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not necessarily
that depends on who i've caught
and whether you liked what you saw in the video
that depends on who i've caught
and whether you liked what you saw in the video
( it's late.
it's late and she's tired â tired of more things she even wants to admit, of pretending that killing is the only thing that makes her feel anything anymore (though the way that traitor cracked tonight, practically shriveled up as he died as she let out everything pent up inside of her in one deadly scream into his ear, metal bar through his shoulder keeping him pinned to the wall was nearly enough to stir something inside of her). of acting like she doesn't care about the man with her father's face, of his sheer determination to see the good in her, foolishly, because she knows for a fact that there's none left.
she's not his laurel. she'll never be his laurel. it hurts. she hates him for making her feel like this. she wants it all to go away â )
i need you to do something for me.
i need you to come here and wreck me so badly i forget who i am. forget my own name.
do you think you can do that for me, dean?
( it's a little different than laurel's typical approach to their rendezvous â controlling and snarky until she can one-up him, completely have her way with him; she sounds a little desperate, but she's deathly serious. )
it's late and she's tired â tired of more things she even wants to admit, of pretending that killing is the only thing that makes her feel anything anymore (though the way that traitor cracked tonight, practically shriveled up as he died as she let out everything pent up inside of her in one deadly scream into his ear, metal bar through his shoulder keeping him pinned to the wall was nearly enough to stir something inside of her). of acting like she doesn't care about the man with her father's face, of his sheer determination to see the good in her, foolishly, because she knows for a fact that there's none left.
she's not his laurel. she'll never be his laurel. it hurts. she hates him for making her feel like this. she wants it all to go away â )
i need you to do something for me.
i need you to come here and wreck me so badly i forget who i am. forget my own name.
do you think you can do that for me, dean?
( it's a little different than laurel's typical approach to their rendezvous â controlling and snarky until she can one-up him, completely have her way with him; she sounds a little desperate, but she's deathly serious. )
not *normally*
but it is a bit of a game with some friends and I.
the fun is seeing who we get on the other end of randomized phone numbers
well, that's the fun of the game
the fun of the sexting is a little more obvious, if you're interested.
but it is a bit of a game with some friends and I.
the fun is seeing who we get on the other end of randomized phone numbers
well, that's the fun of the game
the fun of the sexting is a little more obvious, if you're interested.
( late sorta depends on who you ask. for him, the inky veil of the night's no different than when he shuts his eyes, sleep a rare blanket of comfort to find between countless nights on the road. hell, whatever him and sammy were chasing this time—so far two shades away from squat—had made even the idea of an aged motel room better than crashing in the back seat of the impala.
there's a callous palm scrubbing down along his cheeks, stubble-covered jaw as he hears phone vibrate against the end table on his side of the room, sammy perched behind some makeshift divider and likely either nose deep in some angel coding or dappling in sweet dreams.
last person he thinks to find contacting him at such an hour is her. definitely doesn't sound like it's the right time to tease, knows something's likely gnawing itself at her from the inside out enough to send something so startlingly submissive, but he can't help himself. naturally. maybe he just wants to see exactly how willing she is to give him that control. )
You gonna say please?
Weren't very nice the last time I saw you, you think you deserve it?
there's a callous palm scrubbing down along his cheeks, stubble-covered jaw as he hears phone vibrate against the end table on his side of the room, sammy perched behind some makeshift divider and likely either nose deep in some angel coding or dappling in sweet dreams.
last person he thinks to find contacting him at such an hour is her. definitely doesn't sound like it's the right time to tease, knows something's likely gnawing itself at her from the inside out enough to send something so startlingly submissive, but he can't help himself. naturally. maybe he just wants to see exactly how willing she is to give him that control. )
You gonna say please?
Weren't very nice the last time I saw you, you think you deserve it?
i don't say please.
take it or leave it.
( she's already regretting her first messages, vulnerable in a way she never reveals, cards held close to her chest at all times. this scruffy, practically vagabond of a man has no ties to star city and its inhabitants, though, and that's part of what makes him all the more desirable.
the urge to strike him when she sees him (and she'll see him, she knows it) will have to be choked down if this is going to go the way laurel thinks it needs to go for the last scraps of her own damn sanity. )
and i don't give what i can't take.
take it or leave it.
( she's already regretting her first messages, vulnerable in a way she never reveals, cards held close to her chest at all times. this scruffy, practically vagabond of a man has no ties to star city and its inhabitants, though, and that's part of what makes him all the more desirable.
the urge to strike him when she sees him (and she'll see him, she knows it) will have to be choked down if this is going to go the way laurel thinks it needs to go for the last scraps of her own damn sanity. )
and i don't give what i can't take.
