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spn_springflingTitle: Die Another Day
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Any warnings: incest ; raw/bareback sex ; breeding/seeding
Written by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sonnygrl11 for aspirate!
~~&&~~
On the floor, curled away from the glass wall is the crumpled form of Sam Winchester. His clothes were gone, he wears the prison jumpsuit. Over his head is a black canvas hood to disguise or keep him darkness, on his hands are matching mitts; the cuffs on his wrists hold the heavy material in place. The wrist cuffs were linked by a single chain to cuffs on his ankles. His feet are encased in slip-on sneakers.
“Sammy! Hey! Sam... i's Dean...”
Finally the body lifts up the head, rolling over to look toward the sound, “... dean?”
“... yeah... i's me...” Dean swallows hard to hold back emotions.
Sam rolls back and starts to mutter a chant. “... dean... no-no-no... dean's dead... dean's dead...”
“Nah, man... I'm alive... I'm here...” Dean's voice cracks a bit as he yells through the glass pane. “Let me in there with him.”
The deputy hesitates. “You sure?”
Dean nods his head on a solid bounce. “Yes. Very sure.”
“I'm not really supposed to, but... well, we've just taken him off a suicide watch, so it's a delicate time. He won't let any of us near him. I think he's resolved that his fate is sealed. Being locked up for this long might soon make him react like a caged animal.”
“Hence the sack over his head... and those mitten-things on his hands...”
“He's not... he hasn't treated himself very well. He asked for the blindfold to stop the headaches, then he wanted his hands covered to stop the scratching he was doing.”
“jesus christ...”
The deputy wandered over to pull out a key to the dead bolt on the door. He knocked on the metal. “Made of iron. Seems to have held up since his last transfer.”
Dean thinks no one has any idea how much that has helped. “Thanks.”
“I'll be back in a half-hour. Will that be long enough?”
Dean crosses the threshold as he looks back at the deputy. “Give me a full hour.”
“I'll see what I can do.”
~~
Dean takes off his coat, sets it down on a lone chair. The room is sparse of furniture. If it wasn't sturdy or heavy, or could be bolted to the cement/brick walls, then it wasn't in the room. Dean tugs on the loose chain to find its origin, then follows the links back to the single line connecting wrist and ankle cuffs. Not handcuffs, but the old school leather bands used in long-ago mental institutions and some ERs to control combative patients.
Dean feels safe enough with Sam to undo them, picking the locks with the kit he brought. He can feel Sam shivering, either from cold or fear, like a wounded animal cowering in the corner. Dean choses not to speak, only silently works on undoing the cuffs. Once they are off and thrown away, he sets his hands under Sam's mitted palms. It's up to Sam to touch him, realizing that he's free and someone he knows and loves is here for him. In Dean's eyes, Sammy is pureness and light... goodness and kindheartedness. There is no doubt in his mind the real killer is letting his brother take the rap for him. But Dean needs to deal with Sam first---it will be his number one priority.
Slowly, Sam rises, uncurling from the fetal position as his mitted hands paw up the strong, sinewy muscles of male arms, broad shoulders. His fingers start to break apart inside the mitts, running up Dean's shoulders to his neck.
Dean swallows, closing his eyes. He tries to assuage the need to peel off the black hood's material over Sam's head. But somehow... he knows it doesn't matter---he doesn't need to, he already knows what Sam looks like.
At first, Sam tugs off one mitt---the right one---and with the gentlest of touches he cups Dean's cheek. Inside the hood, Sam smiles---recalling a memory of a ghostly image of a maturing Dean as he grew into a man before Sam's eyes. That stubble had rubbed him raw several times---Dean forgetting to shave and always teasing Sam by scratching the roughness over a sensitive cheek. Sam lets out a painful snort, trying to laugh, but he tilts his head toward Dean; like magic, their heads bang together.
Sam's hands slip to the nape of the neck, pulling Dean close to say one thing, “Kill me.”
“Wha--? Sam, no--! I...”
“... your knife, in your boot...” Sam rattles off the ways he knows Dean can off him quickly, “... a gun---your Glock--- at the back of your jeans, at your waist... one bullet... middle of my forehead...”
“---no...”
“... snap my neck... Dad trained us well... I know you can do it...” Sam licks his dry lips wet.
“I won't do it.” I can't do it, Dean thinks to himself.
