by the door. She just…told me it wouldn’t work.”
That night filled his mind with shades and shadows, sepia tones of nostalgia and the dull throb of heartache.
All Dean could do was stand in her way. His boots were planted in the doorway as he stared back at her, brows furrowed. A sharp sting of betrayal splintered his insides and came out like anger. His arms fell to his sides in disbelief.
“So this is it, huh? You’re not even gonna give me a chance?”
“Dean, I’m a realist,” Cassie said. Tears glistened and fell, sliding down her cheeks every time she blinked. “We let ourselves jump into this thing without a plan. I love you, but if you come with me, sooner or later you’re going to resent me. So just…let me go.”
“Didn’t matter what I said. She put the ring in my hand, and she left.” Dean shrugged. “I didn’t want to believe it, but I got to thinking that maybe she was right. Convinced myself she had bigger and better things on the horizon without me.”
He smiled a little. “And she did. Chicago just ended up being a pit stop for her. She went on to travel the world, be an activist through her writing, everything she ever wanted to do.”
You frowned at his self-deprecating tone.
“You don’t think she would’ve done all those things with you by her side?” you asked. Dean hummed low in contemplation.
“I don’t think I would’ve made it easier, put it that way.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I like me a road trip, don’t get me wrong,” he said. “But even then, young as I was, I wanted roots. I wanted what I grew up with, you know? The house, the family package, and someone who wanted that too. Cassie wasn’t in that place then. And even if she is now…it can’t be with me.”
He met your gaze then. His thumb brushed against your cheek.
“I like roots,” you admitted. A blush warmed in your cheeks, and he definitely felt it.
He smiled. He bent his head and gave you a soft kiss. He was comfortable with his choices, then and now. Hindsight might be 20/20, but earning that clarity was worth the struggle of the past. He was glad you were here.
And you?
You would happily stay in this world, and in this light. It seemed like it would last a while.
AN: happy sighs. The end of this chapter goes really well with "World We Created" by Givēon, for those who like the music playlist for this series. ❤️
What did you think of the Cassie of it all — and Adam's little attempt at extortion — and Dean and reader taking another meaningful step forward? 😂
And are you ready for the Shakespearean twist (clusterfuck) coming up next?
Next Time:
“Hello, Dr. Roman,” Marv said with a nod, even as wariness prickled inside him.
Dick nodded back to him, more as a cursory politeness. “Marv.”
They stepped into the elevator together. Dick pressed the button for the second floor where his office was. His hand kept a hover over the other buttons and turned to Marv.
“Where are you headed?”
“Same floor. Dr. Crowley’s office.”
“I see,” Dick said. He noticed Marv’s uncomfortable fidget, a bit of trouble in his shifty eyes. “Something wrong?”
“Well…yes,” Marv admitted. He knew the inherent dangers in who he was talking to, but the information trapped in his brain was teeming for release. “I’ve been hearing suspicious rumors for some time, but after what I just heard, it’s now been confirmed. I just didn’t know if I should go to Dr. Crowley, or directly to Dr. Leahy himself.”
That drew Dick’s intrigue with raised brows. The elevator dinged as it reached the second floor, but after the two men stepped off into the hall, Dick held the shorter man back by his shoulder.
“What exactly did you hear?” he asked. “Maybe I can help you present the situation to the right ears.”
📕 KEEP READING: PART 8
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For every memory, for every feeling, for every shed tear, for every story, for every option, for every character, for every dialogue, for every song, for every Easter egg, for every line of code, for every newsletter, for every ending, for every beginning.
For your patience, for your integrity, for your perseverance, for your kindness, for your justice, for your bravery, for your hope, for your determination.
For everything.
Thank you, for being you.
I think this was the fastest that I ever drawn something fully rendered, and I’m still pissed that I missed Undertale’s birthday by 2 days.
But, are least it’s done, that’s what matters.
I cannot put into words how much Undertale means to me, but I will try:
To be honest, I don’t even remember how I came to know Undertale, someday I just started knowing about it’s existence. And I was already a big fan, despite never even playing the game, only watching let’s play on YouTube. I was really young back then, easily amazed by everything, but Undertale stuck to me like glue, it was like I found pure gold.
