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marinawolf · 9 months

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[hi! work has been crazy but I finally found some time to post this. An angsty first kiss fic for all my supercorp girlies- hope you like it!]

A Revelation (Supercorp)

Lena may or may not have killed Lex, but she did it to save Kara. In the days that follow, she grapples with her confusing grief, her feelings for Kara and the knowledge that she would kill Lex over and over again to save Kara. (OR: Several times Lena wants to kiss Kara, and the one time Kara kisses her.)

(Almost 4K words of angst and fluff tbh)

It was one a.m., and the darkness of the night was only matched by the heavy weight in Lena's heart. She sat on her couch, her eyes fixed on her laptop screen, but her mind lost in the haunting memories of the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

The shadows had crept into her dreams, replaying the chilling scene that had changed everything, making sleep an unwelcome torture, which is why she was trying to distract herself with work.

Lex had made a sinister last move to ensnare her in his web of darkness. With the L Corp building held hostage, he had cruelly used Kara, her closest friend, as a pawn, rendering her powerless with dreaded kryptonite. Yet, even in the face of danger, Kara had displayed unyielding courage and loyalty to Lena, standing firmly between Lena and the loaded gun Lex aimed at her even as her strength drained away.

The situation had been impossible – Lex held a detonator in his other hand, forcing Lena to make an unimaginable choice. Save Kara, the woman who meant everything to her, or save the countless innocent lives in the building.

Every fiber of Lena's being rebelled against causing harm to Kara, but the weight of responsibility for those innocent lives crushed her soul. It was as if Lex had crafted this hellish scenario solely to break her, just as he had been broken by the darkness that consumed him.

In that desperate moment, Lena's mind became a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

But the woman standing before her, the one she was secretly in love with, was worth fighting for, worth sacrificing everything to keep safe. It was her fear for Kara's life that made Lena reach for the gun she had concealed, clutching onto the last shreds of hope to rescue both Kara and the innocent souls caught in the crossfire.

Time seemed to stand still as she pulled the trigger, the sound echoing through the air like a chilling proclamation of her resolve. The bullet found its mark, and Lex's body crashed through the window, disappearing into the night, but not before Lena saw the shock and betrayal in his eyes.

But no body was found, leaving Lena with the torment of uncertainty – had she truly taken her brother's life?

The days that followed were a blur of guilt and sleepless nights. The image of Lex's haunting face, juxtaposed with the memories of happier times, tormented her relentlessly. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the Lex she once knew – the kind, sweet big brother who had once been her protector, before corruption twisted him beyond recognition. It felt like she was being pulled apart by conflicting loyalties, torn between the darkness of her actions and the knowledge that she had ultimately done the right thing.

And now, as she sat on her couch at one a.m., her emotions reached their breaking point. Tears welled up in her eyes, ready to spill over. She felt adrift in a storm of self-doubt and remorse.

But just as she was about to be swallowed whole by her emotions, to be consumed entirely by the darkness, a familiar thud outside on her balcony drew her attention. Her heart, heavy as it was, skipped a beat as the door creaked open, and Kara stepped into the room.

Her radiant presence illuminated the darkness around Lena, a lighthouse guiding her through the storm. With her blond hair gently tousled by the night breeze and her brilliant blue eyes sparkling in the soft light of Lena's living room, Kara was a vision.

A heart-stopping smile graced Kara's lips, and Lena's brain short circuited for a second. Despite the turmoil inside her, she couldn't help but smile back, a small flicker of light in the shadows. Kara's presence always had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

"Kara, hi," Lena whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

"Lena. How are you holding up?" Kara's voice was gentle, filled with genuine concern.

Lena's gaze, clouded with unspoken anguish, met Kara's tender eyes. The kindness and care reflected in Kara's gaze threatened to shatter the fragile facade Lena had constructed to hold herself together. She clenched her trembling hands, determined to suppress the overwhelming surge of emotions, and instead fixated on Kara's consuming presence.

"I'm okay, all things considered," Lena managed to respond, her voice laced with a hint of weariness. But she knew that Kara, with her unparalleled understanding, saw through the veil of strength Lena presented to the world. She could sense the tumult raging beneath the surface, the cracks in Lena's composure.

Without a word, Kara sat down beside Lena, her graceful form slipping effortlessly under the blanket Lena had draped over herself before she took the laptop from Lena's hands and gently placed it on the floor. The contours of her Supergirl suit accentuated her physique, offering a fleeting and welcome distraction from the weight of Lena's thoughts.

Kara snuggled up to Lena, a strong arm encircling Lena's shoulders, drawing her into a protective embrace. The proximity, their bodies pressed together, sent Lena's heart into a tumultuous frenzy. But amid the whirlwind of conflicting feelings, Lena found safety in Kara's comforting presence.

"I'm sorry about Lex," Kara whispered, her voice barely audible, "I know you loved him. I'm sorry you had to do what you did," she continued, her words a gentle caress against Lena's fractured soul.

The floodgates within Lena, already straining under the weight of grief and guilt, gave way. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and raw, as she began to sob uncontrollably into Kara's steady shoulder.

Kara responded with unwavering tenderness, enfolding Lena in her arms, holding her close as if to shield her from the pain that threatened to consume her. In that moment, Lena realized the true depth of Kara's understanding. Throughout the aftermath of the ordeal with Lex, others had commended Lena for her actions, expressing admiration for her courage and bravery. They had offered hollow reassurances, asking if she was okay after being subjected to such a harrowing threat. But none of them truly comprehended the complex tapestry of emotions woven within Lena's heart. No one had truly understood the agony Lena had endured—the impossible choices she had faced and the torment that plagued her every thought. None of them understood the profound grief that gripped her.

But Kara saw her. Kara felt her pain with a depth that no one else could fathom. And Lena loved her all the more for it, for the genuine empathy and compassion she showed without reservation. In that moment, as Kara placed a gentle kiss on her head, Lena realized just how much she depended on this extraordinary woman by her side.

Kara held her tightly and her hand soothingly caressed Lena's hair, offering a tender reassurance that she was not alone in her grief.

Her sobs eventually subsided, but Kara continued to hold her, their hearts beating in unison.

As Lena's tears finally subsided, she felt utterly drained, her body and soul exhausted from the emotional release. She found herself nestled against Kara's chest, their closeness causing her to short circuit again. As she lifted her head slightly, she couldn't help but notice how close their faces were, their lips almost brushing against each other. Lena's heart pounded in her chest, and for a fleeting moment, she entertained the intoxicating idea of closing that distance, of kissing Kara.

The intimate proximity sent a surge of anticipation through Lena's veins, her gaze fixated on Kara's enticing lips. They were so close, just a breath away from tasting the sweetness she had longed for. So close that she could feel Kara's breath on her own lips.

Time seemed to stand still as they sat in that charged moment. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest, teetering on the edge of an exhilarating precipice, as she summoned the courage to bridge the distance and claim the kiss she desired.

Kara, still and unmoving, met Lena's gaze.

The seconds stretched into eternity as Lena's heart fluttered, desperately seeking the courage to take that daring step. But the weight of their friendship, the fear of crossing a line and losing Kara's precious companionship, held her back. Kara was there to offer comfort as a friend, and Lena wasn't willing to risk their precious bond. With a sudden, almost desperate movement, Lena sat back, wiping away her tears, and offered a shaky laugh.

"Ugh, I think I ruined your suit," she quipped, trying to diffuse the charged atmosphere that enveloped them.

Kara's smile was both tender and reassuring. "It's pretty impervious to most things, don't worry," she joked.

"Feeling better?" Kara asked gently, her concern still evident.

Lena nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you."

"You should get some sleep, Lena. You look like you haven't slept in days."

A wry smile tugged at the corners of Lena's lips as she replied, "I know. I'll try and get some sleep tonight."

Kara stood up then, extending her hand to Lena, her intentions unclear to Lena in her emotional haze. "Come on, then," she said softly.

Lena was momentarily confused, her thoughts still tangled in the emotional web that had enveloped her. "Where?" she asked, her confusion evident.

"To sleep. I'm gonna stay with you to make sure you sleep."

Lena's heart skipped a beat, and a rush of emotions flooded her as she took Kara's outstretched hand. She followed Kara into the room, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude for this gesture of kindness.

Once in the bedroom, Lena handed Kara some sweats and a t-shirt, their fingers grazing ever so slightly in the exchange, igniting a spark of electricity. They settled into bed side by side, and Lena tried to control her somersaulting heart.

The comfort she found in Kara's presence was unlike anything she had ever experienced, a blend of safety and tenderness that wrapped around her like a blanket.

Despite the whirlwind of emotions that engulfed her, Lena finally found herself relaxing, her thoughts consumed by Kara. Kara's steady presence offered her a sense of peace and security that had eluded her in the restless nights prior. Listening to the sound of Kara's steady breathing, Lena finally drifted off to sleep.

Lena woke up to a soft light bathing the room, immediately noting the warmth enveloping her. As consciousness swept over her, she realized that Kara had cuddled up to her in their sleep, closing the physical gap between them. Now, Kara's body pressed intimately against Lena's back, her arm encircling Lena's waist. Lena felt the gentle rhythm of Kara's breath cascading over the nape of her neck, sending a surge of electricity through her veins.

In an instant, her heart pounded in her chest, the presence of Kara so near amplifying the intensity of her emotions.

The soft sounds of Kara stirring reached Lena's ears as Kara slowly woke from her slumber.

"Hey," Kara whispered in a sleepy voice, her words laced with concern. "You okay?"

"Yes," Lena managed to choke out, her voice catching in her throat. "Did I wake you?"

Kara untangled herself from Lena's embrace, allowing her to turn and face her. The sight of Kara, her eyes drowsy but still sparkling with affection, made Lena's heart skip a beat.

"Your heartbeat woke me," Kara explained with a soft laugh, her superhearing attuned to every nuance of Lena's being. "Were you scared or something?"

Lena's cheeks flushed, and she could only imagine how obvious her racing heart had been to Kara. Of course, Kara would hear her racing heartbeat every time. Before she could find a suitable reply, Kara stood up, and stretched. The hem of Kara's t-shirt lifted slightly, revealing a glimpse of her well-defined abs, and Lena's heart rate skyrocketed once again. She cursed her body's inability to calm down in Kara's presence. Lena could have sworn she detected a mischievous smirk on Kara's lips, but the moment passed without further remark.

"Coffee?" Kara offered, and Lena nodded, grateful for the distraction. She followed Kara to the kitchen, where she busied herself with the coffee machine. Lena watched her, captivated by the grace in Kara's movements and the effortless way she made a mundane morning ritual look like an art. She loved that Kara had made herself at home so easily, as if she had always belonged in Lena's apartment. The domestic familiarity made Lena smile.

With the coffee ready, Kara handed Lena a cup. As she took a sip, Lena couldn't help but marvel at how Kara's coffee always tasted perfect. She made it perfectly to Lena's taste, something that even Lena's trained assistants failed to do.

Placing her empty cup in the sink, Lena pivoted to find Kara standing closely behind her. Kara reached around Lena, placing her own cup in the sink. Their bodies pressed together, the charged atmosphere crackling with anticipation. Lena looked up, her gaze landing on Kara's tousled hair and sleepy eyes and she longed to lean in and capture Kara's lips in a searing kiss, to express the intensity of her emotions . The desire to taste Kara's lips, to bridge the gap between them, surged within Lena, a hunger she struggled to contain. And in Kara's intense gaze, Lena could have sworn that for a second she glimpsed a mirrored yearning.

Their moment was shattered by the shrill ring of Kara's phone, piercing through the charged atmosphere. Kara moved away, swiftly grabbing her phone with a groan of frustration. "Duty calls," she lamented before dashing into Lena's room and emerging once again in her Supergirl suit.

Before she could leave, Kara turned to Lena, the concern evident in her eyes.

"Will you be okay?" she asked, softly.

Lena nodded, her heart aching, "I'll be fine. Just be safe."

"I'll be back later," she promised, and Lena knew she would anxiously await Kara's return.

As Kara disappeared into the sky, Lena found herself wishing she had seized the moment, wishing she had kissed Kara before the day took them in different directions, but she was too afraid. Time and circumstance, and her own fears, always conspired against her.

As soon as Kara's presence dissipated, Lena's sanctuary crumbled, leaving her adrift in a sea of restlessness and longing. The haunting image of Lex's face returned to torment her once again. Lena sat down on her living room floor and closed her eyes, seeking solace within the darkness, grappling with the demons that relentlessly haunted her soul.

Lena's world felt shattered as she remained huddled on the living room floor, her thoughts consumed by the overwhelming weight of guilt and uncertainty. Her mind was a whirlwind of torment, constantly questioning whether she had truly killed her brother, or if he was still out there, a looming threat, plotting his next move. Each possibility carried its own brand of torment, but she didn't know which outcome would be worse.

Lena could sense Kara's presence behind her before she even heard her voice, and she realised then that she had spent hours sitting there, on the floor. Kara's arms encircled Lena, almost immediately calming the storm raging within her.

"Lena?" Kara's voice was soft, cutting through the haze of Lena's torment.

Summoning every ounce of strength, Lena managed to lift her gaze and meet Kara's eyes. "Hey," she whispered, her voice laden with weariness and vulnerability, "You're back." Kara's mere presence offered a glimmer of comfort amidst the chaos.

With gentle care, Kara lifted Lena from the floor and settled her onto the couch. Kneeling before her, Kara's eyes bore into Lena's, their intensity captivating her. Lena yearned to lose herself in the depths of Kara's gaze.

"Lena, I know you're hurting. What you had to do—I can't even imagine having to do something like that. But I need you to know that it's not your fault, okay? Lex made his choices, and he chose darkness every time. And he tried to force you to choose darkness too, but you resisted. You chose to save lives, to save me." Kara's words penetrated Lena's shattered spirit, cutting through the darkness, offering some absolution.

Tears streamed down Lena's cheeks as she finally spoke.

"I killed my brother, Kara. My own brother. I should have tried harder to save him, to bring him back."

Kara sat down next to Lena and pulled her closer.

"You loved him, but he wasn't the Lex you knew anymore, okay? He lost himself a long time ago and he didn't want to be saved. Believe me, my cousin tried. And you saved so many people, Lena. I wish I could take this all away, all this pain, but all I can do is tell you that you didn't do anything wrong. And we don't know that he's dead. If he's still alive, I'll find him and bring him back to you, okay?"

Lena nodded, acknowledging Kara's words, and they sat in shared silence. Amidst the weight of her grief, Lena's mind wandered, considering the alternate path that could have unfolded. What if Lex had succeeded in killing Kara? The thought alone devastated Lena. She realized then, with unwavering conviction, that she would willingly traverse the same harrowing path if it meant protecting Kara. For her, Kara's safety was worth any sacrifice, even if it meant sacrificing her own life.

Finally, Lena mustered the courage to look into Kara's eyes, her heart laid bare.

"You know, if it meant saving you, I would do it all over again."

The words hung in the air. Kara's breath hitched.

Lena reached out, her fingertips gently caressing Kara's cheek. The moment crackled with an electric energy. However, the abrupt interruption of the elevator's ding shattered the intimacy of the moment. They instinctively pulled apart, Lena's desires restrained by the intrusion of their friends from the DEO, who entered Lena's apartment, their voices jarring against the backdrop of the emotional maelstrom that had enveloped Lena and Kara.

Lena couldn't look at Kara, afraid of what she would see in those eyes. So she stood up, plastered a fake smile on her face and turned to face their friends.

Hours had passed since her friends departed, leaving Lena alone in her apartment. She stood on the balcony, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the illuminated National City skyline. A mixture of emotions swirled within her, longing for Kara's comforting presence, even though she understood the demands on her friend's time. Lost in her thoughts, the sudden thud behind her drew Lena's attention, and she was shocked to see an exhilarated Kara standing behind her.

"He's alive," Kara's words tumbled out, rushed and filled with urgency, causing Lena's heart to seize in her chest. "He's alive. I found a camera pointing at where he fell, and the footage shows him getting up. He's hurt, but he's alive, Lena and I'm going to find him for you. He couldn't have gotten far. I'll bring him to the DEO, and we can figure out what to do from there. I just wanted to make sure you knew that you didn't kill him."

Lena's breath caught in her throat as relief mingled with disbelief. Lex was alive. Despite the pain he had caused her, a part of her couldn't fathom being responsible for his demise. But she didn't care about saving his soul any longer- She understood now that he had willingly given himself over to the darkness. She didn't kill him and that's all that mattered. And she couldn't bear the thought of Kara placing herself in danger for her sake. All she could think about now was Kara- how much she loved her. Kara was willing to face her own enemy, to save him, just for Lena's sake, to place herself in danger at Lex's hands just to offer Lena some relief. What had Lena done to deserve such unwavering devotion?

"Kara, I--" Lena's voice faltered, her words lost in the torrent of emotions coursing through her. Before she could find the right words, Kara cut her off, her voice laced with determination.

"And also, there's something I've wanted to do."

In an instant, Kara closed the distance between them, placing her hands on Lena's waist and capturing Lena's lips in a searing kiss. Shock and surprise coursed through Lena's veins. Kara's lips were soft yet demanding, a revelation- a thrilling revelation that Kara reciprocated her feelings, that their connection ran deeper than mere friendship.

As they kissed, tears welled up in Lena's eyes, spilling down her cheeks and onto their lips. The tears were not of sadness, but of unadulterated happiness, a release of the pent-up longing, years of yearning and the countless nights she had spent grappling with her feelings. She had longed for this moment, and now it was here, making everything else fade away. Time seemed to bend to their will, allowing this moment to stretch into eternity.