“They want me dead. I know I didn't kill that girl... or any of those other children. I didn't---she was dead when I found her...”
“Then let's fight them.” Dean lightly shakes Sam. “We'll find the real killer together.”
“Too late.” Sam gulps in air loudly. “I'll be dead before I get to court.”
Dean wants to ask about the two cells prior to this one that looked as if Sam had busted out of them with explosives. But he knows Sam means that ordinary townsfolk will try to end his life.
“I'd rather you kill me, Dean... wouldn't you rather see me die by your hands than someone else's?...”
Dean hates even the mere mention of what he had thought years ago when they knew about Sam being a demon and Dad had begged for him to kill Sam when he knew he'd “go dark”. “Do you trust me?”
“... yeah... you're all I have...”
“Give me one more day... we'll break you out of this hellhole---TODAY... and I'll hide you myself. We'll figure this out together.”
“... one more day of living...” Sam says the words like wishful thinking. He knows his destiny too well.
“... then I'll think 'bout killin' you...” It's not true. Dean simply needs to get Sam out of here, then get him alone where he can work on convincing him it's best to stay alive.
Sam smirks behind the hood's material, chortling out a laugh. “... jerk...”
“... bitch...” Dean hesitates to remove the hood, drawing up the hem slowly. He doesn't know why he had some idea he will find something hideous underneath. But as he draws up the hood, he notices the dark brown scruff along the pale throat, around the Adam's apple. As the material is removed, the more striking Dean finds the extremely longer shaggy brown hair. There's dark circles under Sam's eyes---that's about the only thing that's different. He's used to the world weariness that layers the familiar features.
“Hey...”
“Hi...”
Dean releases a quirky smile, leaning over to intentionally press a light peck to Sam's lips---a simply greeting. But that's not what Sam wants.
Sam lifts his head higher, tilting at just the right angle to kiss his brother quite soundly and passionately. He won't let go of Dean's mouth, even draws up the bare right hand and mitted left to hold Dean's head in place. He draws back to lean his face on Dean's head.
“whoa...” Dean isn't prepared for that kind of “welcome home”.
“mmm...” Sam swallows, deep breathes and keeps his head bowed. “I'm not sorry.”
“oh-kay...”
“I need you, Dean.”
Dean licks his already moistened lips. “Sammy, I...”
“I need you to remind me that I'm good, that I'm still 'Sam'... that I'm---loved... wanted... I need you to remind me that I'm alive---not dead inside...”
“Jesus, you're killin' me here...”
“Give me this... I'll guarantee you I'll die another day...”
“I fuck you---I have 48hrs to solve your case?”
“yes...”
“And if I solve your case? What then?”
“Guess we'll just have to see.” Sam takes off the other mitt, throwing it away once he has it off. “C'mere...” He's about to pull Dean down on top of him on the cement flooring.
“No! The bed.” Dean stands from his squatting position. “... or whatever that thing is over there.”
“--'kay. Fine.” Sam solemnly rolls away, goes to stand upright, but wobbles a little... Dean catches him to walk with him to the bunk bed slab jutting out of the wall. Sam reaches out to use the top bunk to balance. “hehehe... sorry... been on the floor a while.” He starts to unbutton his jumpsuit, showing that underneath is his usual V-necked t-shirt and tight boxer briefs. Sam slips out of shoes and socks once he sits down on the slab, dunking his head.
Dean looks at his watch and sees that he has more time than he thinks of that full hour he asked the deputy for. As he eyes Sam undressing on the side of the “bed”, he catches him slipping under the thin white flat sheet. It unnerves Dean how much this doesn't bother Sam; he thinks at some point it will simply be an elaborate joke or a prank. It didn't take long for him to realize Sam is more than serious. Especially when he sits on the side of the slab to undress and Sam pulls up to lay on his back, curved around him and leaning against his back.
The hands came out to sculpt and shape---these big, engulfing hands that hold strength and power, but caress with such gentleness and care. Sam embraces him from behind, face buries in his neck, sliding into hair, hands laying flat with five-fingers spread to slide down his last layer of shirt, playing beneath the material to touch bare flesh. The fingers trickle up to land on nipples---tiny buds that suddenly become hard and pert.