Back then I was too young to know what a fandom even was, didn’t really talked to people online about it, only enjoyed fanworks and the game itself, and I’m glad at the same time that I feel unlucky for missing out on the early days of the fandom, it was a wild, uncontrollable beast both in a amazing and terrible way. Nowadays it’s still pretty wild, but unfortunately more for the worst then it is for the best.
Back then I was consuming everything Undertale related like a starving man in the middle of the desert, one of the things that made me go absolutely feral was Underverse back in 2016. For me it was absolute cinema, pure peak, perfection, nowadays I can criticize a thing or two about it, but damn I was an hardcore Underverse (and Cross) fanboy.
The funniest thing about it is that back then I didn’t even know how to speak English, so I just made the lore up in my head, I don’t remember what shit I came up with in my head but it was probably pretty cringy. And when I finally got to learn English, I was like, “holy shit, the thing I thought was peak is even more peak then I thought” FR Underverse lore is mad good, even back then it was one of the most original AUs out there and I was pretty surprised when I realized that it came out only one year after og Undertale, for me UV was way more recent, but I guess that because I have pretty bad time perception.
Surprisingly enough, for how much I hyper focused on the game. one day I just… dropped Undertale. Other interests came like Furry, HTTYD, Troll Hunters, Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Omori, Pokémon, Ordem Paranormal, etc… and Undertale got left behind, for many, many years.
Until one day… YouTube recommends me Underverse 0.7-2.
It all went downhill from there /j.
I was like, “oh, wow, I haven’t seen this since…. Since… I don’t even remember. Gonna save it to watch it later.”, then I took more then 3 weeks to actually watch it. But when I did, I rewatched the WHOLE thing. Back then, Underverse had like, 3 or 4 episodes, and now there are is a more then 2 hours long movies. I saw that and went “Holy shit I it’s there’s so much stuff here”, it was an amazing experience, watching it all again, seeing how Jackei improved over the years… and seeing that she also disabled the comments on most videos. I wonder why…. (I know what y’all did).
It was like I opened a black hole and it sucked me back to the original brainrot, that includes Undertale and FNaF, and probably some other media that I do t remember. And now I cannot live without it. I’m glad that I got back into it, because honestly, even after 10 years, it’s still amazing, and it will continue to be even 100 years from now.
Undertale brings me great comfort, it eases my anxiety thinking about it, and I often daydream about the AUs on a daily basis, it is a point of reference for my art and writing, and I feel like I have been partially raised by the game because it affects even my morality and line of thinking. Be silly for the sake of being silly, enjoy the time I have with friends because I love them, be my true self because that’s who I am, wonder if people are really all that bad, and if they can be good if they just try.
By now I have yapped a lot about my experience with watching Undertale, but what did I think about when I actually managed to buy and play the game?
“… Wow.
…. This is absolute peak.”
I was so into it that I finished the game in a few days time, did the pacifist route first, but I didn’t get the chance to finish the genocide route bc I got stuck on Undyne the Undying and the computer I bought the game on is now with my brother who no longer lives with me so :,)
But I WILL finish every route on the game. One day.
Also, DELTARUNE
….. unfortunately will not be really talked about ont his post because if I do it will longer then it already is. But it had pretty much the same effect as Undertale, and it blows my mind that Toby made only UT to see if he could make Deltarune.
Enough talking about my experiences, now let’s talk about the drawing:
Originally I had planned to draw every character as 10 year olds, to celebrate the anniversary. I would post a single piece for every individual character everyday until 15/09, where I would post a big piece with every character side by side.
That plan went downhill because I didn’t have the time to actually make it happen.
Then, one wonderful night I thought, “Hmm, Undertale’s anniversary is this month… I’m pretty sure it’s on the end of it, but let me check.” It was, in fact, not on the end of the month. And I found out about it on the 14th. One day before.
I lowkey panicked when I saw it, and started drawing right away. I tried to do the original idea of every character as 10 year olds, but it just didn’t fly. The drawing wasn’t drawing.
So I started the last minute idea: redraw the surface scene. And that drawing was drawing unlike the other drawing!