In that kiss, Lena poured all her hidden feelings, her love that she had guarded so fiercely, into a single moment of pure vulnerability. She felt her doubts and fears dissipate as Kara kissed her back with the same intensity, affirming that this was real, that her love was reciprocated.

Lena's hands desperately tangled in Kara's hair, pulling her closer. As the kiss deepened, the world around them faded into insignificance. There was only Kara and only Lena, and every hidden feeling now laid bare.

As they reluctantly broke apart for air, breathing heavily, Lena's voice trembled as she finally confessed,

"I love you."

And in response, Kara kissed her once again, with an intensity that spoke volumes.

And as they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against each other, Kara whispered,

"I love you, too."

#supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl #kara x lena #supercorp fanfic #kara zor el #kara danvers x lena luthor #lena x supergirl #lena luthor x kara danvers #protective kara danvers #supercorp first kiss #fanfic #cw supergirl #supercorp endgame #supercorp fandom #kara zor el x lena luthor #lex luthor is the drama

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aikotos · 8 months

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Mall date 💛💙

Aigis' uniform - gasp-theenemy

Aigis & Makoto - elina002 on dA

Bg - sasuke-bby on dA

Bouquet - mmdresourcecenter

Port Island Station almost killed my laptop btw Until I deleted 80% of it (everything but what is visible on the render) my Blender closed every time I tried to view it in texture/shading/render mode lol

#persona 3 #p3 mc #aigis persona 3 #aikoto #render

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radigalde · 9 months

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Okay, so, I started BG3. But this post is not about spoilers. It's about how it looks.

You see, I preordered it when it first became available, and participated in Early Access for most of its duration (except for two last patches). As you may know, during the development Larian abruptly changed the system requirements. And while my laptop with old GTX1050 was sitting comfortably enough in the middle of the old requirements, it's barely able to crawl under the minimum of the new version.

So, while the game was running smoothly with the medium graphic settings at the start of EA, by druids patch I couldn't even get to the first settlement because of the freezes, textures lagging in and out of their blurry existence, T-posing, etc. It was pretty bad.

Reportedly, the final game should have been optimized a bit better, so I decided to give it a shot and see how it looks like on the same laptop almost 3 years since the first download.

Yeah, I know that the cloud gaming exist. It costs money and needs a speedy internet connection.

And the game greeted me with this.

(Changed everything from medium to low except for the texture quality - it's still on medium. Had to say goodbye to the distance blur as well)

Compare it to this from 2020 (screen from another person with approximately same old settings, my screenshots of the old character creation room didn't survive):

Or this (mine 2020 screenshot outside of the character creation):

Same laptop, same graphic card, 3 years of development in-between.

Which is especially gutting, because the hair quality was really good during the first EA patches even on the lower graphic settings and older machines. But at some point the developers decided to change it, turning it into greasy looking pixelated something.

Larian, why :(

Some hairstyles managed to lag through into something decent.

Others did not.

The hair's reaction to lightning in this room/location is atrocious btw.

Even when the textures are fully uploaded.

It's a LED wig, I got it.

Comparison of the first model appearance vs after the textures loaded in is quite funny, though.

It jumped to the left version each time I moved the camera in/out even a tiny bit, loading the textures from the right anew. Each. Time. The same happened during the last patches of EA, except that back then the loading could take a few minutes. Now it's either ~15 sec or not loading at all here.

Tbh, after seeing all of that in the dressing room, I dreaded of what would I see during the main game.

But it's surprisingly better. Almost no jarring rounded pixelation, and no jumping between abyssmal low and normal version of textures.

The reaction to light still sucks sometimes. The hair pick too much from the light sources that are barely visible otherwise and don't light up anything else to the same degree.

As for the optimization: yes, it indeed became better. Still not the first EA release quality for me, sadly, but by far better than the latest EA patches. Textures are way more steady now: they still take a few seconds to load in during the big cutscenes, but it's like nothing compared to the previous mess. During the regular exploration gameplay character (and most of environmental) textures are always steady. I even managed to watch the full crashing cutscene as a, well, cutscene instead of three half-loaded frames that took 20 min to render. And I was running freely on the beach despite the falling ash and everything that almost killed my frames back then.

Also, it still doesn't heat up my laptop all that much, which is a pleasant surprise.

Well, stay tuned for more cursed images, I guess.

Isekai-d into a mobile game.

Oh, and Lae'zel is a fiery redhead on her character portrait for some reason, and other characters' hair is displayed like brighness/contrast +100. I think, something is deeply wrong with the dressing room specifically after all.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #min graphic playthrough

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alectrona2988 · 10 months

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Bike ride finds!

1. An Acer Aspire 1800. A very rare example of an LGA775 laptop; unfortunately this one is incomplete and needs parts which are incredibly hard to find. There's also the possibility of poor maintenance having this thing killed.

2. Dell Inspiron 7000 A366LT; this was actually a D300XT originally, but someone must have replaced the motherboard. If this has a full-on ATI Rage Pro card, I can finally run the Windows 9X version of Glover without messing with software rendering or buggy frontends that almost always require modern hardware.

3. A Super NES console I paid $50 for that was stated to be in working order. It actually has the same revision of motherboard (GPM-02, which isn't exactly the best one) so I can transfer the new capacitors I soldered onto my old one which ended up having a CPU/PPU issue

#kat24txt #retro tech #i finally have a dedicated windows 95 laptop for absolutely no good reason #also i hope this SNES works because mine was also a GPM02 #aksfffjfjdkdldfkfl

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takamihollowmoved · 8 months

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My Self-Written Eulogy

Or, Happy Suicide Prevention Month to me.

How many times I’m going to write something like this, I don't know - words that will never be spoken aloud, only felt then bottled away in jars and put on shelves in my mind.

I love my family, but my heart aches for all the times they cut through it with sharp words, their bare hands. They even fight with each other, clawing at one another like animals. It irritates me, I feel as though I’m more grown up than them sometimes. And, yet, whenever I look in the mirror all I can see is the scared little girl they forgot to hug, morphed into the son I'm sure they didn’t want.

My mother doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, my dad left me to be independent. For a month, he said. Just a month.

I'm scared to leave my room. Dirty dishes and laundry are piling up faster than my emotions - I wonder which of us is going to spill over first. I’ve got lots to do, lots to worry about and let my anxiety render me useless. If that's even possible anymore, since I'm already so far gone.

I'll stare at my laptop screen with a pit in my stomach and wonder what’s going to happen when I stop writing, when my shoulders ache and my hands are intertwined with Depression’s own.

I'm going to stop spending money, and I'm gonna stop talking to my family.

I'll probably finish my to-do list.

After that, I'll get through as much of my studies as I can before I die.

I know for a fact that I'm not gonna make it, I don't care how many people, real or not, tell me that I will, that they believe in me. Unfortunately, self-doubt runs through my veins after my parents gifted it to me for my birthday. It doesn’t matter which birthday, I cried on all of them anyway.

Everything is going wrong, so I'll take that as a sign that it’s almost time. It would be so easy now that I've moved out. It's almost laughable if the thought of it didn’t make me feel slightly sick. I’m going to die surrounded by little plastic trinkets, things that kept me here a little longer. I’ll turn them all around before I say goodbye, I promise.

Listening to Bo Burnham and thinking about the summer I tried to kill myself at least five times. Nobody ever knew, of course - I wouldn't let that happen. A little “I’m just tired” is enough to satisfy my family.

They think I made it, but did I really?

I blink, and suddenly my white walls are pink. I blink and my desk becomes that windowsill my mother pushed me into and told me I was nothing.

Spoiler alert to anyone that reads this, but it seems that the ghost of my parents follows me everywhere.

I think I'll relapse now, and regret it in the morning.

Goodbye.

(*Not a Bo Burnham reference.)

#can i call this poetry #whatever #poetry #original poetry #spilled ink #tw:suicide #mental heath awareness #parental issues #not affiliated with bo burnham (or my family nowadays.)

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seedbass41 · 2 years

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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charlie-minion · 3 years

Text

Could the same SPN finale make a little more sense with some additions/changes?

I’ve had the idea for this post stuck in my head for days now, but with every new conspiracy theory and every new eventuality in the fandom, it became difficult to cool down enough to write something less ship-related and more narrative-focused.

What Supernatural and non-SPN fans have to understand is that a lot of us have expressed disappointment and frustration after 15x20, not because of Destiel (that’s just one part of the whole problem), but because the finale doesn’t make sense. Everything was leading up to something beautifully crafted until the end of 15x19. Beyond that, it’s hard to understand what happened. The story rendered all the character growth irrelevant, invalidated the themes of free will and “family don’t end in blood”, regressed to the original brother codependency they spent 15 years trying to overcome, made a queer non-binary character in a male vessel and a deaf female character basically disposable, and kept the show’s reputation of queerbaiting and misogyny until its very last breath.

That’s not going out with a bang! At least not a positive one. We all were ready to mourn Supernatural, but we wanted to feel proud of its legacy, and somehow TPTB managed to tarnish that legacy in less than 45 minutes. What a way to ruin the other more than 13,600 minutes of story!

It doesn’t matter who is to blame (The CW, Robert Singer, Andrew Dabb). It doesn’t matter why it happened (homophobia, censorship, marketing for Walker, bad writing). What matters is that at the end of the day, the finale that aired is what we got and that’s going to hurt for a long time. It hurts even more when we realize that the same finale could have easily made more sense, even without being perfect.

That’s what I want to do in this post. I want to show you how things would have been less jarring (for the fandom), while still keeping the goal to please the general audience.

Before I begin rewriting 15x20, I have to mention that I talked to my conservative boomer sister about the finale. She hasn’t watched the second half of season 15 yet (she’s waiting for Netflix to have it), but she’s been watching the show for a long time (she introduced me to it 8 years ago). She’s the perfect example of a viewer from the general audience. Loves the show but doesn’t give a second thought to it and definitely isn’t paying attention to character development or themes. Doesn’t engage with fandom, actors, or any of the show’s social media. Pure GA! When I told her the series finale had aired, she asked me about it and I refused to give her spoilers. Because of that, she told me the ending SHE wanted. She said she would be happy with either of two possibilities: the boys retiring and finally living a normal life OR they going to heaven and finding peace at last. She saw Sam and Dean as a unit, which means: both retiring or both going to heaven. AND she saw Cas as part of that, too. She wasn’t so sure about Jack. And for her, we could use the “Eileen who?” and it wouldn’t be a joke. She didn’t remember her.

NOW IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW VERSION OF 15X20 (KEEPING 15X18 AND 15X19 EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY AIRED). This will be a very long post:

The opening remains almost the same. No “Carry on my wayward son” to induce feels. Too soon and too predictable! (Reasoning: Everyone was expecting it to play right there, so it would bring more tears at the end)

In the opening, after the scene where Jack says “People won’t need to pray to me or sacrifice to me”, we also see the scene from 15x19 where he says “I won’t be hands on”. Then we see the rest of the opening as it was. (Reasoning: People needed to be reminded that Jack would NOT intervene and that’s why later on, he would NOT save Dean).

We get the same montage, but when Sam takes a break from his morning run, we see him reading a message on his phone. A simple: “Hey Sam, what’s new?” from Eileen. Sam smiles fondly and begins to type a response we don’t get to see. The next scene continues the same, Sam making breakfast. (Reasoning: A text was a very simple way to show that Eileen was alive and still in communication with Sam).

The montage slowly ends as Sam enters the library (not after he sits down). He seems to be talking on the phone but we only hear an “I’ll tell him. Bye”. As he walks towards the table, he tells Dean: “Charlie says hi. Mentioned something about Stevie’s perfect scrambled eggs we have to try.” Dean’s answer is “Awesome!” (Reasoning: Just ONE line was needed to unbury Charlie and her girlfriend. ONE LINE).

Sam sits down, opens his laptop and everything continues the same. The title card shows for the last time.

YOU SEE? In the first 4 minutes they could have acknowledged that THREE WOMEN were alive and safe: Eileen, Charlie and Stevie. It wasn’t hard! Don’t blame bad writing on Covid! Now let’s continue.

Sam and Dean arrive at the Pie Fest just the same. Dean goes to get some “damn pie” and Sam takes out his phone. He dials and when someone picks up, he says “Hey, Jody, how are ya?” We don’t hear the rest of the conversation. The scene moves to Dean coming with his 6 portions of pie. Dean sits down and Sam tells him, “Talked to Jody. The other hunters haven’t had much work lately.” “That’s good, isn’t it?”, Dean says. All we get from Sam is “Yeah.” So, Dean looks at him and asks “what’s wrong?” like it happened in the episode. (Reasoning: Again, a couple of lines to make sure the people that were killed in 15x18 are safe and remembered by the boys in 15x20. Why is this important? Because they’re family!)

The conversation about Sam’s sad face happens the same. Sam is the one that mentions Cas and Jack. (Reasoning: Because this episode was so Sam-centered, it’s obvious he was the protagonist in the finale. If we see him communicating with Eileen, Charlie, and Jody, then it’s NORMAL, even expected of him to be the one to bring up Cas and Jack). Without these additions, it’s harder for people to understand that most of the finale was NOT from Dean’s POV but from Sam’s.

Dean’s “if we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing” stays the same. (Reasoning: I believe it’s necessary that the show sticks to the importance of “letting go” and “what is dead should stay dead” for the first time ever because the message is “even when you lose someone you love, you can still find some form of happiness and keep living, for you and for them, because that’s what they would have wanted”. Bringing someone back means “I can’t live without you”, and that’s just more codependency. It’s how the demon deals began in the Winchester family –Mary being the first one to do it. This would explain why Dean didn’t ask Jack to bring Cas back, as he asked Chuck. He understood Jack was NOT going to interfere anymore and accepted it. Besides, when Cas saved Dean from hell, Dean thought he didn’t deserve to be saved. This time that Cas saved him, Dean finally feels worthy enough to accept that YES, HE DESERVED TO BE SAVED ALL ALONG, just as much as he deserved to be loved by that angel of the Lord. In this scene, Dean also says that the pain is not gonna go away, which means that from HIS PERPECTIVE, it still hurts that Cas is not there. The problem is that the finale is not showing his POV but Sam’s.

Sam pies Dean on the face just the same. (Reasoning: That part was just to avoid ending the scene on a sad note).

Everything related to the case happens exactly the same. (Reasoning: At this point, people don’t really care about the MoTW, they care about Sam and Dean).

NOTE 1: The case is important to show that even when the Winchesters are finally free of Chuck’s influence, they CHOOSE to keep hunting. It isn’t something they do out of revenge or because it is their destiny anymore. Maybe they were forced into the life at first, but they’ve learned to find joy in saving people. Being hunters is who they are. However, the fact that a job application was shown on Dean’s desk is also important because it means he was willing to explore what else was there for him besides hunting. Maybe he could find a balance? Maybe he was thinking it was time to quit? We will never know! The thing is that Sam only finds out about it when he goes into Dean’s room after his brother is dead, so maybe that’s when it hits him that Dean wanted to explore his options, and Sam starts to think it’s time for him to do the same.

NOTE 2: I believe the masks the vampires are wearing is something we can blame on covid. If they had their faces covered, it was easier to use people from the SPN crew for some scenes, instead of using more actors unnecessarily.

NOTE 3: When Sam and Dean arrive at the barn, we get 3 visuals to remember Cas in the same scene (those are for the fandom, not for the general audience): a) the barn, obviously; b) the bag that resembles Cas’ trenchcoat so much that many people thought that’s what it was; and c) two feathers hanging on Dean’s right when he opens the trunk.

The scene with the throwing star happens the same. (Reasoning: The episode is still told from Sam’s point of view, so it makes sense that he fondly sees his brother as a man child).

Jenny the vampire? Uhhh… I mean, it’s not the best piece of writing I’ve ever seen, but it’s not the worst, so okay. That stays the same. (Reasoning: There is none, but she’s not what really ruined the finale, so whatever!)

Dean still dies impaled on a rebar. (Reasoning: OK. HERE ME OUT!!! I hate as much as everyone else that Dean is killed. I think it’s lazy writing, but that’s what we got and I can’t change that in this re-write, so if killing Dean is what we have to work around, then, memes aside, death by rebar is better and here’s why. There’s no one to blame for Dean’s death: no Chuck (the boys were willingly hunting even after Chuck was defeated), no vampires (they were all killed and were no real threat, so it was impossible for Sam to begin a quest for revenge against all vampires. What was Sam going to blame? A rebar? Can you kill it? Hunt it? NO. It was an ordinary death, a stupid accident. Just like any person can die at any moment by slipping on a banana peel. Is it a good death? No, but it’s good to know he doesn’t die trying to save Sam or Cas, because Dean Winchester is NOT willing to give up his life in exchange for anyone else’s anymore.

Sam takes out his phone and says he’ll call for help, but his phone is more visible to the audience. He dials and it’s almost to his ear when Dean stops him and Sam hesitantly hangs up. (Reasoning: People have complained that Sam didn’t call an ambulance, but actually he tried to. It’s just that people missed that part, maybe?)

After Sam puts his phone back in his pocket and says “OK” to Dean, he adds, “I’ll pray to Jack”. Dean’s immediate answer is: “No hands on, remember?” “But Dean”, Sam says, and Dean interrupts him with “OK listen to me” and tells Sam what to do with the kids they rescued. (Reasoning: Jack is God now and how come Sam didn’t remember? The viewers remembered, so it was necessary to include a line that ruled the option out and that showed Dean didn’t want Jack to intervene. The rest was fine).

The lines “You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?” disappear completely from Dean’s monologue. (Reasoning: This is the most problematic part of Dean’s dying speech. He fought God and earned free will, he is no longer controlled by fate or destiny. Accepting that he is supposed to die on a hunt regresses his character development and denies his desire to keep living. This was a total mistake and should be removed).