Dean arcs off Sam, never realizing how sensitive his nipples are or that when they are played with and his neck is being kissed or suckled that his dick twitches and stiffens. Oh, God... what is wrong with him? This isn't supposed to be arousing or erotic. This is Sam... his little brother... yet, christ, from behind, not so little in more ways than one.
Sam moves to stand on spread knees behind Dean, willing to help him undress---take off the t-shirt. Dean slides out of his jeans and underwear as he has done boots and socks the minute he sat down. He rests against Sam's body, feeling that massive and muscular chest at his back as the hands continue to roam. This time they are able to explore lower, slipping over coarse pubic hair, past the growing erection and onto flattened thighs---both inner and outer. Sam begins to massage, trailing up the inner thighs to reach the oval shapes laying mashed to the bed, then traces up the underside of the hardening cock along Dean's body, leaning to the left. He strokes and kisses flesh, massaging with the other hand. He is sending Dean into a mild state of frenzy.
Then he's gone for a brief time, reaching for something on the shelf between sink and mirror. He kisses Dean's neck, running a hand down his arm to drag Dean to lay down on the mattress with him.
Dean climbs onto his knees and shuffles Sam's left leg higher so he can fit between the spread of thighs. He can't help it, he peeks, finding that Sam is as hard as he is. It's a relief to feel solidarity in this perversion, but it also feels sexy as much as it feels forbidden---which is pretty much a Winchester trademark. The forbidden... the unknown.
Sam has brought over lotion. He's slicked up his hole, rubbing excess over his own cock to make it glisten and sheen, however light hits the shape. Dean takes the offer of a squirt of lotion to stroke himself, then he scoots closer to lay his length alongside Sam's, testing the feel of their bodies against one another. He starts to thrust, Sam reacts by counter-thrusting and then they start pounding pelvis to pelvis with their cocks slip-sliding between them.
“... oh, god-ohgod-ohgod-ohgod...” Dean can't fathom why he starting to want this... moment to be rather intimate and special. He's afraid he'll take Sam, then rut like a total animal inside of him.
“... unghhh, yes... want this-want you... please...” Sam closes his eyes, lolling his head around on the thin goose-down feather pillow.
Dean pitches forward, forearms beside Sam's head on the thin pillow. His fingertips move onto the pillow case and he fingers tangle in the long brown strands. He meshes their foreheads and rubs nose tips, until finally he begins to kiss Sam... this time of his own wanting.
Sam is a responsive and giving lover---the kind Dean loves to have under him. He pulls his lower body back, reaches down to grab the stalk of his shaft and slowly inches his way inside Sam's tight anal walls. His left hand stays clamped in Sam's hair, their mouths only a breath away and now he has a hand along Sam's side as he slides in deeper, moving easily past barriers of the rectum that would've pushed him out. Dean quietly mewls at the tight squeeze around his length, burying his face in the side of Sam's neck. Their stubbles are burning the other's skin. Sam's there to soothe and calm Dean, urging him to keep moving, then to go faster... harder... last longer, keep a steady pace...
Dean reaches above Sam's head to grip the edge of the metal slab, his hips canting and rolling at a near manic speed. He turns his face away as he feels the rise of an orgasm, not seeming to care if Sam was with him or not. He cries out a near growl at his release, unable to stop thrusting even as his body stops shaking from the cataclysmic euphoria of pleasure. He stays like that on top of Sam, inside of Sam... feeling the warm shelter of arms he's been missing for far too long.
It's then he knows he'll never let Sam go again. Not only that, but however long it takes Dean to convince Sam to want to live another day with him, he'll do whatever it takes.
Dean will get up shortly and dress in his clothes. He has a jailbreak to plan with Sam. For now, he likes where he is, feeling Sam's fingers over his back, dancing along the concave of his spine and tickling his scalp as fingertips sift through his hair.
This is exactly where Dean has always belonged
~*~the end
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Any warnings: incest ; raw/bareback sex ; breeding/seeding
Written by
sonnygrl11 for aspirate!~~&&~~
On the floor, curled away from the glass wall is the crumpled form of Sam Winchester. His clothes were gone, he wears the prison jumpsuit. Over his head is a black canvas hood to disguise or keep him darkness, on his hands are matching mitts; the cuffs on his wrists hold the heavy material in place. The wrist cuffs were linked by a single chain to cuffs on his ankles. His feet are encased in slip-on sneakers.