It is definitely rushed in some areas, result of being desperately drawn in a span of 3 days. But I’m satisfied of how it turned out, by the end of it, Procreate was starting to bug out and became really slow and that drove me to draw even faster because I thought that I was gonna lose the drawing if I didn’t save it, lowkey Procreate was acting really buggy and slow to respond. But fortunately I nothing happened!
Pretty sure this thing has over 20 layers, the lighting was not easy to do at all.
Let me grab the file data real quick
Uuhhhhhhhh…..
I think I over did it.
Also one last thing about the character placement:
Originally it looks like this:
I changed (mostly) everyone’s placement because I wanted Frisk to be in the middle, with Toriel by their side, so it ended up with Undyne, Papyrus, Sans, Frisk, Toriel, Alphys and then Asgore. Also Chara and Asriel are there because lowkey the story revolves around them and they are super important and they need to be in the art.
Also, remember when Toby posted this?
This was mine submission:
Idk why the background is white when everyone else’s is black.
If you read this until here, wow, thank you! Comment something about it!
That’s pretty much it. Happy 10th anniversary, Undertale!
Warnings: mentions of grief, presumed death, & heavy yearning.
Synopsis: It’s been years since you’ve last heard about Gabriel Reyes, and it’s taken you a long time to put yourself back out there. Now, you find yourself at a lavish party amongst the worlds elite after a kind invitation from Maximillian. Here, you dance with someone who reminds you of your late lover…
It seems all too cruel yet, the man dancing with you in a masquerade costume brings you right back to the late nights you spent mourning a love lost.
AO3 , Overwatch Masterlist
Your time in Paris had finally come to a head tonight, your duty was to simply go to a lavish party held by an esteemed venture-capitalist known as Maximillian. It was all for business relations, no matter how shady Max’s nearly endless associates were.
Slipping your invitation to one of the many bouncers at the gate, you were soon welcomed to what you’d call a disgusting show of wealth. Of course, this party had to take place at one of the many casinos he owned— but obviously his most lavish.
Gold interiors met the contrast of the red, white, and black of the blackjack tables. Waitstaff skated across the marbled floors nearly silent, graceful.
You were completely out of place, such an upscale casino and hotel… only time would tell how much longer you could stand to be around these people.
Repeated swells of crescendos and singing from violas echoed in the domed walls of the dance hall. Clacking footfalls on the dance floor are deafened by a band playing seemingly endless music.
A hand on your shoulder alerted you to a man— dressed in a skull mask and extravagant red costume. He matched the idea of the party perfectly. He bowed before you, presenting a hand;
An offer to dance.
You hadn’t in years but still took his gloved hand. Something about this visage of death was familiar, maybe it was a reminder of a man whom you once loved. Taken from you too early for you to truly know him, but too late for you to ever forget his face.
The two of you danced in a waltz, quickly floating across the floor. Your hand laid on his shoulder while he held the other, his other laid on your waist. You spun with him in a dizzying flurry. You never met his eyes behind the mask, instead losing yourself to your own grief.
A man who you loved deeply, first lost to the horrors of war, then lost forever by a violent accident— the loss of Overwatch. The years spent together only muddied by the grief of losing him and the many years forward. Time never stopped, yet you were almost lost to it.
Your feet still stepped in motion with the man before you, the visual of the both of you spinning quickly overshadowed by the bright red of his cape wrapping around you.
Time may have slowed for him, but before you knew it your time with him had passed. A curt bow to you was all you saw before he melted into the large crowd of people. You didn’t even get to catch his name,
Only the distant memory of his touch and a glimpse of his cape. You’d never forget that mask,
Maybe it was because of how much it reminded you of Gabriel Reyes.
Just watched a YouTube video about the underground Tokyo drifting subculture tonight and it got me to write this little suggestive drabble, set in the Rendezvous AU. Lightly researched and edited. A little abrupt ending. Maybe there could be a smutty follow-up part 2??? Price x reader x Nik
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John and Nik get a little nostalgic about cars and discovers something new about Fixer!Reader in the process.
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Late Friday night
"Where are we going again, love? We're outside Tokyo city limits, aren't we?"
You shoulder check, smoothly executing a last-minute lane change over to the left to take the exit off the expressway. You glance at John, then at Nik in the rearview mirror.