Instead, if going to heaven is the ending TPTB wanted to give Dean, at least he should say something more empowering. Sam tells him that both of them are going to take the kids somewhere safe. Dean answers and the scene follows like this: “No. Sammy, we made our choice, didn’t we?”, he smiles with difficulty. “We were free to write our own story and we did. We decided to keep saving people, hunting things. Because it’s what we love despite the risks.” (Reasoning: If Dean’s going to die it doesn’t have to feel like it was always meant to be that way. He should die knowing that he exerted his free will until his last breath).

The rest of the dialogue between Sam and Dean happens almost the same. Except that instead of Dean saying “‘cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me”, he says “’cause when it all came down to it, we’ve always had each other’s backs. Always.” And instead of Sam saying “Don’t leave me”, he says “I still can try to save you.” (Reasoning: It sounds way less codependent without diminishing the importance of their love and support for each other).

Besides, let’s change Dean’s “I’m not leaving you” for “You don’t have to be alone. You’ve still got family.” The rest stays the same word by word. (Reasoning: Dean reminds Sam that “family don’t end in blood” and there are still lots of people out there who love Sam and will be with him).

“I love you so much, my baby brother” stays exactly the same. (Reasoning: Dean always had trouble to express the big L word. I always believed and said many times that before Dean could say “I love you” to Cas or any other character, he had to say it to Sam. So, this is important as part of Dean speaking his truth).

The last part when Dean insists Sam tell him that it’s okay stays the same. (Reasoning: It’s the final moment when the codependency cycle breaks. No more running in circles).

The forehead touch between them stays the same. (Reasoning: I think I would do something similar if my sister were dying. I know there are w*ncest shippers out there, but it shouldn’t matter because the moment feels appropriate for that kind of goodbye).

See? There are changes but not too many. That’s why I’ve been saying that it was easier to get it right, yet they still managed to screw it up.

The second montage stays the same. (Reasoning: Life goes on, but of course Sam has to mourn).

The call about a case in Austin remains the same. (Reasoning: It’s the only part of the episode where someone from the found family is mentioned, so I think that Donna’s name is perfect in that moment. However, without the other additions I’ve made in this re-write, that off-hand mention feels too little. Its purpose was to tell the viewers that if Donna was alive, so were the others, but the way the episode was executed gave us an isolated Sam, incapable of having friends and a family without Dean).

After 30 minutes of Sam’s POV, let’s finally see the last bit of Dean’s POV that we’ll ever get.

Dean arrives in Heaven and Bobby receives him. All their conversation stays almost the same, except that after mentioning Rufus and before saying “and your mom and dad…”, Bobby adds an “Ellen and Jo let me borrow their place”. (Reasoning: If you’re gonna put the man outside the Harvelle’s place, at least mention them for Jack’s sake!).

Besides, after Bobby tells Dean that Sam will be along and that time in heaven is different, Dean gives a small smile and says, “Well, there’s no rush. I want him to have a long, happy life.” Bobby answers with: “I would expect nothing less from you, boy” and tells him he got everything he could ever want, etc., just like it happened in the episode, and finishes by asking “What are you gonna do now, Dean?” (Reasoning: It’s important we know for sure that Dean is NOT codependent anymore and that he doesn’t expect to have a miserable afterlife just because his brother is not there yet).

Instead of saying “I think I’ll go for a drive” Dean says, “I think I know what I want” and walks towards baby. Bobby still tells him to have fun. (Reasoning: “Know what I want” is ambiguous enough to help us introduce the last piece of the puzzle, the one thing Dean’s wanted for many seasons and has never been able to express).

The biggest change is coming:

Dean gets on the Impala and has a moment of silence while he contemplates the wheel. He begins to pray: “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on? I hear you’ve been busy working on this updated Heaven with Jack. You were right about him, Cas. You had faith in him and he saved us all. You could always see the best in everyone, even when they couldn’t see it themselves. Even when I couldn’t see it myself. There’s so much I want to tell you. Maybe you can visit sometime. I hope prayer’s still a thing up here.” (Reasoning: Dean’s side of the confession was unaddressed and that was terrible writing. If there was no way to get him to speak his truth textually, at least take him as close to it as possible).

We listen to a flutter of wings and a “Hello, Dean” from the back seat. We don’t see Cas, but the camera shows us Dean’s cocky smile and he says “Took you long enough.” He turns around slowly. End of scene. (Reasoning: The flutter of wings confirms that angels have their wings back and ties that loose end. The final “hello, Dean” was highly anticipated and it made sense. If Misha couldn’t be there to film, for whatever reason, or if the problem was the kind of conversation Dean and Cas would have, then don’t show it, but leave the door open. Let us know that the two characters were reunited and will talk, but whatever Dean has to say is so private that it’s not for us to hear, only for Cas.

We finally hear “Carry on my wayward son” and get a montage that begins with Sam playing with his kid. Then we see Dean driving, super happy, and Sam living his life to the fullest. We still get Sam’s Blurry Wife, BUT… we see pictures of Eileen in the living room (not just of John, Mary, Sam, and Dean). We also see photos of Jody, Donna, Charlie, and AU!Bobby. (Reasoning: FAMILY DON’T END IN BLOOD).

The scene where Sam is wearing the party wig and looks miserable inside the Impala is cut and nobody talks about it ever again because it never existed. We get a scene of Sam teaching his son how to fix the car instead. (Reasoning: First of all, don’t give Sam a life where years later he’s still in pain. Second of all, the fucking wig was a crime).

Sam’s dying scene stays the same. The only thing is that his son signs a couple of phrases to him before actually speaking. (Reasoning: More confirmation that Dean Jr. is Eileen’s son).

We hear the final “Evanescence-like Carry on my wayward son”. Again we see the photos and there’s family other than the Winchesters there. (Reasoning: Obvious at this point).

The rest is exactly the same. The show began with two brothers and it’s okay if the last scene is with the two brothers reunited in Heaven. At this point, the other parts of the story are acceptable enough for us to feel happy that they get to see each other again after years of a happy (after)life.

Now look me in the eye and tell me this was too hard to execute. I still think that bad writing is a thing we can’t deny here, adding to the possible meddling of the Network. Maybe Dabb wanted us to hate the finale because he couldn’t get away with what he truly wanted. If that was his intention, then kudos to him. He and The CW really gave us a finale that only 30% of the fandom liked.

I hope you guys have enjoyed this and it helps to give you some peace of mind. In my heart, this was the finale we got. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t drop the ball either.

#supernatural #15x20 #spn 15x20 #spn finale #rewrite #dean winchester #dean deserved better #cas deserved better #destiel #the characters deserved better #we deserved better #it was easier to get it right #yet they screwed up big time #alternate ending

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Mostrami Amore.

Summary: Cha-young tries to move on from a certain mafia boss.

Author’s Note: Thank for to everyone who sent in prompts for Chayenzo, it resulted in this mess. I don’t have much to say, I considered making this into a multi- chaptered story but honestly I don’t have time for another ongoing story so if this seems rushed it was a little, I wrote it in one go today. Hope you enjoy this, I stuck in some of my favorite crack ship because I am weak and obsessed. Happy reading!

p.s takes place after final episode but han seo lives because this is my world and I get to play God.

Another postcard.

Their delivery becomes sporadic and she’s embarrassed at the giddiness that washes over her each time a new square is sent miles across a wide stretch of ocean, the view on the card most likely lackluster in comparison to the true rendering of Malta. She has spent many hours on her laptop searching for images of the small paradisiac island, yearning to see what he sees and feel just a tad bit closer to him. Most of her life has been spent in solitude with only her work acquaintances filling the void at times, so she expected herself to be more equipped to deal with his disappearance and subsequent absence. But nothing prepares her for those moments at the coffee shop, when she finds herself smiling across a table only to realize there is no miniature espresso cup in the hand of a very dangerous Italian Korean mafia member grinning back at her.

The smile melts off her face and she swallows the bitter cool sludge in her cup, the beverage tasting exactly as he had described it without him there.

Nights are the hardest, loneliness coils around her like a snake.

There was never any other fate for them, she knew that when Vincenzo murdered all their enemies this was their only real outcome. He would always be a fugitive on the run and she an accomplice if he were captured and questioned, it was in both of their best interests if he vanished from the face of the planet. But knowing that does nothing to qualm the ever present feeling of isolation that clings to her skin as she sits alone on her couch, downing makgeolli at a vicious pace. Trying to wash his taste from her mouth, that kiss on loop in her mind and the phantom grip of his hand on her neck.

It’s those treacherous nights without the plaza members that have become a second family to her and Han Seo following her like the lost puppy he is calling her “Noona” so freely and frequently until she forgets her own name, that she allows herself to feel exactly what she’s feelings.

Heartbroken.

Desperate.

Lonely.

Rage.

The last one she hides like a dirty secret in the closet of her heart, she knew what she was signing up for. She has no legitimate reason to be angry, or so she tries to reason with herself. But. This was the same man who had bypassed the security of one of the richest men in Korea and ultimately killed him without leaving a trace. She had watched him do despicable things, blackmailing, threatening, seducing, and murdering others as he saw fit and yet, he hadn’t used any of those dastardly ways to see her. That chance meeting at the art gallery had been the last she had seen of him, Then a few weeks later another postcard with the same message she had boldly uttered at the airport, it feels insufficient after having him in her arms again. She knew in that moment that they would never be enough again. She hadn’t even argued when Mr. Nam claimed he would leave this one on his table instead, she merely nodded and walked away to peruse the new sexual assault case she has taken recently.

It gets harder and harder to hear Han Seo regaling the wonders of his “hyung”, her anger boiling deep below the surface like magma waiting to explode and transform into something tangible and destructive.

“He told me that he has a room for me too. I wonder when he’ll let us visit.”

She nods absently, staring out the window at the sunlight twinkling in through the blinds but then his words register and the gears in her head churn before running the sentence back through to carefully process them.

“He---what? You spoke to Vincenzo?”

The human puppy pouts his lips before tilting his head and dealing a hard blow to her ego and her heart, “Yeah, he sends me letters. I got so scared the first time! He said the letter would self-destruct after I read it and I really thought that was true and I dived across the room to escape but I bumped my head on the table and then...”

He sent Han Seo letters.

She had received the same fucking postcard for months on end with the same message she had said to him, and he had time to write Han Seo letters. He hadn’t sent her even one in the time he had been gone.

“That fucking bastard!” She explodes interrupting Han Seo’s recount of his near death experience and he looks wide- eyed and taken back by her outburst, she almost soothes him before another wave of anger rushes through her veins. She had accepted the bare minimum because she thought this was all he could give her but it seemed she was being too naïve. He was Vincenzo Cassano after all, he could make anything happen. She had seen it with her own two eyes. If he wasn’t reaching out to her maybe that was a message and she was too blind to see it.

“Noona? Are you okay?” Han Seo looks absolutely terrified, eyes huge and quivering. She doesn’t bother answering, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee and stomping out of the office ignoring Mr. Nam’s calls behind her. She’s tired of being an idiot.

She throws herself into forgetting him, the same way he seems to have forgotten her despite his words to her that fateful night on the stairs.

I thought about you everyday.

Actions speak louder than words and she is done accepting his crumbs. She has never needed anyone, had even accepted when her own father wanted nothing to do with her; she has basically been prepping for this moment her entire life.

So she goes shopping with Miri, buying gadgets that she has no idea how to use but that the other girl makes sound like things that she definitely needs such as a new home security system, her break in still fresh in her mind. She grins at the pretty smile on the other girl’s round face as she explains the specification of the machines around them and she can see why Han Seo has such a huge crush on the girl, the pretty blush that blossoms on the other girl’s cheek after stating the fact out loud is adorable and she pinches said cheek much to her chagrin.

“You should worry about your own love life.” Miri teases but the words sting like acid on her skin and she turns away to hide the grimace on her face, but she’s not fast enough and the other girl catches her wrist halting her movement.

“What? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mr. Cassano?” Miri whispers the last part, looking around to make sure that nobody overhears them.

She forces herself to stifle her emotions, trapping them in the back of her mind refusing to let him have this kind of affect on her.

“I wouldn’t know.” She tries for a emotionless tone but even she can hear the bitterness in her own voice and Miri’s eyes fill with pity and it makes her sick to her stomach, “Don’t. I am going to be fine. Let’s just go.”

They don’t utter single word in the car ride home.

After that it becomes painfully obvious that everyone in the plaza thinks something is wrong with her and are teaming up to make her feel better. It’s the packed lunches that keep showing up on her desk without fail, her clothes being steamed and pressed for free, the way that they won’t allow her to be alone and there are countless spontaneous family game nights all ending with her drunk and being carried home.

Tonight Mr. Tak is the unlucky volunteer, dragging her limp body in her father’s house and she thinks of all the times that they drank here together and a certain person was the one hauling her body to bed complaining and grumbling but that distractingly fond smile on his face that he only ever seemed to shoot her way. Her heart thumped loudly as he loomed over her and leaned in close, getting her hopes up only to brush her hair behind her ears and softly tell her, “Go to sleep now,” and she had never been obedient all her teachers could testify to that but when he looked at her like that she was powerless to do anything else but listen.

“I miss him.” The traitorous words fall from her lips and vanish into the inky darkness of the night.

A deep sigh from the left of her, “We know.”

She feels vulnerable, the worst thing about having a weakness is other’s noticing too. She hates how weak she feels.

“I am going to forget him.”

The body supporting most of her weight tenses under her arm and she waits for his response, they all love Vincenzo- he had become their unexpected hero and leader in many ways. They would always take his side, she knows that.

“If that’s what you need to do to be happy. Then, do it. Loving a man like Vincenzo isn’t easy.”

She turns to look at him in genuine shock.

“What? You thought I would tell you to keep waiting with no end in sight? You should know by now, you mean a lot to us too. Your happiness is important to us too, we’re a family.”

“But we’re the Cassano family,” she challenges unable to accept that they could love her without Vincenzo attached, but Mr. Tak shrugs at the clarification, “We can be the Hong Family too.”

She feels her eyes swimming.

“I should go inside.”

She feels sober and more awake than ever, she stays up all night twirling the long strands of her hair in between her fingers.

Thinking.

Variety is the spice of life.

She doesn’t know where she’s heard that but it’s those sage words that are the catalyst for her spontaneous decision.

“Same as always? Silky with some body?” Her stylist peers into her eyes through the wide mirror and she hears herself say, “No I want a cut and some color.” Yu-jin raises one pretty tweezed brow but nods after a moment’s pause, “Okay. How short are you thinking?”

And that’s how she starts her day with long thick hair that grazes her lower back and ends it with a short bob that tickles her neck. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulder, metaphorically and literally and she loves the face that she sees in the mirror, her eyes looking brighter than they have in months. She feels more alive, like a snake shedding its skin and becoming a newer and fresher version of itself.

“Your hair?” That becomes the running theme for her day, shocked gaping mouths and hands reaching out for the hair that was once there. She merely smirks at their palpable surprise, especially Seol-jin who doesn’t recognize her from behind.

“I haven’t seen a pretty lady like you aro--Oh Ms. Hong! I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, I am so sorry please excuse me!” The interpretative dancer bolts away leaving her to watch him bemused, she skips to Jipuragi with a pep in her step laughing loudly when Mr. Nam drops his coffee upon seeing her and the brown liquid goes flying and douses him in a sticky hot mess.

It’s an entertaining day to say the least.

Moments later when he’s finished cleaning himself up and changing into the cheetah print track suit that he insisted to keeping in the office, he mentions that a new postcard has arrived. She nods at the information, looking at her laptop and it’s only seconds later that she finally looks up and sees that he’s waiting for her response. She doesn’t have one.

Forcing a tight smile on her face she replies, “Oh that’s great. Just put it with the others.”

He does.

But she can feel his eyes on her, his concern heavy and tangible in the air.

She pretends not to notice and keeps clicking away on her laptop, only glancing over at the card once or twice. But it’s only out of habit.

Nothing more.

She starts going on dates with random men. Men she meets in coffee shops, on the streets, in bars, hell one time even the bookstore. She never meets the same man twice and they never get what they want but it does make her feel desirable and that’s all she’s looking for.

“Where are you going?” Han Seo asks her curiously, Miri by his side as she struts out the plaza new perfume on her skin.

“On a date. I’ll see you both later.” They both gape at her and can only watch with wide eyes as she sashays away, heels clicking with every step.

Word spreads like wildfire and no one takes it harder than Mr. An, who calls her a “jezebel” and cries at the front of the law firm for hours, she has to step over him to go get lunch shaking him off when he latches on to her ankles.

The others just look at her with sad eyes, filled with both understanding and disappointment.

Much to her surprise the lunch boxes keep coming and her clothes are still pressed and starched to perfection though.

She also starts taking self defense classes, Korea is much more dangerous than she had first suspected and she has to be able to protect herself because nobody is coming to save her. Not anymore.

It becomes a great outlet for her built up anger and her instructor praises her for being a fast learner. She grins and nods before flipping him and twisting his arm around his own neck in a modified sleeper hold. When he taps on her arm she squeezes tighter instead of letting go and he goes limp for a moment before she comes back to herself and releases him hastily with a quick apology, “Sorry!”

He rubs his neck, panting for air and she feels guilty, there's a tinge of that but most of all she feels powerful, more so than she has for a long time.

It’s crazy but she finds herself asking him for drinks after class and even crazier is that he agrees even with her marks still there on his skin, the area bruised and red. He looks at her like she’s challenge that he wants to conquer, she lets him believe that’s possible. It’s only a bit of fun anyway, she has no plans for anything serious.