“Sammy! Hey! Sam... i's Dean...”
Finally the body lifts up the head, rolling over to look toward the sound, “... dean?”
“... yeah... i's me...” Dean swallows hard to hold back emotions.
Sam rolls back and starts to mutter a chant. “... dean... no-no-no... dean's dead... dean's dead...”
“Nah, man... I'm alive... I'm here...” Dean's voice cracks a bit as he yells through the glass pane. “Let me in there with him.”
The deputy hesitates. “You sure?”
Dean nods his head on a solid bounce. “Yes. Very sure.”
“I'm not really supposed to, but... well, we've just taken him off a suicide watch, so it's a delicate time. He won't let any of us near him. I think he's resolved that his fate is sealed. Being locked up for this long might soon make him react like a caged animal.”
“Hence the sack over his head... and those mitten-things on his hands...”
“He's not... he hasn't treated himself very well. He asked for the blindfold to stop the headaches, then he wanted his hands covered to stop the scratching he was doing.”
“jesus christ...”
The deputy wandered over to pull out a key to the dead bolt on the door. He knocked on the metal. “Made of iron. Seems to have held up since his last transfer.”
Dean thinks no one has any idea how much that has helped. “Thanks.”
“I'll be back in a half-hour. Will that be long enough?”
Dean crosses the threshold as he looks back at the deputy. “Give me a full hour.”
“I'll see what I can do.”
~~
Dean takes off his coat, sets it down on a lone chair. The room is sparse of furniture. If it wasn't sturdy or heavy, or could be bolted to the cement/brick walls, then it wasn't in the room. Dean tugs on the loose chain to find its origin, then follows the links back to the single line connecting wrist and ankle cuffs. Not handcuffs, but the old school leather bands used in long-ago mental institutions and some ERs to control combative patients.
Dean feels safe enough with Sam to undo them, picking the locks with the kit he brought. He can feel Sam shivering, either from cold or fear, like a wounded animal cowering in the corner. Dean choses not to speak, only silently works on undoing the cuffs. Once they are off and thrown away, he sets his hands under Sam's mitted palms. It's up to Sam to touch him, realizing that he's free and someone he knows and loves is here for him. In Dean's eyes, Sammy is pureness and light... goodness and kindheartedness. There is no doubt in his mind the real killer is letting his brother take the rap for him. But Dean needs to deal with Sam first---it will be his number one priority.
Slowly, Sam rises, uncurling from the fetal position as his mitted hands paw up the strong, sinewy muscles of male arms, broad shoulders. His fingers start to break apart inside the mitts, running up Dean's shoulders to his neck.
Dean swallows, closing his eyes. He tries to assuage the need to peel off the black hood's material over Sam's head. But somehow... he knows it doesn't matter---he doesn't need to, he already knows what Sam looks like.
At first, Sam tugs off one mitt---the right one---and with the gentlest of touches he cups Dean's cheek. Inside the hood, Sam smiles---recalling a memory of a ghostly image of a maturing Dean as he grew into a man before Sam's eyes. That stubble had rubbed him raw several times---Dean forgetting to shave and always teasing Sam by scratching the roughness over a sensitive cheek. Sam lets out a painful snort, trying to laugh, but he tilts his head toward Dean; like magic, their heads bang together.
Sam's hands slip to the nape of the neck, pulling Dean close to say one thing, “Kill me.”
“Wha--? Sam, no--! I...”
“... your knife, in your boot...” Sam rattles off the ways he knows Dean can off him quickly, “... a gun---your Glock--- at the back of your jeans, at your waist... one bullet... middle of my forehead...”
“---no...”
“... snap my neck... Dad trained us well... I know you can do it...” Sam licks his dry lips wet.
“I won't do it.” I can't do it, Dean thinks to himself.
“They want me dead. I know I didn't kill that girl... or any of those other children. I didn't---she was dead when I found her...”
“Then let's fight them.” Dean lightly shakes Sam. “We'll find the real killer together.”
“Too late.” Sam gulps in air loudly. “I'll be dead before I get to court.”
Dean wants to ask about the two cells prior to this one that looked as if Sam had busted out of them with explosives. But he knows Sam means that ordinary townsfolk will try to end his life.
“I'd rather you kill me, Dean... wouldn't you rather see me die by your hands than someone else's?...”