"Yes. We're on the outskirts of Yokohama. We're going to a car meetup in Daikoku. It's one of the most popular places for car enthusiasts to congregate. Need to meet with a contact for some intel, she insists on a face to face, and she's going to be there with her car. There's going to be a lot of cool classic and exotic cars there too."
You smile as you watch both men's eyes light up with interest.
++++++++++
You watch, highly amused, as both men take in the sheer breadth and width of classic, exotic and souped-up cars arrayed in the Daikoku parking area.
"We're early. We can wander for a bit before my face-to-face meeting."
Striding between both men, you listen to them wax nostalgic about the cars they first drove, had tinkered with, or always wanted to drive.
John talks about his first car, a navy blue second-hand Ford Escort hatchback from the late 80s.
"Nothing exciting about that, I'm afraid," he claims. "Everybody was driving a Mark III back then–they were everywhere."
But he had also grown up reading dog-eared paperback novels written by Ian Fleming and also by Clive Cussler, and he always had a soft spot for the classic American and British cars described in those books.
"Reckon someday when I retire I was going to get myself a project car to tinker on. This place might give me some ideas."
Nik hums, stopping to admire a gorgeously restored Porsche 944 and a Lotus Esprit Turbo parked next to it.
"You have good taste, John. For me, my preferences run a little more recent to the 80s and 90s."
Then, looking at the car parked next to the Lotus, the Russian grins, rubbing his hands as his eyes widen in recognition.
"Oh ho! Is this what I think it is? It is!"
Arms wide open, he strides over to a white, boxy, no-frills car.
He turns to you and John, animated.
"The car of my youth! Now this, this is a Lada Niva 4 by 4. Excellent for off-roading! I spent many a winter ice drifting on lakes with one of these! And, well, fixing them because I was...let us say…I did not take care of my belongings as well as I do now."
Then he clears his throat, more memories coming back to him. He scratches the back of his head as he smiles, reminiscing fondly.
"I...ah...also had many other wonderful memories, especially in the back of the Niva too," he winks at you.
You laugh out loud, unable to help yourself.
"Of course you did. It explains how you're so good maneuvering in tight spaces," you say drolly, earning a raised eyebrow and a gleam of interest from the Russian.
You turn to John.
"And you? Did you fog up the car windows a time or two as well when you were younger?"
The Brit rubs his cheek, mouth twitching, trying to choose his next words carefully.
"I...might have done that a time or two in my youth. I mean, haven't we all--" he shrugs helplessly at Nik.
Nik chuckles, rescuing the other man by turning the line of questioning back on you.
"And you, milaya? Have you ever...in a car?"
You shake your head, to both men's surprise.
"Never did...I was too busy studying for university in high school, going to after-school clubs and I was joined at the hip with Tomoko, keeping her out of trouble. I mean, you've met her, you can understand why I--"
The two men exchange a look, then gaze back at you with avid interest and then wolfish smiles. The words die in your throat, and you close your mouth as you realize...
"I know what you're thinking---but..." you stammer out, trying to object.
But wouldn't that be so hot, the possibility of steaming up the backseat of the car with both men? Tonight?
A throbbing pulse starts between your thighs as your imagination begins to run wild.
You gulp as John advances on you.
"How much longer until the meeting, sweetheart?" he asks silkily.
You quickly glance at your watch.
"Ten minutes."
"All right. Here's what we're going to do. Let's make our way to your meet point. Nik and I will keep watch to make sure you stay safe. But once you've got your intel secured...."
He lowers his head and growls the rest of the instructions to you.
Nik grins as he watches your eyes widen and breath stutter. You dart a brief glance at him and then back to John.
𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: Y/n, a record store clerk in Toronto, spends a quiet day helping customers, including two YouTubers—one of whom leaves a lasting impression.
2 / 3
It was another long day at the record store — a Tuesday. One of the many that had come before and would come again. Bright sunbeams streamed through the windows, lighting up the sleeves and plastic boxes of records, revealing a thin film of dust on the shelves.
To y/n, a record store was an unusually personal place. Somewhere between the hundreds of clients she’d served, the stories they told, and the memories they shared while choosing their next purchase, she stopped seeing the covers as just artistic representations of a few pleasant-sounding wavelengths. Instead, they became symbols — snapshots of people’s most important moments. The beautiful thing about every record? Each one was someone’s favorite.