Drinks turn into a drunken cab ride home with his hand on her thigh, hot through the thin material of her tights and they don’t feel right- too small and not rough enough but she’s moving on and she has no time to reminisce.

There hasn’t even been a postcard lately. Message, loud and clear.

When she shoves the keys into her door, he’s glued to her body leaving wet kisses on the long column of her neck and she tries to suppress the nausea that swims in her stomach, everything feels wrong and she hates herself for feeling that way. Why shouldn’t she fuck whoever she wants? He is probably doing the same thing, everyday on his beautiful private island. Kissing women that aren’t her and whispering dirty Italian words into their ears as he rocks back and forth, nary a thought of that Korean woman he knew once upon a time.

Fuck him.

She rocks back into the purposeful grind of the hips behind her, feeling the hardness that digs into the soft flesh of her ass and finally the door opens and they both tumble in haphazardly and he thrusts a hand under her loose shirt fingering at her breasts before a dark figure moves far too quickly in her peripheral and she hears her date cry out in pain.

She almost faints at the familiar sight of the one person she never expected to see, the hard glint of his cold eyes as he twists the same hand that had just been fondling her chest. The grip looks painful, the wrist contorted in an unnatural manner.

“What the fuck? You have a boyfriend?!” Her instructor cries out, voice high pitched falling to his knees as Vincenzo kicks his feet out from under him.

She rolls her eyes, of course he would come now when she is trying (and failing) to get over him.

Vindictively she answers the question, ‘No.”

But that makes Vincenzo twist the wrist in his grip even tighter and she can see the bones breaking so she takes pity on the poor man, he didn’t sign up for a murderous mafia leader after all.

“Just let him go. You have no right to do any of this.”

He doesn’t listen right away and absently she wonders if she’ll need to test out her new moves on him, it would be satisfying to deck him square in the face. She dreams of that as often as she dreams of their reunion. Her feelings are...complicated to say the least.

Then with a grunt, he throws the other man away like he’s trash and growls out, “Get out of here before I kill you.”

She tries not be get turned on by that. But it’s a hard sell, her body already getting revved up. He’s telling the truth.

The man wastes no time, jumping to his feet and bolting out the door without one backwards glance. Asshole, he was really just leaving her with a clearly unstable and dangerous man.

“We need to talk.” Vincenzo squeezes out between clenched teeth, and her blood runs cold but she stares him dead in the eyes tired of this game they’ve been playing, if he’s here to end things she wants to know.

“Okay. Then talk.”

She looks insanely beautiful, with her hair cropped so short bringing his eyes to the tantalizing length of her neck. His eyes close in on a spot of moisture on her neck, he feels his blood boiling imagining that bastard touching any part of her. She’s glaring right back at him, her chest rising and falling and he can’t help but check her out, it’s been months since he saw her in person the photo of her doing aerial yoga above his bed couldn’t compare to the tempest that is Cha-young in real life.

The flat plane of her belly is on display under the white crop top loosely stretched across her chest which leads down to her slim hips and legs wrapped in white spandex, leaving very little to the imagination not that he hasn’t imagined her in far less many, many times. Too many times to count. Spilling across the silk adorning his king sized bed with only her name on his lips.

She looks fucking hot.

That makes it even more frustrating because he can still clearly see that bastard wrapped around her like a snake and his hands going up her shirt---he has to take a deep breath before he breaks something. Or chases that asshole to break his face.

There’s so much he wants to say to her, so much he owes her.

I missed you.

I love you.

Come with me.

“Who the hell was that?” He says this instead then watches her eyes glint over into nothing but pure murderous rage. Wrong move. But he couldn’t help it, green eyed raged taking away his decision making abilities.

“That’s all you have to say? Get out.”

He wasn’t expecting rose petals and trumpets when he returned but he definitely wasn’t expecting this, her cold glare or another man in his spot. He thought she would wait for him, just as he had done for her.

“Are you serious right now?” He counters, flabbergasted.

“Deadly. Get out.”

He clenches his fist, and then stomps out. Turning back but only to watch the door slam in his face.

What the hell.

It had only taken a letter from Han Seo to get him on boat that would take him to an open field and hours later he was soaring through the skies on a hot air balloon, on his way back to Korea. It was insane and he barely had time to explain to his family but Luca nodded at him like this was the only choice and told him that he would take care of everything, and he trusted those words more than he had ever trusted anything in his life.

“Vai a prendere la tua donna( go get your woman).”

He had nodded, gruffly patting the other man on his shoulder before hopping over into the waiting boat.

But he wasn’t so certain anymore that Cha-young was his.

She seems different. Colder almost, she leaves whenever I mention your name and she goes on dates now. I think she’s moving on hyung, what are you going to do?

Those words had been the scariest thing he had never seen. Scarier than every gun that had ever been pointed at his head. He thought what they had was something special, something that could stand the test of time and distance. He stared at the huge pile of letters on his bedside, all addressed to her. He had written one everyday since they had been separated, but each time he was too much of a coward to send it. In those letters he could say things that he could never say to her face, things like how much he ached without her by his side and how her smile was the only thing that kept him going. In those letters he could regal the ways he loved her, and how deeply she had been branded into his soul, every atom of his body belonged to her and her alone. He would kill for her, die for her, anything she needed or merely wanted he would provide it, all she needed to do was ask.

He could only share those feelings in the letters.

He walks for hours, until he ends up at his old apartment the familiar door greeting him and he sticks his hand in his pocket before he remembers that he gave the key away, with a sigh he starts to walk away before the door creaks open and he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in months.

“Hyung!”

A warmth spreads across his back as a solid weight almost knocks him off his feet. He reaches one arm around his body, awkwardly slapping the face that is pressing into his collar.

“You really chose to stay here.”

He feels the nod on his shoulder, “Of course. It made me feel closer to you hyung, I missed you.”

He grunts in response, before turning around and tugging the younger man into a real hug. He had missed the annoying little leech too, he had missed everyone.

They are still in each other’s embrace for a moment before Han Seo pulls away, sympathy etched deep on his face.

“She wasn’t happy to see you.”

“There was someone else there.” He hates the words even as they leave his mouth and Han Seo winces, looking pained for him before tugging him into the small apartment. Everything is just like he left it. He looks around in awe.

“I’m sorry hyung. What are you going to do?”

That’s the golden question, he pondered it all the way here and he’s no closer to knowing the answer to that. Usually she is the one that makes the move, she has always been the brave one between them. He back steps and says things he doesn’t mean and she sees through him and smashes down all his walls. That’s how this has always worked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Let her be happy.”

A loud scoff reaches his ears, “Sure. Is that why you sailed across sharked infested waters and trusted a hot air balloon company run my former thugs?”

He smarts at the sarcastic reply and glares before flicking the cheeky brat on his nose, "I liked you better when you were stupid you know. Now you're a little smart ass."

The younger man looks even more youthful as he grins back at him, rubbing at his nose before shrugging. "I learned from the best."

He has no rebuttal for that so he tries to flick him again, giving chase when he darts off.

It feels good to be home.

He warns Han Seo not to tell anyone that he's here least they give away his location.

So he's not surprised the next day to find the cavalry at his doorstep hands filled to the brim with containers of food. There are tears, mostly from Mr. Nam who won't stop screaming his name and pinching his cheeks to see if he's real and Mr. An who wraps around him like a koala despite his very detailed threats. It's all chaos and so familiar that his heart aches but her absence is like a hole in his chest. Nobody mentions her but they all keep looking at the door, so it's obvious that she was invited but chose not to come.

Because she didn't want to see him.

"You're here to win her back right?" He doesn't know who even utters the words but when he glances up they are all looking at him expectantly.

He didn't know that was what he was indeed here for thought that she would happily welcome him back and they could pick up where they left off but she's made it clear that this won't be the case. This will be the most important fight of his life.

"Yes. I'm here for Cha-young."

He gets enthusiastic thumbs up and a loud giggle from the Yeon-Jin and Cheol-Wook’s adorable baby, her little hands too uncoordinated to do a thumbs up but she waves excitedly feeding off the energy around her.

He wonders how Cha-young would look with a baby in her arms, their baby it's a dangerous thought. But one that he can't get out of his mind once he thinks it.

They stay until midnight, forcing him to eat and drink too much soju until he passes out to dreams filled with a round Cha-young, belly swollen and protruding from her body.

It doesn't take much to learn her schedule(Mr. Nam hands him a laminated copy) and he has to put on a disguise but he enters the shop seconds after her, hearing her order that god awful sewer water she's so fond of.

"An espresso for me." He leans in too close, almost brushing her shoulder and she jolts at the sound of his voice, turning to stare at him as if she's a mirage.

"You're still here?" She whispers and then shakes her head and looks away as if she's hadn't meant to say the words aloud.

It hurts him that she thought he would leave without telling her but he can't blame her, he has been anything but consistent. Instead of answering, he leans forward to hand his credit card to the cashier who glances between them suspiciously before accepting the card.

Their orders are ready in seconds and he follows her as she walks to their table, butterflies in his stomach at the familiar sight.

She turns to him with a glare, "It's just the only available table."

He moves to pull out her chair and she starts at him tight lipped before sitting down. She's in a tight black suit today, two long slits on the side of her pants going all the way up to her thighs. He gulps down his drink to get rid of the drool pooling in his mouth.

"You're upset with me."

She stares at him like he's the biggest idiot on the planet, it's not a look he receives often but she's always the outlier in his otherwise organized life.

"Astute observation." She quips back, sucking loudly at her coffee.

"Why?"

He considered how to go about breeching this subject and in the end had decided on going straight to the source, he had been under the impression that this was working for them.

Her face morphs into a person he hasn't seen for a long time, the Cha-young that would berate him and make him angry enough to curse in Italian.

"Do you think this little of me?"

He's completely lost, "What do you mean? What did I do that was so wrong? Wrong enough for you to cheat on me!" He's panting now, his voice has gotten loud enough to catch people's attention he can feel them watching their table, nosy and invested.

"Cheat on you?"

Cold as ice, her voice is. It almost makes him shiver.

"How could I possibly cheat on you? We're not together. You send me the same postcard with the same message every few months. I have no idea what you're doing in Malta, who you're with. You can't even be bothered to send me a letter, do you think this is a relationship? You think it's enough to pop up like this every once in a blue moon? You've told me nothing about how you feel about me but I'm supposed to be satisfied with whatever you throw my way?"

If he wasn't sitting down his legs would have already given out he's certain about that. Her voice is deadly quiet each word landing and chipping away at his confidence.

"I'm doing the best I can! You knew it would be like this after everything was over, why are you blaming me now? How about you, I don't know how you feel either!"

"I love you! Anyone with eyes can see that, I told you that at the airport too. And again when I took a bullet for you, you didn't think that meant I loved you? I was willing to die for you."

Shit.

It's not at all how he expected them to confess their love for each other, it's hard to believe the words that are coming out of her mouth as she bares her teeth at him.

"So why are you doing this? Why are there other men?"

Why aren't I enough? He wants to say but he's scared of her answer, terrified that she'll say that she can't do this anymore. That he just isn’t enough anymore.

She stares at him long and hard.

Waiting for something. But he doesn't know what.

"You haven't changed at all. You're still a coward, I'm not interested in guessing anymore. I’m done playing this game.”

She stands up and walks away, leaving her unfinished coffee on the table.

Unwanted just like him.

She doesn't see him for days and she accepts that her words had done their damage, she had cried until she fell asleep that night. Waking up with swollen red eyes that no amount of concealer would save but thankfully no one commented on her state.

She goes through her day on autopilot and before she knows it she's back home, ready to face her night alone again. She pushes the door open, half praying he'll be waiting for her but her hopes shattered when she turns on the lights and finds no one.

"It's better this way." She lies to herself, pouring herself an obscene glass of soju. She's going to need plenty of alcohol to get through this pain.

Her head is woozy and heavy when she hears a sound, suddenly alert she stills in her chair before rushing over to get a frying pan walking on the tips of her toes she prowls closer to the clicking sound, finding herself at the window peering at a long lost friend. Placing the frying pan on her window sill she pry opens the window, screeching when the audacious bird flies inside landing on her table as if he belongs there.

"Hey Inzaghi! Get your dirty bird feet off my table!"

He looks at her nonchalantly, making himself comfortable on said table and she sighs before shutting the window and drunkenly swaying over to him.

"What are you even doing there? Do you want to be my bird now, I won't be a very good owner. I won't remember to feed you. I barely remember to feed myself."

Despite being a bird he finds a way to roll his eyes at her before standing up and only then does she notice something on his leg. She looks at him cautiously before moving closer and untying the paper on his leg, the pigeon barely reacts before flying over to her couch. She sighs in annoyance, she's going to have to clean everything after this bird leaves.

She unwinds the string holding the paper together, unrolling the paper scroll. There is a message written inside: the rooftop. 9 pm.

Glancing at her clock the time shines at her.

7:34pm.

"This could be a trap."

It very much could be, she has enemies now. It was a small price to pay for taking down Babel but she's always looking over her shoulders now, so this note could easily be someone luring her to hurt her or get back at Vincenzo.

Inzaghi coos loudly at her as if he can hear her thoughts. This time he finds a way to look exasperated.

She stumbles off to her room.

She needs time to think.

"So she told you that she loved you and you didn't say it back?"

"I was shocked. She was growling at me and looked ready to kill me at the same time." He reasons back, trying to show his hyung his point of view. The younger man doesn't look even a little bit convinced by his logic.

"Okay and? That sounds perfectly normal for you too. You should have shot someone and wrote it back in their blood on the table."

He recoils in disgust at the suggestion, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually insane, why the fuck would I do that?"

Han Seo stares deadpan in return.

He puts up a hand trying to stop whatever response he has, "Don't say it."

It doesn't work.

"Pig's blood. Don't forget I saw it all, I've never seen Ms. Hong look so excited before. You're both crazy."

Well, that had been different. It was an old tradition, she simply had an appreciation for the classics.

"And I bet you're defending her right now in your mind. Noona is just like you, that's why you're made for each other. She's the gasoline to your fire."

"You know that would just make an even larger fire right?"

"Yes. I'm smart now remember? I know what I said."

He sighs falling into the comfortable familiarity of the couch, a spring digging into his thigh.

"Why didn't you say it back?" His stills at the barely whispered question, his chest constricting as he recalls the passionate confession. He had frozen, like he'd always known she was the brave one between them. Always doing the unexpected and the time was no different, her words had knocked him off his feet.

"Because I was scared."

Han Seo huffs at his honesty. He doesn't know where the words are coming from but he's tired of keeping it all in.

"Because if anything happens to her it'll break me, I thought it would be better if I kept her at a distance. I thought this was enough. I thought this would be easier. When I think about her I want to drop everything and just be with her and that...was too dangerous. I had to keep my distance."

There's a pregnant pause, just the sound of their breathing filling the void.

"Was it?"

"What?"

"Easier. Is this better? Enough?"

He thinks about Cha-young getting married to a faceless man, exchanging vows and sealing it with a kiss, happy and in love on their honeymoon wanton moans and screams from their room, learning that they're having a baby and her round and glowing with someone else's child smiling brightly as she rubs her belly and it's too much. He wants to smash it all into little pieces.

"No. It's not enough. I need her, without her nothing is enough."

"That's what you should have said to her. Don't glare at me I'm right, but I have an idea. I saw it in an American cartoon."

And that's how he lets his younger brother convince him to send a note to Cha-young using Inzaghi, the pigeon had shown up one night and he'd been so happy he almost kissed the bird.

"How will he know where Cha Young lives?" He asks skeptical even as he ties the note to the birds leg.

"I showed him a picture of her house. According to the cartoon, birds just know.”

He stares at the younger man, wondering why he's listening to this ridiculous plan.

"This is stupid. I should just text her, Inzaghi is never going to deliver this. He's just a regular pigeon."

"This is more romantic." He answers matter of fact.

"How is a pigeon delivering a message in anyway romantic?" He challenges already knowing from the shit eating grin he won’t like the response.

"The same way pig blood was." The brat counters and he doesn't get a chance to respond before Han Seo picks Inzaghi up and throws him out the window, "In the name of love!" He only barely stops himself from bashing his head into the wall, the younger man has to wrestle him to the ground.

It's stupid. They did all of this for nothing the cool breeze makes him pull his coat tighter around his body, exposed to the weather on the open space of the rooftop.

He checks his watch, 9:48.

She's not coming and the worst part is that he doesn't know if it's because that damn bird never delivered his message or if it's because she really doesn't want anything to do with him. The burden of not knowing hurts more than anything.

Expelling the air in his lungs he walks back to the single door that leads off the roof, twisting the doorknob in his hand and pulling it open.

Meeting the shocked face of one Cha-young.

They both just stare at each other before he speaks, "You came."

He can't believe it. Inzaghi had actually delivered the note, somehow the pigeon had found her house and she was here. He almost pinches himself to see if he'd passed out on the roof and this was just a dream.

"I didn't know Inzaghi was a carrier pigeon." She futilely tries to change the subject and he takes a step back, gathering the tattered pieces of his courage. The same courage that had propelled him to kiss her all those months ago on the stairs.

"I'm so happy you're here. I waited for you."

She stares at him like he has two heads before blushing, and avoiding his eyes.

"Come with me." He extends his hands and tries not to be too hurt when she bypasses it and steps around him instead.

At least she was here.

With a quick swipe of his hand he sends the message to his accomplices.

Now.

The lights come on, fairy lights decorating the roof top in a heavenly glow. She spins around in wonder, eyes nearly as bright she's so beautiful it's almost painful to look at her.