Dean hates even the mere mention of what he had thought years ago when they knew about Sam being a demon and Dad had begged for him to kill Sam when he knew he'd “go dark”. “Do you trust me?”
“... yeah... you're all I have...”
“Give me one more day... we'll break you out of this hellhole---TODAY... and I'll hide you myself. We'll figure this out together.”
“... one more day of living...” Sam says the words like wishful thinking. He knows his destiny too well.
“... then I'll think 'bout killin' you...” It's not true. Dean simply needs to get Sam out of here, then get him alone where he can work on convincing him it's best to stay alive.
Sam smirks behind the hood's material, chortling out a laugh. “... jerk...”
“... bitch...” Dean hesitates to remove the hood, drawing up the hem slowly. He doesn't know why he had some idea he will find something hideous underneath. But as he draws up the hood, he notices the dark brown scruff along the pale throat, around the Adam's apple. As the material is removed, the more striking Dean finds the extremely longer shaggy brown hair. There's dark circles under Sam's eyes---that's about the only thing that's different. He's used to the world weariness that layers the familiar features.
“Hey...”
“Hi...”
Dean releases a quirky smile, leaning over to intentionally press a light peck to Sam's lips---a simply greeting. But that's not what Sam wants.
Sam lifts his head higher, tilting at just the right angle to kiss his brother quite soundly and passionately. He won't let go of Dean's mouth, even draws up the bare right hand and mitted left to hold Dean's head in place. He draws back to lean his face on Dean's head.
“whoa...” Dean isn't prepared for that kind of “welcome home”.
“mmm...” Sam swallows, deep breathes and keeps his head bowed. “I'm not sorry.”
“oh-kay...”
“I need you, Dean.”
Dean licks his already moistened lips. “Sammy, I...”
“I need you to remind me that I'm good, that I'm still 'Sam'... that I'm---loved... wanted... I need you to remind me that I'm alive---not dead inside...”
“Jesus, you're killin' me here...”
“Give me this... I'll guarantee you I'll die another day...”
“I fuck you---I have 48hrs to solve your case?”
“yes...”
“And if I solve your case? What then?”
“Guess we'll just have to see.” Sam takes off the other mitt, throwing it away once he has it off. “C'mere...” He's about to pull Dean down on top of him on the cement flooring.
“No! The bed.” Dean stands from his squatting position. “... or whatever that thing is over there.”
“--'kay. Fine.” Sam solemnly rolls away, goes to stand upright, but wobbles a little... Dean catches him to walk with him to the bunk bed slab jutting out of the wall. Sam reaches out to use the top bunk to balance. “hehehe... sorry... been on the floor a while.” He starts to unbutton his jumpsuit, showing that underneath is his usual V-necked t-shirt and tight boxer briefs. Sam slips out of shoes and socks once he sits down on the slab, dunking his head.
Dean looks at his watch and sees that he has more time than he thinks of that full hour he asked the deputy for. As he eyes Sam undressing on the side of the “bed”, he catches him slipping under the thin white flat sheet. It unnerves Dean how much this doesn't bother Sam; he thinks at some point it will simply be an elaborate joke or a prank. It didn't take long for him to realize Sam is more than serious. Especially when he sits on the side of the slab to undress and Sam pulls up to lay on his back, curved around him and leaning against his back.
The hands came out to sculpt and shape---these big, engulfing hands that hold strength and power, but caress with such gentleness and care. Sam embraces him from behind, face buries in his neck, sliding into hair, hands laying flat with five-fingers spread to slide down his last layer of shirt, playing beneath the material to touch bare flesh. The fingers trickle up to land on nipples---tiny buds that suddenly become hard and pert.
Dean arcs off Sam, never realizing how sensitive his nipples are or that when they are played with and his neck is being kissed or suckled that his dick twitches and stiffens. Oh, God... what is wrong with him? This isn't supposed to be arousing or erotic. This is Sam... his little brother... yet, christ, from behind, not so little in more ways than one.
Sam moves to stand on spread knees behind Dean, willing to help him undress---take off the t-shirt. Dean slides out of his jeans and underwear as he has done boots and socks the minute he sat down. He rests against Sam's body, feeling that massive and muscular chest at his back as the hands continue to roam. This time they are able to explore lower, slipping over coarse pubic hair, past the growing erection and onto flattened thighs---both inner and outer. Sam begins to massage, trailing up the inner thighs to reach the oval shapes laying mashed to the bed, then traces up the underside of the hardening cock along Dean's body, leaning to the left. He strokes and kisses flesh, massaging with the other hand. He is sending Dean into a mild state of frenzy.