She turned to the new arrivals. The delivery, originally scheduled for early morning, had only arrived around midday. Nothing out of the ordinary.
She knew the drill: open the box, check for damage or missing content, enter each disc into the inventory, log the details, confirm pricing with her manager, tag the plastic sleeves, place them in the new arrivals section, update the online store. The most routine, unglamorous part of the job — but it paid the bills, just enough for rent, food, and the occasional treat. Not a dream paycheck, but enough for a twenty-something still finding her footing in Toronto.
The store’s owner, Vincent, was a kind man in his fifties who’d only opened the place after making money off some mysterious investment. No one ever asked what it was, as long as he paid fairly — which he did. One of the things nestled among the records in the delivery box was a thick-cover folder for the CVs that would soon pile up again, especially with summer approaching and teenagers hunting for part-time gigs. Y/n scoffed softly and set the folder aside, returning to the stack of records.
Her mind drifted briefly to the French course she’d taken mostly for fun, after her dad insisted it was essential — a deal-breaker, even — for landing a job in Canada. Surprisingly, he’d been right. Maybe it was her patience or her charisma that made her stand out to Vin, but the French sealed the deal. No one really needed a French speaker to buy vinyl in Toronto, but it sure looked good on paper.
The store was quiet. Typical for a Tuesday afternoon. A soft Miles Davis record drifted through the space, wrapping the regulars in a warm atmosphere that contrasted the cold wind outside, now stirring the falling rain. The soft tapping against the windows grew louder by the minute. Y/n looked up, watched the drops for a moment, then returned to her keyboard, entering details for the new album: a 2LP edition of Pink Floyd at Pompeii – MCMLXXII.
She wondered whose favorite this one was, and why. Maybe it played during a first kiss. Or a final goodbye. A road trip with the kids. A smoke session with a teenage dirtbag lover. Whatever the story, it had to mean something to someone.
While the printer spat out price tags, she took mental note of the doorbell chiming — something she’d check out after confirming there were no errors in the printout. She glanced up: a group of teenage girls entered. Not regulars. Their outfits were dotted with lace trims, pink bows, jean skirts, and leather bags. Laughter floated through the room. One fixed her lip gloss, another adjusted the camera she’d pulled from a tote.
Y/n smiled, bracing herself to make small talk.
Hi? Do you need any help? Nah, maybe… How may I help you today? Do you girls need anything? They probably don’t. …Are you looking for something?
She debated in her head while making her way over from behind the counter, not before placing the box she’d been working on behind it.
“Hello, do you girls need help finding anything?” she asked, her tone soft and practiced.
“Uhm, hello, actually, is it okay if we take photos here?” one of them asked, a little awkwardly — nothing she couldn’t predict.
“Of course. Just try not to include any shoppers who might not wanna be in the frame,” Y/n said, already used to it. “Looking for any albums in particular for the photo or…?”
“Thank you so much! Actually, yes. Do you guys have Lana Del Rey?”
Could’ve guessed from the outfits, Y/n thought.
“Sure. Just over by that wall,” she said, leading them over. “And if you’re taking full-body shots, stand with your back to the window. Lighting’s better from that angle.”
“Oh of course, thank you!” the girl with the camera beamed, adjusting accordingly.
“If you need anything else, I’ll be at the counter,” Y/n added, returning to her price tags. She glanced up now and then, reminding herself she wasn’t afraid of teenagers anymore.
The girls eventually left — presumably with the material for their next Instagram post stored on the SD card of their friend’s Sony.
Y/n's eyes drifted to the Lana Del Rey section. Norman Fucking Rockwell! stood out in front, pulling her back to a warm 2019 day when it came out. She let the memory linger for a few seconds before shaking it off and getting back to work.
Soon, she was done. Task crossed off the mental list. Right on cue, the doorbell chimed again. This time: two guys, roughly her age, deep in conversation. One carried a camera.
Y/n gave them a soft smile, already anticipating the question about to come.
“Hello, can I help you with anything?” she asked.