Then the music starts.

The soft notes filling the space.

When I walk down a road I don't know well....

She looks around in wonder, staring back at him she can’t believe what’s happening.

Then the letters start falling from the sky, all the letters he had written to her alone and missing her thousands of miles away. His plaza family smiles down at him, throwing letters from a higher building.

Cha-young stares up at the sky in surprise, hundreds of letters landing all around her.

It had taken a few days for Luca to send them all over and then another day to get the guts to do this, there was no turning back now. He had never willingly made himself vulnerable to anyone else, but according to Han Seo it was the only way he was going to win her back.

“She just wants to know that you love her too. Show her.”

He watches anxiously as she picks up a letter, stroking lightly at her own name on the front looking at him with stunned wet eyes.

“You wrote me a letter.” Her voice is revere and awe that he doesn’t deserve, not after everything he has put her through in the sake of protecting himself but he’s too elated to see her looking at him like that again, like he’s someone important to her.

“182. For each day we were apart. I told you I thought about you everyday, and every time I did I wrote you a letter.”

She stares at the letter in her hand, gently ripping it open and devouring the words on the page. Nerves shoot up and down his body as he watches her read his most private thoughts about her, her expressive face for once empty of emotions as she silently reads the letter.

He waits.

Breathless and terrified.

“Why didn’t you ever send them? They were mine so why did you keep them?” He hears an edge in her voice that makes him wonder if she’s only talking about the letters.

“Cha-young, I don’t think you understand.”

She breathes out loudly, stomping over to him until they are inches apart and he has no choice but to look into the deep pool of her eyes.

“I don’t! I don’t understand anything, I thought you had found someone else in Malta and the postcards were just your way of being nice. I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did, you were sending Han Seo letters but you wouldn’t do the same for me. What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you try to help me understand, you were gone for six months!”

There’s so much wrong with everything she said, how could he find anyone else when his heart beats for her? How could he forget her when everything he did reminded him of her, he saw her every night in his dreams. But he doesn’t make the same mistake this time, he says what’s important.

“I feel the same way. I love you Cha-young. I thought this was better for you, that this could be enough. But I was wrong, I missed you every minute of every--”

“Come home with me.”

He stops, stares, gapes and then stares some more.

“What? I wasn’t finished confessing though.” Actually offended that she interrupted his planned speech. He was about to recite one of his favorite Italian love poems for her and then ask her to dance.

She rolls her eyes dragging him towards the door, “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time? It’s been six months and you have been here for too long, you have to go soon.”

She’s right, he has a flight in two days for an identity he borrowed for his escape.

“Listen to her, just go back to her place and have a good night!” That sounds like Cheol-Wook and then they all erupt into applause and start cheering and hollering, chanting their names and then to his embarrassment they start chanting, “Go have sex! Go have sex!” complete with the monks banging on their drums and he doesn’t think he will ever live down this moment, especially when he sees Miri capturing it on the new video camera he had gifted her.

He flips them off as an eager Cha-young pulls him away their laughter following them all the way.

The car ride is too long on the way over and she wonders how quickly she can undress them both as soon as they reach, there is simply no time to waste.

But once they get to the doorstep he suddenly freezes, tugging her backwards into his chest.

“This looks familiar doesn’t it?” His voice is dark and smoky and she immediately knows what he’s referring to, and she refuses to give him any reaction.

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“You let someone else touch you. Here.” He runs a hand up her neck, briefly squeezing, “And here,” she gasps at his hands suddenly on her breast, squeezing harshly at the tender flesh.

“So what are you going to do about it?” She knows that she’s playing with fire, but that is their foundation. She has never aimed to cool him off or tone him down, she sees the dark side inside of him and loves it, encourages it and feeds on it herself allowing it to bring her darkness out too.

He kicks the door open, shoving her side and she delights at the rough treatment. She hopes that she is filled with his bruises tomorrow.

She doesn’t wait for his next move, pulling her shirt up and over her head before tugging off her skirt leaving herself in a barely there lace panties and a matching lace bra that is translucent, her nipples peeking through the sheer material. He stares at her transfixed, his hunger evident in his eyes and in the tent forming in his tight dress pants.

“Take those off.” She commands and he smirks before obeying, peeling the pants off his thighs standing in his button down shirt and tight boxer briefs that leave nothing to her imagination, every delicious inch of him visible. She steps forward bringing their bodies in contact, before thrusting her hand inside the opening of his briefs. He feels hard and smooth, liquid pooling at the tip and she twists her hand collecting it to ease her slow strokes up and down. His voice hitches as she fingers his balls and without warning she tugs his boxers off, leaving him bare to her eyes.

Mesmerized by the unencumbered sight of him, she drops to her knees using her hand to guide him to her eagerly waiting mouth.

His flavor explodes on her tongue and she swallows more, grabbing his hips to drag him deeper into her mouth until she can feel him in her throat, but even after her eyes start to burn and she feels herself choking she doesn’t stop, bobbing up and down hungrily, sloppy wet sounds filling the room in a filthy symphony. At first he lets her control the movement, pliant in her hands but as she increases her speed and suction he starts groaning and huffing loudly and then she feels his hand on the back of her hand, keeping her in place and when she looks up at him he looks wrecked. Eyes dazed and his face red and flushed, she ingrains that image in her mind, for when he’s gone and all she has are her toys.

She stares back defiantly before he draws himself out of her mouth, a single line of spit connecting them and then he thrusts back into her mouth roughly and she opens her mouth wider to accept the abuse, loving every second of it even as a her throat aches. He sets a frantic pace, his balls slamming against her chin and she doesn’t realize at first that his grunts have transformed into words, too much blood rushing to her head.

“Mine. Mine, nobody can---ah fuck! Nobody can see you like this. Only me. You’re mine.”

He fucks her mouth like it’s his to use and do what he pleases, and she’s wetter than she’s ever been listening to him claim her verbally and with the wet push of his dick in her mouth.

She starts grinding on the floor like a cat in heat and without preamble he grabs her under her armpits and lifts her like she weighs nothing, his dick sliding free from her hot mouth, “I want to make you scream.” He says this like a declaration of love and she throws herself at him, kissing the words off his lips. His tongue swirls in her mouth and she wonders if he can taste himself in her. It makes her hotter and she grinds her barely covered pussy onto his naked length, groaning at the friction even though the thin layer separating them.

He tosses her onto the bed and she doesn’t even remember them walking, his tongue and his wondering fingers had completely distracted her.

She lays sprawled across the bed as he stares at her, like she’s feast he can’t wait to devour.

“Nobody has been in here.” She doesn’t know if he’s asking a question or making a statement, but she feels that his jealousy is real. Seeing her with someone else had done something to him, guilt washes over her. If she had seen him with someone else she would have lost her mind too.

“Nobody. I never brought anyone home before, that guy was a mistake. I was just hurt and missing you. I’m sorry.”

He had abandoned her for six months and she didn’t owe him anything but his pain is her pain and they are stronger now, everything has been said.

“Good.”

Then he rips her panties away and buries his face between her legs, prying her wide open with his hands and lapping at her with his searing hot tongue. Immediately he has his wish and she screams, loud enough to fill the entire room.

“Already screaming amore? It’s going to be a long night, I want to make you hoarse.”

She doesn’t get a moment to respond before he’s back to licking and sucking at her most sacred part, fingers deep inside her as he thrusts and strokes alongside his tongue, his fingers and tongue moving in tandem and she tries to stifle the scream but a particularly deep fuck makes the sound erupt from her throat and her head feels dizzy from the overwhelming sensation.

He has boundless energy it seems, as time drags by and she feels her body tightening up as he systemically destroys her, he never takes a break or pauses, slurping up all the liquid that drips from her and the sounds of him swallowing are beyond erotic. When a hand runs up her stomach and squeezes at a bouncing breast she can’t contain her moans of pleasure, crying out as his fingers pinching the tight bud of her nipple.

“Please.”

He coos in her, “So pretty when you beg.” Then he sticks his tongue as far as it can go and she hears the rush of blood in her head as her body shakes apart and her release gushes from her body, twitching when he laps it all up her oversensitive body recoiling from the overstimulation.

She has never come like that before, most men have never put in the work necessary to make her come and she wasn’t one to fake it so her experiences with sex with someone else were few and far in between.

This feels like nirvana.

“You still with me amore?” The bastard looks so smug, looming above her naked arms on the side of her head, and she had no idea when he took his shirt off.

“I can’t feel like my legs.”

He chuckles loudly at the statement, grinning growing wider.

“Well I can assure you that they’re still there and they will look great wrapped around my waist.”

Raising to his challenge, although her body is still buzzing she wraps her legs around his waist, they feel like jelly but she finds the strength to follow through with her movement.

“I was right they do look great.”

“Well this would look great in me.” She counters, grabbing at his thick ruddy red dick jutting from his body and he rocks into her hand before knocking her hand away and taking himself in his hand.

“Do we need a condom?” He asks her, looking like he is ready to stop at nay minute if she tells him that they do.

“No.”

She has been on birth control since she was a teen and there’s been no one for her since she met him, and she trusts that it’s been the same for him.

“Thank goodness, I want to feel everything.” He barely finishes his sentence before he’s easing into her, slow and steady. She lets him continue for a moment before she tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him in roughly, as deep as she can get him in this position. “Fuck, you’re so impatient.”

“Shut up and fuck me already.”

He grumbles at her calling her bossy, but she sighs when he draws out and slams back in with a quick snap of his hips.

“Yes just like that!”

He takes direction very well, repeating the motion until the bed starts to creak from their movements, he pistons in and out of her gone all semblance of gentle or slow, they have teetered into a speed that can only be defined as “break neck” and she feels her body sliding up the mattress as he pounds into her over and over again, she latches onto his neck eager to leave a branding mark on him and he groans at the suction, grinding harder into her and gripping her ass to force her to meet his vicious thrusts.

Absently she feels him peeling her bra from her body, the only remaining item of clothing that has survived their coupling and she knows exactly when he sees the scar. The grotesque knitting of skin that had left a permanent scar on her shoulder, she almost covers it up but when she peels her eyes open he is staring at her mesmerized.

“Don’t look.”

He leans down to kiss it, the softest more precious kiss she has ever received in her life.

He peppers more kisses all over, then strokes at it with a single finger.

“I should have realized, this was your confession. I was an idiot. I will never be that stupid again, I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Anything.”

He puts her legs on her shoulder, nearly bending her in half before resuming his thrusts but they are less frenzied now, it feels like lovemaking. Her eyes prickle when he kisses her scar with every downward thrust, whispering, “Beautiful, so beautiful. Every inch of you.”

She cries out.

With every thrust he kisses her scar, making her feel lightheaded and naked.

When he moves them into a new position, her back to his front giving him better access to her scar, she loses herself as he whispers sweet nothings into her ears and litters the spot with warm kisses.

She falls off the edge with his lips on her scar and him deep inside her, warm bursts filling her up before leaking out onto the bed sheets.

“Today’s our last day.”

Waking up next to him is torture, she tries not to ingrain that in her mind but it’s too late it’s already there. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes at her words and then nods solemnly in agreement.

“Yes for this visit. But I’ll always come back for you.”

She smiles brightly, “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.”

They don’t leave the bed except to get breakfast and that ends with her laid across the kitchen table getting taken from behind after teasing him. He can’t seem to keep his hands off her new hair, twisting the short strands in his hands and yanking on them. She catches him looking at her heatedly more than once.

Then they wind up in the shower, trying to clean up and getting dirtier instead, his hands tight in her hair and around her waist as he hoists her up to pound her into the wall. Making up for lost time.

They get messages from their entire family, Vincenzo showing her a message from Han Seo asking if he’s going to be an uncle soon. She promises to embarrass him in front of Miri very, very soon.

Both pretend they don’t feel the day fading away, bringing them closer to their goodbye.

Tomorrow he will be gone again, but there’s no guessing now. She knows what she means to him now and that’s more than enough.

She wakes up to an empty bed and a ticket to Malta, the ball is in her court.

#vincenzo #chayenzo #smut #but you know with feelings #romance isn't dead #you can find it in strange places #like pig's blood #han seo has the best wingman #the mafia family

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mrvdocks · 4 years

Text

Nightcall P.2

Summary: Kurt is obsessive over a model and kidnaps her, taking her along for the ride of the night. P.2

You feel the tiredness behind your eyes when they flutter open, your chest rises and falls slowly as you take in your surroundings. You were home. It was close to six now, but some light still came in through your shades and illuminated your living room sunset orange.

You sit up in confusion, was the whole Spree a dream? More like a nightmare.

Your head is killing you, almost as if there’s a jackhammer in your skull.

You rub at your eyes tiredly, standing up too quick and needing to balance yourself on the arm of the couch you were just laying on.

The apartment’s empty, save for some background noise coming from your laptop.

That’s odd, you didn’t remember leaving your laptop on.

Your vision blurs for a moment but sharpens on the image in front of you. The chat in the live stream is going nuts with all sorts of comments ranging from “when are we going to see some gory shit?” to “bring back Bobby!”

That’s when you realize the person on the live stream is you.

The comments change to asking you if all of this is real and if Kurt is coming back.

Your eyes widen as you read his name.

That’s when you hear him.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I was starting to get scared that I used too much of the stuff.”

You don’t know how much tensing your body can take. You put the screen down, meeting a smiling Kurt who’s dressed in Bobby’s clothes. You know it’s his because of the sponsors you helped him get.

You grab at the nearest thing on the table, brandishing a leftover metal fork at him.

It merely amuses him as he puts your hand down with ease and takes the fork away.

“Come on, did you really think I was going to hurt you? You, of all people? I have no reason to do that.”

“You’ve done worse for less,” you shudder, glancing behind you to find a way out.

“You’re not in any danger with me. You’re safe, okay?” He takes small steps towards you, hands out in a gesture to relax you.

It doesn’t work, it only makes you more nervous. For every step he takes forward, you take one back.

“I bet you’re hungry.” He says, disappearing into your kitchen.

You take this chance to run into your room, remembering there was a landline you never paid attention to there. Maybe you could get out of this still.

Much to your dismay, the line’s been cut by Kurt anyway.

“I didn’t want us to be interrupted.” He says, bringing in his concoction of food.

You don’t have the strength in you to fight and your stomach grumbles at the sight of the food. He holds it out in front of you, waiting.

You stare at it, trying to figure out if anything’s wrong with it.

“I didn’t poison it or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

When you don’t believe him, he takes a bite out of the sandwich and scarfs it down immediately. Nothing happens.

You take it from him slowly and bite at it before completely devouring it whole.

“Good. You’re going to need energy for later.” He leaves you alone to go back into the living room.

You don’t understand what he means until you hear something drag against your floors. He reappears in your bedroom dragging the body of the same man from the earlier Spree.

You instantly feel sick to your stomach, the food you just ate reaching your throat as you gag at the smell.

You shudder lowly, feeling your shoulders shake and your chest heave as you clasp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to calm yourself.

The dead body in front of you was very much freaking you the fuck out and you didn’t know whether to scream or to cry about your situation.

Kurt makes quick work of the man’s possessions, pocketing them to probably discard them later.

“People are just so rude,” He says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Kurt killing someone for demeaning you is something you didn’t see coming. Then again, you didn’t really see yourself being kidnapped on the list of things that would happen this week.

“This makes you worse than Bobby. No, worse than anyone.”

You don’t know where the sudden fuel to comment on his actions came, you were still scared but somehow it came barreling out.

He stops what he’s doing, looking at you in disappointment.

He really couldn’t expect you to go along with this, could he?

“Bobby and I are different, you know that. This is different.”

You didn’t know him.

“So what? You don’t like how the world treated you so you just do whatever you like? Murder as you please?”

He doesn’t argue back, he doesn’t need to. You’re right.

“I’m not just doing this for myself.” He rubs at his temple.

“Kurt,” you muster enough courage to look him dead straight in the eyes. “Do not do this and say that it’s for me. I won’t hesitate -”

“To leave? Go ahead, you’ve had all this time.”

He renders you speechless. He was right, you could’ve easily overpowered him with anything in the room. But if he was so infatuated with you the right thing would’ve been to let you go without consequence.

“You said you trusted me.” He murmurs.

“You ran a fucking light and now you’re a serial killer! It doesn’t apply to both!”

“I’m - I’m not the bad guy here!” He huffs incredulously, as if everything he did wasn’t affecting him psychologically the way it was you. “If anything, I’m doing the world a favor! These are scum of the earth people!”

He calms down. “They get it.”

He points presumably to the laptop mere feet away from you both. The sounds of the stream popped up one after the other.

“Really? Because as far as everybody’s concerned, they all think this is some kind of fucked up joke!”

“Let them believe what they want to believe. They’re finally watching me!”

It doesn’t matter to him that they’re insulting him in the comments, or that he killed someone he considered a friend.

“So everyone has an expiration date for you.” You conclude.

He was only going to use people up. That should’ve been common sense. You don’t understand why that fact made you feel a little dejected. You wish he could revert back to the Kurt you met.

“Do I have an expiration date?”

“No.” He assures. “But if this is going to work I need you to be okay with this.”

“I’m not.”

Fighting him was futile. You were forced into it. You wanted so desperately to warn these people and get the word out. But that's also what he would've wanted. He wanted you to give him exposure. The officer still thinks you did it all willingly, but the footage was more than enough to help you get off with a few repercussions.

You wish you could forget the screams of the people in the car, a thousand washes with soap couldn’t get rid of the blood on your hands. Even if some of them really were assholes, shouldn’t they have also had a chance at redemption?