Then he's gone for a brief time, reaching for something on the shelf between sink and mirror. He kisses Dean's neck, running a hand down his arm to drag Dean to lay down on the mattress with him.
Dean climbs onto his knees and shuffles Sam's left leg higher so he can fit between the spread of thighs. He can't help it, he peeks, finding that Sam is as hard as he is. It's a relief to feel solidarity in this perversion, but it also feels sexy as much as it feels forbidden---which is pretty much a Winchester trademark. The forbidden... the unknown.
Sam has brought over lotion. He's slicked up his hole, rubbing excess over his own cock to make it glisten and sheen, however light hits the shape. Dean takes the offer of a squirt of lotion to stroke himself, then he scoots closer to lay his length alongside Sam's, testing the feel of their bodies against one another. He starts to thrust, Sam reacts by counter-thrusting and then they start pounding pelvis to pelvis with their cocks slip-sliding between them.
“... oh, god-ohgod-ohgod-ohgod...” Dean can't fathom why he starting to want this... moment to be rather intimate and special. He's afraid he'll take Sam, then rut like a total animal inside of him.
“... unghhh, yes... want this-want you... please...” Sam closes his eyes, lolling his head around on the thin goose-down feather pillow.
Dean pitches forward, forearms beside Sam's head on the thin pillow. His fingertips move onto the pillow case and he fingers tangle in the long brown strands. He meshes their foreheads and rubs nose tips, until finally he begins to kiss Sam... this time of his own wanting.
Sam is a responsive and giving lover---the kind Dean loves to have under him. He pulls his lower body back, reaches down to grab the stalk of his shaft and slowly inches his way inside Sam's tight anal walls. His left hand stays clamped in Sam's hair, their mouths only a breath away and now he has a hand along Sam's side as he slides in deeper, moving easily past barriers of the rectum that would've pushed him out. Dean quietly mewls at the tight squeeze around his length, burying his face in the side of Sam's neck. Their stubbles are burning the other's skin. Sam's there to soothe and calm Dean, urging him to keep moving, then to go faster... harder... last longer, keep a steady pace...
Dean reaches above Sam's head to grip the edge of the metal slab, his hips canting and rolling at a near manic speed. He turns his face away as he feels the rise of an orgasm, not seeming to care if Sam was with him or not. He cries out a near growl at his release, unable to stop thrusting even as his body stops shaking from the cataclysmic euphoria of pleasure. He stays like that on top of Sam, inside of Sam... feeling the warm shelter of arms he's been missing for far too long.
It's then he knows he'll never let Sam go again. Not only that, but however long it takes Dean to convince Sam to want to live another day with him, he'll do whatever it takes.
Dean will get up shortly and dress in his clothes. He has a jailbreak to plan with Sam. For now, he likes where he is, feeling Sam's fingers over his back, dancing along the concave of his spine and tickling his scalp as fingertips sift through his hair.
This is exactly where Dean has always belonged
~*~the end
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no subject
Date: 2011-06-07 02:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-13 09:19 pm (UTC)here is the longer version if you're interested
http://sonnygrl11.livejournal.com/88819.html
[ it helps the fic make a bit more sense to where I was going ; not obligated to read, but thanks if you do ]
thanks so much for your feedback...
hugs...SONNY
no subject
Date: 2011-06-12 01:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-13 09:22 pm (UTC)you're welcome. I've been desperately wanting to attempt a F'ck-or-Die and I guess this was my best way to learn. I couldn't contain it to under 2500words though.
what I sent the Mods was a harshly-cut-fic... so here's the longer version which makes everything make a bit more sense...
http://sonnygrl11.livejournal.com/88819.html
thanks so much for coming around and leaving me a message...:O)
hugs...SONNY
no subject
Date: 2011-06-15 01:38 am (UTC)Fuck or Die is pretty much the best trope ever so I can't say I mind that the wordcount spilled over, hahaha. Man, I wish I could contract a few of those writing too much problems, my output is seriously weak.
Thanks for the link and for writing me such a wonderful fic!