“Hi, is it okay if we record in here for a video?” one of them said. He wore a T-shirt with a triangle and the words Find X. His short, dark brown hair and slightly worried expression made him look oddly approachable.
“Yeah, of course. Just avoid filming anyone who might mind being in it,” she replied. Both guys visibly relaxed.
“Thank you so much.”
“Anytime. Let me know if you need help with anything else.”
They stepped away and started recording, laughing occasionally. This time around her mind drifted toward the evening — what she'd make for dinner, the feel of her cat brushing up against her leg, a warm cup of tea in her hands, and some movie she’d inevitably fall asleep watching halfway through. She busied herself with a few misplaced records, double-checked the sleeves on the side, and refreshed her mental map of the store just in case someone asked about a record she didn’t know.
When she heard footsteps nearing again, her gaze flicked toward the guys — already prepared for their return.
“Hi, sorry. Can I ask you something?” the other guy said. It was the first time she really looked at him. Dark eyes, curly hair with frosted tips. He had a posture that was both awkward and somehow relaxed.
“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” she said, noticing the camera slightly tilted to catch her but not her face. “Oh — and I don’t mind being in the video, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
They relaxed more and adjusted the camera toward her.
“Oh, thank you. What’s your name?” the guy with frosted tips asked.
“Y/n” she replied, a little curious now. “And you are?”
“I’m Hamzah, and this is Martin,” he said, gesturing to his friend.
“Cute. Nice to meet you guys,” she smiled. “You had a question?”
“Yes. Do you know Nettspend?” Hamzah asked, totally serious.
“Nettspend?”
“Yes. The rapper?”
“I think so? I’ve heard the name,” she said, brows furrowed. “Pretty sure we’ve got a… uh, CD? Not vinyl tho.”
“Oh, really?” Hamzah’s face lit up more than she expected.
“You know what that means, bro” Martin grinned, turning the camera on himself
“Can I—wait, can we see it?” Hamzah asked.
“Yeah, of course.” Y/n led them to the aisle, skimmed a few cases, and pulled one out. “Here.”
“That’s fire, boiiii,” Hamzah said, holding it to the camera, clearly pleased.
“How much is it?” Martin asked.
“Uhh… t'says twenty Canadian,” Hamzah read from the label, glancing at Y/n. She nodded.
“I’ll hold onto that. Thank you. We’ll keep looking for now,” he said.
Y/n returned to the register while they browsed. Eventually, they came back with a few items (obviously including the Nettspend cd).
“All set?” she asked, smiling.
“Almost. Thanks,” Martin replied. This time, Hamzah held the camera.
“I was actually hoping you could give us a recommendation,” Martin added. “Just… whatever you like listening to.”
Y/n blanked. Thousands of albums lived in her head, and somehow, the only thing she could think of was that that interaction with the girls earlier.
“Uh… Lana Del Rey? Norman Fucking Rockwell, let’s say.”
She cringed slightly at how unconvincing she sounded, like she couldn’t even persuade herself she liked the album.
“Lanaa! Love that. Do you know this one?” Martin burst into off-key singing: “Tell me I’m your national antheeem!”
Y/n laughed, surprised. “Wow. That just brought a tear to my eye. Ever considered singing professionally?” she said softly.
“Yes, actually. I used to sing when I was younger,” he said deadpan.
“Really?”
“No. But thank you,” he grinned. “We’ll just take these.” he laughed softly.
She rang them up, tucked the discs and receipt into a branded bag, and handed it over.
As they slowly headed for the door, she called out, “Wait — what’s your channel called?”
“Slushy Noobz,” they said in sync.
“Slushy Noobs?”
“Noobz. With a Z,” Hamzah corrected.
“Oh, bet. Thanks again. You guys made my day, Slushy Noobz. Hope you love what you bought.”
“I bet we will,” Hamzah said.
“And no, thank you!” Martin added, dragging the last word with a smirk. “Ay, shout out to the…” — he glanced at the sign — “shout out to Sonic freaking Boom. Sonic Boom, Toronto. Amazing. Guys, go show them some love,” he said to the camera
a/n: this is my first time writing since 2019 and back then i wasn't even writing in English so i hope this is actually any bearable. also parts 2 & 3 will be more interesting dw. Do give feedback.