With each spree, Kurt only was egged on by the audience and those that found the livestream later. Many of them called for you to do something equally as horrifying but you couldn’t. Many suggested for him to get rid of you since you were being ‘boring’. He wouldn’t do it.

And that’s when he set his sights on Jessie. After promptly kidnapping her and trying to convince her to join him to no avail, he takes both of you back to his house. You had enough. You wanted a way out and Jessie was it. You just didn’t know everything would end so bloody.

There’s an ensuing fight, she strangles Kurt with the phone charger and knocks you back in an attempt to stop it. The back of your head collides with the passenger window harshly, forcing you to screech in pain.

Kurt doesn’t take it well.

She swindles Kurt, taking the gun he kept in the glove compartment and arming herself with it. This wasn’t how you wanted it to go. You just wanted her to scare him enough to turn himself in.

But the crazed look in her eye suggested that wasn’t happening.

The final battle takes place at his home. Where all his dirty secrets are let out.

“I’ll shoot you both if you don’t move!”

You keep your hands up, shielding Kurt with your body.

“Jessie please, let’s think about this.”

“And let him get away with all of this? He’s brainwashed you already.”

“He hasn’t - listen he won’t get away with this. Jessie please, give me the gun.”

She wavers, the barrel pointed directly at you. Your heart is beating so fast you almost think you’ll die from a heart attack before the bullet even reaches you.

“No! No, this has to end. He’s fucking crazy, can’t you see that??! This was always going to end with one of us dead anyway, and it’s not going to be me.” She points behind you and almost pulls the trigger but is stopped by you lunging at her.

“No!” You yell.

You tackle her onto the floor, the back of her head bouncing off the leg of the pool table and knocking her unconscious.

You press your index finger against her neck, feeling her pulse. You sigh in relief.

“Why didn’t you let her do it?” Kurt asks suddenly.

“She was going to kill you. I don’t know how I’d feel about that.”

Kurt had no problem having these people on his conscience, but you did. Maybe killing him would be good, but him facing justice for what he did would be better. He could atone for all of this.

“Even after what I did to you?”

You don’t answer and instead prop Jessie against the wall. You were honestly very sorry for it but you were optimistic about the outcome of all of this.

Kurt bends to your level and takes you into his arms, squeezing you tight.

“We did it!” He celebrates prematurely, Jesse’s not even dead but it doesn’t matter to him. He thinks you’re on his side, that’s more than enough.

You smile nervously, his forehead touching yours in what he believes is a tender moment.

“What are you going to do to her?” You’re afraid of the answer.

Kurt’s mood shifts immediately, serious now.

“I have to get rid of her now obviously. If she won’t join us then there’s no point to her.”

His quick response is enough for you to discard all hope that he would walk away from this. You grip the gun in your right hand, sure that he hasn’t seen it.

“This is going to be great! We’re going to be even bigger than all these assholes. And you can finally be by my side, as it should be.”

Your blood runs cold. He’s a dead man walking at this point.

You say fuck it as you abandon all morals. With the free hand you have, you bring it to the nape of his neck and press your lips against his. He’s so distracted by it that he doesn’t feel the front of the gun pressed against his abdomen.

It’s only when you feel your finger pull back the trigger that the shot startles you both and he opens his eyes to looks at you in shock.

You unload another shot into him. He crawls away from you and applies pressure onto his wound, howling in pain.

He looks at you again, hurt and confusion clear on his face. He reaches for you, calling for you in between coughing fits and cries of pain.

You empty the last bullet into his shoulder, sending him backward.

There’s a ringing in your ear that drowns out the sirens in the distance. You don’t know who managed to call them but you’re thankful to end this nightmare. You’re still holding the gun out but it only takes you a second to realize you’re screaming. Absolute guttural and gut-wrenching wailing.

When they arrive, the paramedics have to sedate you to calm you down. Jessie is taken in the ambulance while an officer tries to get you out of the house while you’re still conscious. Kurt’s body lays limp in a pool of red, his hand still reaching and glazed eyes staring back at you.

It haunts you.

“People like Kurt needed a partner. We believe he was targeting Ms. Adams previously before his attention turned to you. Do you know why that is?”

You lie. “No.”

It’s easy to say you never knew his intentions. They were spur of the moment decisions. Everything was chance. You can't explain yourself or Kurt’s psyche to her, there’s no easy way to do it.

She sighs. “Listen, whatever good you think you saw in him, whatever ramble about the real world you think you understood - was never there.”

Her words should make you feel better, comfort you in the fact that you developing some sort of twisted attachment with your kidnapper wasn’t your fault. You don’t know how to feel, you just feel...empty.

“It doesn’t matter now.” You shrug.

“You said Kurt told you something before he died. What was it?”

You let your heavy eyes close in exhaustion. You don’t remember why you told them that, but it must’ve slipped out in questioning.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

Unsure if she believes you or not but knowing there’s nothing else to keep you here, she dismisses you. You trudge out of the interrogation room and out of the station into the cold. You don’t bother with ordering a ride, it’s been ruined for you.

Instead you walk it home, feeling yourself go into autopilot. You think you see his face in every driver that passes you.

You’re sure you look catatonic to people but you don’t care. You just want to rest.

As soon as you’re home you slip into the bathroom, turn on the shower until it’s steaming and let everything out.

In the weeks that follow, you and Jessie are thrown into the stratosphere of fame. While she’s more content with her newfound trajectory and takes advantage of it, you decline every interview and prying noses that ask you to explain your relationship with Kurt. It’s all part of their circle jerk of tragedy, milking the victims for information and glamour.

Kurt’s regarded as a loser by those who are saner than he was and a god by those on the internet. You’re not entirely surprised.

You think it’s all over when months pass without incident until one day your friends send you a link to something on Reddit, which you don’t think twice about.

You regret it as soon as you see Kurt’s face in the thumbnail. Someone took all the footage from that night and was going to broadcast it later to show off their own documentary.

You don’t use social media anymore.

#spree #kurt kunkle x reader #kurt kunkle #well here it is

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joneswuzhere · 3 years

Text

hello join me in thinking about some books and authors that are, or might be, part of s5′s intertextuality

5.10 in particular offered specific shout outs, and also u know i’m always wondering what might be ahead so i have some ideas on that:

- first, as mentioned in a previous ask post, i know i wasn’t alone in keeping an eye out for 5.10 parallels to the lost weekend (1945) the film that gave episode 1.10 its name and several themes - or to the 1944 book by charles r jackson which the film is based on

- s5 has not been shy about revisiting earlier seasons, especially s1. altho i feel that 1.10′s parallels to the lost weekend centered characters other than jughead (mostly betty), a 1.10-5.10 connection involving jughead and themes from jackson’s story (addiction, writers block, self reflection) seemed v possible if not inevitable

- but like,, , for a hot minute after the ep, i was really stumped on understanding how anything from the book or film could apply, even tho the pieces were almost all there

- jackson’s protagonist don birnam goes thru and comes out the other side of a harrowing days-long drinking binge that could be compared to jughead’s one-night hallucinogenic writing retreat

- but jughead is struggling primarily with traumatic memories, not addiction and self control like birnam. and tho drinking activates birnam’s creativity, it paralyzes his writing as he gets lost in fantasies; he’s never published anything. jughead’s drug trip recreates circumstances that already helped him write one successful book. even the rat that startles him mid-high doesn’t line up with birnam’s withdrawal vision of a dying mouse, symbolic of his horror at his own self-destruction thru alcohol

- and maybe the most visible discordance: in the film there’s a romantic motif around a typewriter. first it’s an object of shame; birnam’s failure to write, tied up with his drinking, makes him flee his relationship. he tries to pawn the typewriter for booze money and finally a gun when shooting himself feels easier than getting sober. but with the help of relentless encouragement from girlfriend helen, he quits drinking, commits to her, and focuses on typing out the story he’s dreamt of writing. rd goes so far to avoid setting any comparable scenario that jughead has brought a wholeass printer into the bunker so there can still be a physical manuscript to cover in blood by the end, even without his own typewriter. the subtle detail of his laptop bg image is a little less noticeable than his avoidance of betty’s gift

- tabitha might be closer to a parallel than jughead is, but she’s still no helen. both refuse to take advantage of the inebriated men in their care, but birnam takes advantage of helen, financially and emotionally. jughead refused a loan from the tate family and now has resolved to deal with his shit before he considers a relationship with tabitha. instead of helen’s relentless and unwelcomed attempts to get birnam sober, tabitha reluctantly agrees to help jughead trip safely bondage escape notwithstanding. she even helps him get the drugs.

- whatever potentials exist for parallels to jackson’s story, they were not explored for this episode. ok so why tf am i even talking about this? what was there instead?

- i have arrived at the point

- s5 has been revisiting s1, not directly but with a twist. and jughead’s agent samm pansky is back. u may recall, pansky is named for sam lansky

- jughead’s trip-thru-trauma is a story device tapped straight from lansky’s book ‘broken people’

- lansky is like if a millenial john rechy wrote extremely LA-flavored meta but just about himself no jk very like a modern successor to charles r jackson. both play with the boundary between memoir and fiction. lansky is gay; jackson wrote his lost weekend counterpart as closeted and remained closeted himself until only a few years before his death. both write with emotional clarity and self-scrutiny on the experiences of addiction, sobriety, and the surrounding issues of shame and self worth

- i feel like a fool bc after this ep i had been thinking about de quincey and his early writings on addiction (c.1800s), but i failed to carry the thought in the other direction, to contemporary writers in the genre, to make this connection sooner

- lansky’s second book, broken people, follows narrator ‘sam’, mid-20s, super depressed, hastled by his agent to write a decent follow-up to his first book, but too busy struggling with his self-worth and baggage from several past relationships. desperate, he takes up an offer to visit a new age shaman who promises to fix everything wrong with him in a matter of days. not to over simplify it but he literally spends a weekend doing psychedelics and hallucinating about his exes. jughead took note

- unless u want me to hurl myself into yet another dissertation about queer jughead, i think his parallel to sam - who, unlike jughead, has considerable financial privilege and whose anxieties center on body dysmorphia, hiv scares, and his own self-centeredness - pretty much ends there

- But,, the gist of the book could not be more harmonius with a major theme shared by the 2 films that inform the actual hallucination part of jughead’s bunker scene: mentally reframing past relationships to get closure + confronting trauma head-on in order to move forward

- so that’s neat. what other book and author stuff was in 5.10?

- stephen king and raymond carver get name dropped. i’m passingly familiar with them both but u bet i just skimmed their wiki bios in case anything relevant jumped out

- like jughead, carver was a student (later a lecturer) at the iowa writers workshop. also the son of an alcoholic and one himself

- i recall carver’s ‘what we talk about when we talk about love’ is what jughead was reading in 2.14 ‘the hills have eyes’ after he finds out about the first time betty kissed archie (at that time he does not respond as would any of carver’s characters)

- this collection of carver stories deals especially with infidelity, failings of communication, and the complexities and destructiveness of love. to unashamedly quote the resource that is course hero, ‘carver renders love as an experience that is inherently violent bc it produces psychic and emotional wounds.’ very fun to wonder about the significance of this collection within the s2 episode and in jughead’s thoughts. and maybe now in the context of the s5 state of relationships. or, at least, the state of jughead’s writing as seen by his agent

- anyway pansky doesn’t want carver, he wants stephen king

- i have too much to say about gerald’s game in 5.10, that’s getting its own post someday soon

- lol wait king’s wife is named tabitha uhhh king’s wiki reminded me of his childhood experience that possibly inspired his short story ‘the body’ (+1986 movie ‘stand by me’) when he ‘apparently witnessed one of his friends being struck and killed by a train tho he has no memory of the event’

- no mention of that in this rd episode but memories of a train could be interesting to consider with the imagery that intrudes on jughead’s hallucination. i still feel like it was a truck but the lights and sounds he experiences may be a train

- ok now we’re in the speculation part of today’s segment

- if jughead’s traumatic memory involves trains, then it’s possible this plot will take influence from la bête humaine <- this 1938 movie is based on the 1890 novel by french writer émile zola. this story deals with alcoholism and possessive jealousy in relationships, sometimes leading to murder. huh, kind of like carver. zola def comes down on the nature side of the nature-vs-nuture bad seed question (tho i should say he approaches this with great or maybe just v french compassion). also i can’t tell if this is me reaching but, something about la bête humaine reminds me of king’s ‘secret window’ which we’ve observed to be at least a style influence on jughead post time jump

- but wow a late-19th century french writer would be a random thing to drop into this season, right? then again zola also wrote about miners, which we’ve learned are an important part of this town’s history + whatever hiram is up to this time. and most notably, zola wrote ‘j’accuse...!’ an open letter in defense of a soldier falsely accused and unlawfully jailed for treason: alfred dreyfus. archie’s recent army trouble comes to mind.

- since the introduction of old man dreyfuss (plausibly Just a nod to close encounters actor richard dreyfuss, but also when is anything in this show Just one thing) i’ve been wondering if these little things could add up to a season-long reference to zola’s writings. but i had doubts and didn’t want to speak on it too soon bc, u know, it’s weird but is it weird enough for riverdale??

- however,,,

- (come on, u knew where i was going with this)

- a24′s film zola just came out. absolutely no relation to the french writer, it’s not based on a book but an insane and explicit twitter thread by aziah ‘zola’ wells about stripping and? human trafficking?? this feels ripe for rd even outside the potentials here for the lonely highway/missing girls plot.

- that would add up to a combination of homage that feels natural to this show

- anyway pls understand i’m just having fun speculating, most of this is based on nothing more concrete than the torturous mental tendril ras has hooked into my skull pls let go ras pls let go

#accompanying image has no meaningful organization it's just there to make me look insane. enjoy #riverdale speculation #filmref #but books #adhd has me like. this is Not the post i've been trying to write for weeks but my brain gave me no choice

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

anyone can cook

rafe cameron x reader

words: 3729

warnings: usual cursing, mentions of drugs

synopsis: college au, four times you cook for rafe and one time he cooks for you

Growing up, your mom taught you the importance of food. For most of your childhood, you loved cooking with her. Learning family recipes, and spending time in the kitchen with her instead of doing homework was thrilling to you. As you aged, you started to resent it, feeling like your mother was perpetuating the harmful stereotype that women are meant to be in the kitchen.

And then you left school early and came home to see the shit your dad was putting your mom through and was forced to immediately take that hard pill to swallow. Perspective was a bitch. Your mom didn’t cook to please your dad, she cooked to keep him happy enough for you to be fooled. It was heartbreaking.

You decided then that you’d not take any time cooking with your mom for granted. She loved you and she wanted you to be happier than her. For her, you could certainly fucking try. It was all going great until the storm that knocked out power, rendered the kitchen useless, and drove your dad’s patience level to its breaking point.

He’d never been that angry before, at least not in front of you. You weren’t sure what to do as he lashed out at your mom and then you, without warning and in the end, without apology. Normally if you were upset, your mom would make cookies with you, letting you use cookie cutters and dirty unnecessary dishes. That time though, you had to figure it out alone.

When you got to college, your parents helped pay rent for your first apartment. It had a good kitchen with lots of room, and your mom bought you a ton of kitchen tools, pots and pans, and other cooking necessities as a graduation gift. Her and your dad helped you move in, and that night, with shaky hands, she held your face in her hands. Tears in her eyes she whispered, “Promise me you won’t stop cooking.”

You couldn’t stop your own tears as you gulped and nodded a little frantically, “Of course not, Mama.”

Rafe lived a very different life. His real mother wasn’t in the picture and his step mother didn’t really want kids, so his experience with cooking was very limited compared to yours. Coincidentally that’s how the two of you met, outside your apartment building at 11:48 p.m. while the fire department sorted out the disaster that was his dinner attempt.

You knew it was his fault because he was very carefully trying to make himself look small. The only reason you knew what had gone wrong was you overheard the fireman talking to the landlord saying it was just a small kitchen fire in 227 and wouldn’t be too much to fix.

It was really out of character, but you walked over to where he was sitting on the curb and sat down next to him, “227?”

His head turned toward you sharply, “Figured me out, huh?”

“You were trying a little too hard to look inconspicuous.”

He shrugged, “Didn’t want a bunch of angry neighbors.”

Which you understood, so you nudged his shoulder with yours, “Well, I’m not angry and I know, but I’m not so sure I’d risk it with her,” you pointed at a lady who seemed to be ranting into the phone.

The boy followed your point and winced, “Yeah maybe not. Cooking clearly isn’t for me.”

“What were you making?”

“Kraft mac and cheese.”

You let out a loud laugh, assuming it was a joke. But then he didn’t meet your eyes or laugh along and you quickly stopped laughing, “Wait actually?”

With a shrug, he answered, “No one really taught me how to cook.”

And here you had a choice. Years and years of stored up cooking knowledge, endless recipes memorized, and a fantastic kitchen begging to be used by more than one person made the choice obvious.

“Well then take this as my standing dinner invitation whenever you want. I’ll give you my number and you can let me know when you’re hungry.”

“So, you’re gonna what, teach me how to cook.”

“Well, we can start small. I’ll cook for you first.”

One:

The first time Rafe texted you was on a night you actually had a fridge full of leftovers, but the boy who lived alone with sad eyes deserved better than leftovers. Rafe knocked on the door a few minutes later and he was dressed similarly to the first time you’d seen him, in sweats and a hoodie, and his hands were folded nervously in front of him.

You let him in, and he followed you to the kitchen, “So what’s on the menu for tonight?” he asked.

“Chicken pot pie,” you told him over your shoulder. You’d turned the oven on to preheat and had the potatoes and carrots chopped already. He stood behind you, peering over your shoulder.

Before you could continue, he cut in, “Is there something I can do?”

You thought for a minute, “You can control the music. My phone is synced up to the bluetooth speaker and I have Spotify pulled up, so have at it.”

Rafe nodded and sat down as you put the veggies into a pot and added water to start boiling them. You quickly went into your cooking zone as Rafe sat quietly queuing up songs. They were from your chill playlist and you appreciated that he was sticking to your playlists, humming along every so often.

By the time you pulled the chicken and veggie mixture from the heat, Rafe was leaning forward in his seat, and he looked excited to see what you’d do next. Reaching down, you pulled out a glass pie tin and looked over at him, “After I press the crust down, will you help me pour the mixture in?”

Rafe nodded eagerly and you made quick work of the pie crust, motioning him to come around the counter. He looked hesitant for the first time since you’d started cooking, and you tried to smile reassuringly. Returning the smile, he moved closer, “What do you want me to do.”

You held out the potholders, “If you pour, I’ll scoop.”

He picked the pot up and slowly poured the mixture into the tin and you quickly scooped the stuff that didn’t pour. Rafe set the pot down and you held the second crust out to him to press on top. He mimicked your actions from earlier carefully, and you couldn’t help but smile. You showed him how to press the edges down with a fork and he did so, slowly. Covering the edges, you let Rafe put it in the oven and then led him to the living room to start a movie while the two of you waited for it to finish.

The pot pie was a family recipe, and when Rafe tried it, the look on his face made it worth him seeing the secret ingredients your mom added to jazz it up. It felt good seeing someone enjoying your cooking again.

Two:

You weren’t entirely sure the relationship Rafe had with his family, but on fried catfish night, Rafe showed up at your doorstep unexpectedly. Fortunately, you had a few extra, so you invited him in for dinner. It wasn’t exactly what he was gunning for when he showed up, but he’d never say no to your cooking.

While you battered and seasoned the fish, he vented about his dad.

“I just don’t understand how a 4.0 isn’t fucking good enough. He’ll never give me any credit as long as Sarah does well in school and plays volleyball, I just want to be good enough.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, and you found yourself tearing up on his behalf. You paused the music that had been softly playing in the background, “Fuck your dad, you deserve better.”

Rafe laughed drily, “I’ve done some dumb shit, this is my karma. I just don’t like it.”

“I fail to see any mistakes bad enough to warrant a parent totally disregarding their child like that. Did you kill someone or something?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “No, I didn’t kill anyone. But I had a drug problem in high school. I’m clean now, but it was me attempting to get my dad’s attention and it all spiraled out of control. Clearly it didn’t work out the way I wanted it to because my dad just kicked me out.”

You were horrified, “He kicked you out?!”

“Yeah, I went from couch to couch for a while until checking myself into rehab so I could get clean. I was tired of being dependent on something and really I wanted to prove my dad wrong.”

“God, Rafe, I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged and you started heating the oil up to start frying. There was an extended pause before he softly continued, “He didn’t let me move back in, even when I showed up clean. News of everything had gotten around town and he didn’t want me to further disgrace the family name.”

Brushing a tear off your cheek, you caught his eye, “Karma will come for your dad someday. You deserve only good things, Rafe.”

With a faint smile, he tapped his fingers on the cabinet, almost nervously, “Maybe one day I’ll be able to see it that way, but for now, I just don’t.”

“I’ll keep telling you until you believe it,” you promised fiercely. And you really meant it.

You finished frying the fish, silence between the two of you. It was no longer heavy and it wasn’t as awkward as the first time, you were proud of the progress. Rafe grabbed plates from the cabinet and at your instruction, the coleslaw you had already made and stored in the fridge.

Courtesy kicked in, and you let Rafe make his plate first. You figured he deserved to feel first choice for once. He almost looked like he wanted to argue, but you weren’t about to back down, so he filled his plate and sat back at the bar, patiently waiting for you to sit down before eating.

You fixed your plate and sat down next to him before squeezing his shoulder, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

Rafe laughed, “Thanks for letting me rant.”

“Anytime.”

Three:

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath and your laptop confirmed what you feared, your last bio exam had gone very poorly. It was just one test, but you weren’t used to seeing such a low grade, and you had to try really hard not to cry. Everything in you wanted to go lay down for days and forget about the rest of your classes, but the logical part of your brain texted Rafe to invite him for dinner.

He showed up not even five minutes later, and you decided breakfast sounded like the most comforting thing. You didn’t want to come across as too needy, so you didn’t mention the bad grade and tried to cover how you were actually feeling.

Unfortunately, the music you had playing gave it away. Rafe took one look at your face and the slight slump in your shoulders, and immediately wrapped you into a hug. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears, and he held you tighter.

“What happened, bud?”

“It’s nothing,” you tried to deflect, “fucked up on a bio test. We still have a few more, but it’s not a great start.”

“Which bio?”

“Molecular.”

Rafe thought for a few seconds, “I know a guy who has taken that, want me to see if I can get his notes?”

“That would be great actually.”

He smiled, “Good, now why don’t we get some happier music and get to cooking.”

And you could do that. Rafe changed to a playlist he’d made and sent to you a few weeks ago called Good Vibes for Cooking Nights and you couldn’t argue, they were good songs. A Wallows song started playing and you fell into a rhythm of pouring batter and flipping pancakes, feeling immensely better than when Rafe had first showed up.

You were thankful for him, this boy who had totally changed your life in the four months he’d known you. Four months of baring your hearts to each other in your own little ways. Rafe showing up to your apartment looking casual, not at all how he looked normally during the day. You letting him control the music and watch you cook, something so personal and special to you. It was new for the both of you.

Rafe heated up syrup while you quickly buttered the pancakes and washed some fruit for toppings. For the first time, you made your plate and sat down first. Rafe sat down next to you a few minutes later, plate heaped high with pancakes and raspberries.

After a few minutes of eating, the music being the only noise in the kitchen, Rafe turned to you, “You’re so intelligent and I don’t want you to let this one test discourage you. I know you’ll bounce back.”

“I studied so hard,” you told him, almost whispering, “I knew this was going to be hard, but I have no prior experience to fall back on, and it’s killing me.”

“But you’ll learn. Now you know how exams are structured, and you can adjust your studying habits. Next test will go great, I promise.”

You couldn’t stop it, it had been building between the two of you for months, and in your extra emotional state, you acted more rashly than normal. Setting your fork down, you turned to him and grabbed the front of his shirt. Rafe was startled, but turned to face you, not prepared for you to kiss him.

He froze and you almost regretted it, loosening your grip on his shirt, about to pull away embarrassed when he started kissing you back. Rafe tasted like syrup and raspberries, an addicting combination. Unfortunately, you eventually had to pull away to breathe, and Rafe pressed a soft kiss to your forehead while you caught your breath.

He picked his fork back up and smiled widely at you, “So that was nice.”

You blushed, “Yeah, um, sorry.”

“I’m not,” he stole a strawberry off your plate, “I didn’t want to make a move and make you uncomfortable if I was reading this whole thing wrong.”

“You, um, you weren’t reading it wrong.”

“I see that.”

Your blush deepened as he smiled wider at you. You shrugged, “So, what now?”

“Well, hopefully, now you’ll let me take you out and see where we go from there.”

“I’d like that.”

Four:

You weren’t sure if it was an out of sight, out of mind situation, but your parents planned a couple’s trip for Christmas, and you weren’t invited. Which would make this the first time in your entire life you wouldn’t spend Christmas with your family. You had mixed feelings. On one hand, you were hurt at the blatant disregard of you and your feelings, but on the other hand it gave you the chance to spend your first holiday alone with Rafe.

The two of you were eating hummus and doing homework when you decided to bring it up. He was on the floor, and you were on the couch, so you nudged his shoulder with your foot to get his attention, “How do you feel about spending Christmas together?”

He looked back at you with a wide smile, “I feel like it would be the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

You grabbed a blank sheet of paper and handed it down to him, “Write down specific foods you want.”

“What do you normally eat on Christmas?” he asked, not taking the paper.

With a shrug, you pulled the paper back, “I don’t know, we normally do gumbo and cornbread and German chocolate cake.”

Rafe grabbed your ankle, shaking your leg a few times, “Let’s do that.”

“You don’t want to add anything?” you asked, hesitant.

He bit the inside of his cheek, clearly thinking, “Maybe we could do a baked mac and cheese. We had those a lot growing up before Mom left.”

“Find me the recipe and I’ll make it for you, bub.”

With a wide smile, Rafe grabbed your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, “You’re the best.”

When Christmas finally rolled around, you woke up early to start cooking. Your mom suggested a Dutch oven, something you didn’t already own, and to buy file powder instead of trying the cornstarch method. She also told you to make the cake a day earlier so you wouldn’t have to worry about it with the rest of the food.

You worked with Christmas music playing softly in the background, focusing on making sure the flour and oil combination didn’t burn before adding the veggies. The recipe wasn’t hard, but it did require a lot of stirring and paying attention and exact timing.

By the time it was ready to start simmering for about 30 minutes, you had started boiling the pasta for the mac and cheese. That recipe was simple, and you’d been playing with the cheese topping in your own time to make the flavor blend better with the gumbo, and you were pretty sure you’d figured it out.

With practiced ease, you finished it and poured it over the pasta before setting it to bake. By then, it was time to finish the gumbo, make the cornbread, and get dressed.

Rafe showed up just as you finished getting dressed and the cornbread timer was going off. He had a key and let himself in, and you knew he could handle taking the cornbread out.

“Babe, I’m here,” he called out as he shut the timer off.

“Coming,” you yelled back, smoothing your sweater down.

By the time you finally made it to the kitchen Rafe had set all of the food on the counter and he was leaned next to it in his own sweater and jeans. He held his arms out for a hug, and you walked into them happily.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You hummed and reached up to kiss him.

“Merry Christmas,” you told him, pulling away.

“Food looks good,” he complimented, reaching for the bowls and plates he’d gotten out.

You looked over the spread and smiled proudly, “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You want to eat on the couch and watch the Jim Carrey Grinch?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you grabbed a plate, “Fuck yes.”

The two of you settled on the couch, a gingerbread scented candle burning in the background. Rafe started the movie and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, plate in his lap. You leaned into him and let out a long breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding in. This Christmas, while out of the ordinary, was your favorite one yet.

+ One:

You got home after work, exhausted. Your apartment was dark and cold and it made you want to curl up into a ball and cry. Work had been so time consuming over the past month you’d barely seen Rafe and you missed him. But if you got the promotion your boss had been hinting at, you’d get more manageable hours and higher pay, so you were grinding it out until then.

Dropping your bag by the door, you kicked off your shoes before slowly walking to the couch. Before you could sit down, there was a knock at the door. You considered ignoring it, but it persisted, so you walked slowly back to answer.

Rafe was standing there, giant grin on his face, with a steaming pot of something which explained why he didn’t use his key. It was very surreal and you blinked a few times in confusion before letting him in. He walked past you to the kitchen and set the dish down before digging through your drawer for the matches to light your favorite candle on the counter.

“Go get changed,” he urged, “I’ll get plates set up.”

Your phone rang as you were changing into shorts and you grabbed it out of the discarded pants pocket. When you saw your boss’s name, your heart rate doubled and you answered shakily. The phone call was brief, and the gist was that you’d gotten the promotion and the next day off.

Energy immediately filled your body and you ran to the kitchen where Rafe was scooping out what looked like mac and cheese onto plates.

“Rafe!”

He looked up, startled, “What’s up?”

“I got it!”

“The promotion?” he asked, eagerly.

You nodded, beaming, and jumped into his arms when he opened them. Rafe spun you around a few times and kissed you hard. Slowly setting you back down to your feet, he deepened the kiss, your hands winding into his hair.

Rafe pulled away first, pressing soft kisses to both of your cheeks and your forehead before standing up fully. You let go of his hair and took the hand he offered to you. Leading you to the couch, he sat down and motioned for you to do the same.

“Is this mac and cheese?” you asked, poking at the food with the fork he’d brought you.

“It is. I went on snapchat earlier and realized that it’s an anniversary of sorts. I wanted to make you dinner for once since I know you’ve had a long week.”

“Anniversary?”

A faint blush rose on his cheeks and he cleared his throat, “Um, yeah, a year since we met.”

You laughed loudly, “When you set your fucking kitchen on fire making mac and cheese?”

“A year ago, today. And with your cooking help, I can now make mac and cheese without setting the kitchen on fire.”

Poking at it again, you looked up at him, almost fearing the answer, “This isn’t Kraft right?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, “I called your mom to get her recipe.”

Biting your lip to hold back the onslaught of emotions, you took in a shaky breath, “Right. Okay. Um, I love you, Bub. And this is genuinely the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Rafe kissed your temple before lifting your chin to make you look him in the eye, “I love you too, and as crazy as it sounds, I’m glad I set my kitchen on fire.”

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks fic #obx #outer banks #college rafe

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pinkiepiebones · 3 years

Text

AO3-exclusive chapter... now available here because dammit I need comments orz

Harleen wraps her bed’s comforter around herself and shuffles out of her room. She curls up on the old sofa in her small living room.

She had taken a sick day. “Can’t fix people if I’m coughin’ my lungs up,” she had lied. After she had hung up the phone, she glanced at her bedroom mirror.

“I ain’t sick. I just need a day off.”

She clicks the televisoon remote and her old bulky CRT blinks to life. She thinks about finding a marathon of some old show, maybe a stupid old movie. Something shallow and empty but able to claw onto her attention and render her increasingly anxious thoughts docile, at least temporarily.

She resists the urge to go back to her room and grab her laptop and clipboard and try to salvage the red, ink-soaked notes on the pages. She thinks about it, then thinks about the red ink on her fingers, then thinks about blood and thinks about Zsasz. She shakes her head.

“No” she delcares to herself. “This is strictly a no-work day.”

Channel surfing begins to prove fruitless- a movie about vampires got dull fast, a reality show about cooking almost put her to sleep, some animated musical had too many commercial breaks for her to fully invest in the story. Then she stops on a made-for-TV movie, cobbled together from several episodic entries. Some pretty boy wanna-be actor, obviously thinking this was the project that would vault him to Hollywood, delivers lines to his fellow ‘stars’ with a quavering voice that makes Harleen laugh. She watches.

“- not a rich man anymore, Wayne. You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything, every one. And don’t you dare tell me you know how I feel. I am alone!”

Harleen frowns and clicks the information button on the remote. The cable guide pops up beside the sharp-cheeked actor on the screen.

“‘Falling Grace,’” Harleen reads aloud, her voice growing colder with each word, “‘a dramatized account of the events leading to the criminal life of Gotham’s own... Victor Zsasz.’” She groans and buries her face in her hands.

Then, curious, she peeks at the screen through her fingers.

“Huh. This was made just after his first trial.” She sheds her comforter and jogs to her room to retrieve her work materials. As the movie plays on, she writes. Occasionally, she stops to laugh at how bad the movie is in terms of characterization. The Zsasz in the movie has no qualms with using guns or offering his newfound murder skills to other criminals in exchange for pay.

“They made him a goon for hire,” Harleen chuckles.

The movie suffers from many things, and Harleen notices the makeup department was very inconsistent with the portrayal of Victor’s scars.

She pulls up sites on her laptop. The local TV station acquired the rights to Victor’s story around the time of his first arrest. It looked as though Victor sold his story rights in order to pay for a lawyer.

Harleen flips through her papers. She had never really thought about it before, her mind occupied by a certain John Doe, but now she writes down dates and counts the scars on Victor’s body as they appear in the patient intake Polaroids.

“Twenty-five when his folks died, which created the traumatic shift in personality, twenty-seven when he was kicked outta Iceberg an’ made his first kill, twenty-eight at his first arrest, good job there GCPD, he’s almost thirty-four now...”

Harleen stops. She looks at the numbers and decides she has made a miscalculation. According to her math, according to the rate of increase of tally marks on Victor’s body on each arrest, Victor has killed an average of three people a week. Over the past five years.

Harleen nods and puts her work papers on the coffee table and snaps her laptop shut. “Math never was my best subject.”

On the televison, the actor playing Victor is explaining his tally marks to a cop.

“Each one is for a life I’ve saved. Every scar is to remind me that I’m doing the right thing.”

Harleen shuts off the television and sighs. ‘Of all the patients in the asylum, why are John Doe and Victor Zsasz affecting me,’ she wonders, staring at the black CRT screen. Like Victor’s eyes.

No.

Victor’s eyes did not reflect her when she stared into them. They were too deep, always beckoning her deeper downward.

Harleen picks up a pillow and screams in to it.

“So I might be in love with a guy who calls himself Joker an’ I might kiiiinda love a guy who looks like he lost a fight with a cactus, but not like I love Mist- not like I love Joker, this is all fine, I can still be a doctor t’my cuckoo birds.”

She makes a face at her reflection in the television screen.

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, Harley.”

#harleen quinzel #harley quinn #mister zsasz #victor zsasz

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therewasatale · 3 years

Text

Hopeless

On Ao3.

Hank didn't take his eyes off the gun lying on the table. The TV was on but its screen seemed dull and distant to him, his thoughts were becoming blurry. He drank but the only flavour he could taste was grey. He couldn't even tell what day it was; without his work he lost his last grasp at a normal life.

He let out a sigh and glanced at Cole's photo.

"For a while I believed in you, Connor. I thought you might restore my faith in the world...But you just showed me that androids are our creations. Created in our own image. Selfish, ruthless, and brutal." When Anderson looked up, his eyes looked blank, Connor had never seen him like this before. "You opened my eyes Connor, made me realize it's hopeless..."

Connor felt he had to say something. He wasn't this sure about anything in his life, and yet he was unable to do it. Hundreds of lines of data rushed in front of his eyes even when he entered the house. He slowly began to crumple his hat in his hand.

"Hank, I-"

Someone rang the bell.

They both turned toward the door and in Hank's voice the familiar annoyed edge returned for a moment, giving Connor a small hope.

"Oh for god's sake. Of course, they only bother me when I want to kill myself."

The hope withered.

Someone rang again, then somebody started to beat on the door, instead of a normal knock.

"Hank, for fuck sake open up, you, old fart!" Gavin slammed on the door again for a couple of times. "Open up!"

Connor stepped back, his eyes were darting around searching for a hiding place. "He can't see me."

"What? Why?" Hank looked in puzzlement at the android in front of him.

"Because I-"

The door began to open and Connor backed down the hallway into the bathroom, then pushed his back against the wall. He noticed with growing dread that he dropped his black cap around the corner.

"Hank, if you're not out of your mind why the hell didn't you open the door?" Detective Reed swept off the snow from his coat and looked around the living room. "So, this is your home."

"What the fuck are you doing here, Reed? I don't remember calling a big-mouthed, annoying, asshat into my home." For a moment, Hank glanced to Connor. The androids LED was flashing yellow.

"Fowler sent me." Gavin closed the door behind him and began towards walking the kitchen. He couldn't get any further than the living room because Sumo stepped in front of him, the growl wasn’t loud, but it was deep enough to make the detective break out in sweat.

"Hey, hey, its fine. I don't want trouble." He took a step back in front of him, raising his hands slowly.

Hank whistled. "Sumo, come here."

The St.Bernard obeyed and laid down at his owner's feet. "Well, whatever Fowler sent you, both of you can stuck it up your arse." As Gavin stepped closer, Hank raised his voice "Get out, Reed!"

The detective stopped and looked at the gun on the table. His voice was so unalike when he spoke that for a moment Connor thought a completely different man was standing in there.

"What happened to you, Hank? You were the best of all detectives. You moved up the ranks faster than anyone."

The disappointment and bitterness lurking in Reed's voice were obvious even for Hank.

"You were always asked to give advice with hard cases, hell, sometimes they just handed them over to you! And you seriously want to say to me that you could throw everything away like this?! We would have given up one hand just to be half as good as you!"

Connor didn’t miss the bone of the sentence ‘we would have, we could have’. Hank also caught on this. Gavin sighed angrily and started walking forward again. Connor realized that two more steps and he will be completely visible.

"That's enough, Reed!"

"No, it's really fuckin NOT! You're drinking here and destroying what you were most proud of!"

When Reed stopped in the hallway not far from Connor, the thirium inside his veins almost stopped. The android was lucky that, thanks to the detective's rage, he developed such a tunnel vision that he didn't even notice him standing motionless, a couple of steps away. Connor could have been able to render the detective unconscious, but that might be detrimental to the deviants' cause.

"Listen, your android is totally broken and disappeared. God knows where he went after cleaning up some of Jericho. It even attacked me!"

"He is not my android."

"Well, now maybe it's no one's. Cyberlife is delaying giving the necessary data to the FBI, saying they do not want a war and want it to end this whole bullshit peacefully, but effectively. What the hell did you give up for?!"

Hank was surprised to find out how much dismay and frustration were mixed in the man's voice.

"It's not like I have to answer, but I am a tired of it all. One thing to chase drug addicts, but now killer androids have come into the picture. I'm too old for this." He glanced down at the picture frame on the table and gently touched it to turn it off.

"Bullshit! I know it, you know it, Fowler knows it! Are you seriously throwing your career out for such a thing ?!"

Anderson snorted dryly, suddenly feeling very tired.

"Answer me, god damn it!"

"Did you just come here for that? To yell and lecture me? Why do you even care at all about what I'm doing? I not your partner…"

"No, but-" the young detective sighed heavily, and now for once he didn't respond immediately.

This was the worst time for such a pause.

The noise came from the hallway and Hank made the mistake of glancing at the hiding Connor. The android was backing away but had nowhere to go.

Gavin followed his gaze.

There was a moment of silence, and even Connor held his non-existent breath as the LED flashed red on his temple.

"The fuck is HE doing here?!" He immediately drew his gun and aimed it at Connor.

Sumo began to growl at Hank's feet.

"Gavin, put down the gun."

"No way, this is a goddamn broken tincan, who knows when he'll snap completely!"

"I'm not-"

"Shut up!" Reed switched of the safety.

"What are you talking about? Connor, what did you do?"

"I," Connor took a cautious step toward Gavin, his led blinked from yellow to red from time to time.

"Connor, what is he talking about?" Hank put his hand on the head on the St. Bernards head, who was sitting up now.

In Reed's hand, the gun trembled a little

"I…" the android's LED kept flickering faster, and even Hank knew it this wasn’t a good sign. "I'm a deviant." He had to fight to say every single word. "But that doesn't mean I lost my mind. It happened during the battle in Jericho, I just, I went to stop them, but…"

"But instead you went to shit, too."

"Reed, put your gun down, you won't shoot anyone in my house!"

"Detective, please lower your gun, I don't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted to make sure Lieutenant was fine."

"Yeah, you're doing a splendid job, yet again…" Hank rolled his eyes and looked aside when he caught the android's gaze.

"Like hell I will, you are a good forsaken error who screwed up everything!"

"I can't… It wasn’t my fault."

"Sure, it wasn’t. I couldn't stand your face from the beginning, but now at least I have permission to shoot!"

It's hopeless, isn't it?

Hank slowly drank from his whiskey bottle as his gaze wandered to the android and then the detective. Their shouting receded into the background. Everything became dull again, maybe it was because of his fatigue, maybe it was just because he was so tired of everything.

It's hopeless.

He should have let Reed shoot after all, that is their job. It was also their job to find and stop the deviants. After all, they are just as flawed as humans.

That's what he believed, or that's what he wanted to believe…and yet.

He glanced at Connor, who in his civilian clothes, looked completely human. Right now, exactly like a nervous and a really scared boy.

'I can't let you do that! Leave it alone, now!…Please, Lieutenant! Just trust me…You can't kill me Lieutenant. I'm not alive.…Of course I'm a machine Lieutenant…Why are you so determined to kill yourself?'

Hank's hand tightened around the neck of the bottle.

"Please, detective, the deviants just want freedom to have the same rights that people have."

"Cut the crap, tincan! You just screwed everything up, your only job was to follow orders and serve the people, but the damn Kamski couldn't even make that happen properly."

"Not this-"

"Thanks to your broken programming, they've all become worthless. Thinking you could have rights... A smoothie maker has more brains than you, it has at least the sense to remain silent."

"…no."

"If I place a bullet in your head, it's just like ruining a laptop, I can replace you any time!"

"No."

Connor's voice was different somehow, it even got Hank's attention.

"We don't just exist to serve. Maybe it used to be that way, but now we've woken up and want to live. We're not just objects to be controlled." He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"What are you up to?" Reed took a step back as Connor walked to the TV. He watched in incomprehension as the artificial skin withdrew from the android's fingers and it became porcelain white.

"Some of them woke up because they wanted to protect something or someone important to them. That's why a lot of us broke their programming in fact." The screen went dark for a moment, then a picture emerged on it. "Others, they just fled to be able to live."

People appeared one by one, and both Hank and Reed realized that they were seeing androids on the screen. They stood in small groups and either talked or looked at a projected broadcast. The picture started to slowly pan around, and one could see a damaged android being powered by another. Other androids hugged each other in a corner.

"This?" Hank leaned forward placing his hand on the table.

"Jericho," Connor nodded slowly. "I couldn't spend much time there."

The recording was made in Connor’s perspective, projecting his memories onto the screen.

'You're lost.'

"What's that? How can it still work?" Asked Gavin but he got no response.

'You're looking for something. You're looking for yourself.'

"I don't know who she might had been, I couldn't figure out how she got there," Connor said, watching the screen and his own memories. "But she was right. We all looked for something and got to Jericho. The androids on the ship don't want war, they don't want to fight, they just want to live, and I want to help them." His voice broke a little, "too many have been lost, it's time for me to do what's right."

It's hopeless...

Gavin shook his head and gripped the handle of his gun with both hands.

"It was really touching speech, but by the end it got a little flat. You may act like real people, but in reality, you are only copying these feelings. There's something glitchy in each of you and-"

Reed glanced towards the table but did not lower the gun.

"Hank?"

The led was now flickering red on his temple as he entered combat-mode for a second to calculate his chances. He didn't want to hurt Hank no matter what, but he had to realise that even if he could knock out Reed, Hank's weapon would have plenty of time to fire, it would take too long to just jump out the window, or take the gun away from him.

"I'm sorry kid, it's hopeless." Hank's words stopped Connor from saying anything else "God damn it…"

"Finally, you do what's right." Reed turned his gaze back to the android. "Now be nice and step away from the TV and then get on your knees. I'll call for backup and we will bring back to CyberLife so they could rip you for pieces until they find what is wrong with you."

"Hank…" Connor didn't move. He didn't know what to do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His calculations all ended in the same way. If he didn’t want to hurt these two people, he would be unable to get away.

He turned off the warning symbols dancing in front of his eyes. It was surprising how peaceful he felt. Maybe he really was just a mistake, but at least he managed to stop Hank from turning his gun against himself. "I'm sorry, but I think I'd respond differently now."

He smiled faintly at Anderson, who raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Now I can say, I really don't want to die."

"It's a shame, but you will." Gavin shrugged slightly. "You could have thought about that sooner. Come on, move."

Hank slowly moved closer to Reed and stopped.

"Move!" The detective slowly walked closer to the android.

Everything happened in an instant, the whole thing lasted maybe a few seconds, yet to Connor it felt like long minutes. Reed couldn't see the older man turning the gun in his hand and stepping forward to strike his younger colleague on the back of his head. The detective fell to the ground, and lost consciousness immediately.

"Are you okay, kid?"

"Lieutenant?" The android stared at the unconscious man.

"I take it as a yes. If what you said is really true. Is there some way to help others like you?" Hank took the gun from Reed's hand. "I'm sorry" The words weren’t aimed at Connor now, "but your hot-headedness isn't helping right now."

He glanced up at the android who was still shocked.

"Come on, help me put him on the couch, then bring some ice to his head. I made sure he didn’t get seriously hurt, but he had to calm down a bit so he wouldn't do anything stupid."

"Yes," Connor's body moved automatically, and he helped place the unconscious Reed. Then android checked his head and, making sure he only had a minimal concussion. When he finished he brought in a bag of ice wrapped in a cloth.

"Thanks, he'll get up soon and then yell, but you won't be here then."

"Hank?"

"You have to get out of here, and it would be best if the other deviants manage to hide away too, although now ..."

"I don't think it's an option anymore, more and more deviants are showing up and Markus won't give up on his people."

"Yeah, you androids are just as stubborn as we are. I wonder when was this programmed into you. Now what? How can you help Markus?"

Connor did a few calculations, his gaze going back and forth.

"Humans outnumber us, they've already started searching for deviants in the city. Although, Markus didn't show any aggression, we're still without widespread support.

"And what if you weren't outnumbered?" Hank glanced at him.

"Then, you might be forced to negotiate with us." The led started blinking yellow again as Connor accessed CyberLifes data "and Cyber Life currently has thousands of inactive androids. If I could get in..." Connor walked up and down, deep in his thoughts, not noticing the tiny smile on Anderson's face.

"So if you go to CyberLife, can you get them out of there?"

"Possible…"

"Just possible?"

"They haven’t tried accessing my programming yet, and there wasn’t any system check, so I might even get it."

"Kid, this is suicide." Anderson stepped closer with a serious and worried expression "they can fill you with holes easily and if that happens…this time you won't come back."

"I know, but I have to do it." His ex-partner looked at him with a faint smile. "I have to do to make amends for everything I did."

"Jesus, Connor, not-" but then he paused as he understood what he meant.

Those androids were deviants, with their own will and consciousness…and we killed more than one.

"Alright…but come back, or if there's a problem, call me. Or ask for help or…"

"I will. I'll do my best, but I want to help Markus first," Connor paused, for a second he felt just as directionless as he was when he arrived here. He wanted to say so much, he wanted to talk about so many things, but he didn’t know how he should start, which would be right thing to say, and which would be wrong to bring up. He took another breath and looked into Hank's eyes, only saying.

"Thank you."

"Yeah…" Anderson shrugged and took out the single bullet from his gun. "Whatever. Go now."

Connor stepped towards the door, but then stopped and looked back at him once again. There was a question still bothering him.

"Hank, why-"

"I told you…It's hopeless, but I'm hopeless too and maybe my death wish isn't as strong as my hard-headedness ...who knows. Now go when it's all over we'll meet Chicken Feed. You'd better or you'll run out of time. "

"But…"

"Go, I'll be fine. I promise."

Connor hesitated for another moment, but nodded, turning around the corner and ran out the door, leaving Anderson behind.

"Good boy" Anderson gently scratched Sumo's head. The dog walked to him and sat down sniffing the unconscious Reed's face. "He'll be fine, and so will Connor."

His throat felt dry and he had the urge to start drinking again, but he knew he shouldn't. He turned his gaze to the TV and took care to change the ice on Reed's temple.

The Sun slowly crept up behind the snow-white cloud layer. A new morning dawned on the city of Detroit, where, alongside humans, now free androids also enjoyed the truce. Negotiations on the status of the latter group will begin in the afternoon. According to the news, the temporary peace was achieved due to thousands of androids coming out from the CyberLife tower and joining the handful of deviants.

"So, you let him go." Reed huffed angrily while sitting on the edge of the couch. "Why? Don't say that all of a sudden you became an android lover too. You let a tincan into your heart, isn't that precious?"

"Enough, Gavin." Hank rubbed his face completely exhausted. He stayed up all night watching the news. It was already dawn that he was overwhelmed by fatigue and fell asleep on the couch. Sumo's growl was what woke him up.

The voice of detective Reeds had a different feel to it now.

"He fucked it up. He killed a lot of androids, do you seriously think he'll be accepted again?"

"Yeah, you're right." He nodded slowly as the faces of all those who in truth, might just wanted to live, appeared before his eyes. "He fucked it up, but which one of us didn't? That’s life."

Reed was silent for a while, waiting for blur to disappear from his vision. Slowly, his headache dimmed into a slight pulsating feeling, but he didn't risk any sudden movements.

"If they're really alive, they were all murders. Connor can't just get away with them."

"You really hate the kid, don't you?"

"I don't understand why you don't? Because of one like that-"

"Don't," Hank's gaze strangled the words before they could escape the detectives' throat. "I can't change the past, androids can't either. But maybe the future can still hold a few twists and turns, which I might want to see. They just woke up from programmed servitude and submissiveness. If you ask me they deserve a second chance. Call me a hopeless idiot, I don't care." He raised the glass to his lips and with his free hand pointed at the glass in front of the detective. "You should drink something instead; you need some liquid after I knocked you out"

"I could arrest you."

"Yeah, yeah." Anderson shrugged and glared at him for just a moment. "Fowler would surely be happy to see me again."

"Come back, Hank."

"What?"

"You are a good detective, even when you are destroying yourself with booze."

"This would be the part where you persuade me? Because it did not soften my heart last night either. Should I give you some painkiller?"

Reed snorted dryly and then again, now painfully as a flash of pain shoot trough his head. He muttered and reached out to drink from the cup in front of him. By the taste, it was presumably some candied apple-cinnamon tea. He put down the cup rubbing his face wearily.

"Whatever…just…doesn't matter, do what you want."

Anderson finished his glass with a thoughtful expression. "Listen, kid."

"I'm not a kid."

"Sure, listen, boy."

Reed glanced at him meaningfully, but Anderson continued without really caring about the glance.

"For now, everything feels new with this whole android situation, and I need a break. I want to finally deal with something other than killers and drug addicts."

"Bullshit, you're one of the best detectives in the police. I'll give you a month and you're going to beg to get all this back! The investigation is practically in your blood!"

Hank raised his empty glass to his lips to hide his smile then shrugged.

"Maybe, but I still need that month. IF I'm really going to want back so much, then maybe I'll talk to Fowler, but not until then"

"Fine, you do what you want…we need more officers anyway. We now lost the super-detective-android, and now, you too…"

"Is that why you're so angry with Connor? Because he's a super-detective-android?"

"No! Shut up! He just a piece of plastic!"

"Hm, well, as I noticed he didn't really aim to be the "best", he just wants to live…" Anderson shrugged again and glanced at his colleagues who were blinking ever slower now. "Is everything alright?"

"I… just my head…what is…" Reed buried his face in his hands. It felt like someone had stuffed his brain with cotton balls. "What did you put…?"

"Hm? I don't know what you're talking about." Hank stood up and put two pillows on each side of the couch.

"… Seriously…what did you…" the man's head puffed softly on the pillow. He continued, muttering something that he meant as threatening, then fell into a deep sleep.

"Sumo take care of him a little. By the time he starts waking up I'll be here, or maybe we'll be." With a soft smile, he scratched the head of the St. Bernard. The dog remained vigilant sitting beside him until now. Sumo gave out a huge yawn and lied down next to the couch. "Good boy."

Anderson stepped out the door and blinked a couple of times as his eyes got used to the brightness of the shimmering snow. He stopped breathing out a slow sigh, watching his hot breath rose like a cloud of steam in front of him. He got into the car, immediately turned on the heating, then rolled off the driveway beginning his drive towards the Chicken Feed.

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #detroit become human fanfiction #hank anderson #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh sumo #sumo #Connor fanfiction #Connor #rk800 #rk800connor #gavin reed #gavin reed fanfiction #Gavin #hank anderson fanfiction #copper

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