Oh, but I think you would.
Cause I know what you need. Hell, I might be the only one who can give it to you, who ain't gonna worry about breaking you or what you can or can't take.
( she also knows that with him comes his mouth, sharp and all too eager to spit out something smart 'til he's got his hands on her. it'll quiet down then, but he's got his own demons to feed, a hunger that sits deep in the well of his chest and hums at the mere thought of having her.
ruining her exactly the way she wants him to; the ability for him to let go, an edge he can't quite let himself slip from with other women. )
You want me to fuck you, give you what you want? Then we're playing by different rules this time, sweetheart.
I can be there in twenty, unless you'd rather me 'leave it', plenty of run down bars around here to occupy me otherwise.
Cause I know what you need. Hell, I might be the only one who can give it to you, who ain't gonna worry about breaking you or what you can or can't take.
( she also knows that with him comes his mouth, sharp and all too eager to spit out something smart 'til he's got his hands on her. it'll quiet down then, but he's got his own demons to feed, a hunger that sits deep in the well of his chest and hums at the mere thought of having her.
ruining her exactly the way she wants him to; the ability for him to let go, an edge he can't quite let himself slip from with other women. )
You want me to fuck you, give you what you want? Then we're playing by different rules this time, sweetheart.
I can be there in twenty, unless you'd rather me 'leave it', plenty of run down bars around here to occupy me otherwise.
you wouldn't do that â not with what i'm offering on the table.
( laurel finds herself walking a very thin line between wanting control and needing the loss of it, between wanting to take everything pent up inside of her out on him and needing to have it forcibly taken from her, whether she likes it or not. her throat still feels raw from how hard she'd sonic screamed as that pathetic songbird's little traitor of a boyfriend remained pinned against the wall by laurel's own doing, helpless as his ears bled and his body simply couldn't handle it anymore. she reviled him in that moment, and she reviles herself now.
there's a shaky exhale of a breath as she looks down at her phone, reads over his messages again. )
tell me about these rules of yours.
( laurel finds herself walking a very thin line between wanting control and needing the loss of it, between wanting to take everything pent up inside of her out on him and needing to have it forcibly taken from her, whether she likes it or not. her throat still feels raw from how hard she'd sonic screamed as that pathetic songbird's little traitor of a boyfriend remained pinned against the wall by laurel's own doing, helpless as his ears bled and his body simply couldn't handle it anymore. she reviled him in that moment, and she reviles herself now.
there's a shaky exhale of a breath as she looks down at her phone, reads over his messages again. )
tell me about these rules of yours.
[ cont. ]
( his own wounds had already been nursed, only one that'd required a few stitches at the outer of his arm, snapping the thread with his teeth before nestling everything back together into that first aid kid. there was a handful of them lying around the bunker, and he's well aware that her own would need attention. from the way she held her own back there, however, he doesn't find it right to assume that she hasn't suffered an open wound before. he knows what it's like, to prefer to take care of himself, how difficult it is to accept the offering of a harbor she couldn't even really be sure was anywhere safe.
sam'd insisted just as much as the elder, and the two of them had spoken lowly about the accommodations before she'd slipped off quietly into the shower. of course, that'd included for him not to pull any shit, to which dean offered up two palms as if in a white-flagged gesture. sam's always found sleep a hell of a lot easier than he has; once upon a time he'd envied it, but dean's gotten used to the quiet of the bunker, the endless books at his disposal, a mind that never ceases to keep him company with harrowing thoughts.
he hears the light pad of her footsteps before her figure appears in the entry, glancing up from where he's leaning, and he can't help but look her over. it's a quick study, more appreciative than it is predatory. this wasn't the time nor place, wasn't some quick lay in a motel room, but there was no denying the allure she held standing before him so simple, so bare and in his clothes nonetheless. those dark scarlet locks dampening the collar of the shirt, the supple expanse of her skin, he finds himself clearing his throat and forcing his gaze down to the bottle in his hands, the briefest of smiles forming at her words. )
Didn't do anything for you that you hadn't done for me and my brother. ( honestly, he couldn't give two shits left what happened to him, but sammy? he'd build anyone a damn throne for sparing him a mere cut. idly, he fidgets with the beer in his hand before raising it to his lips once more, nursing on it familiarly. )
You took a hell of a beating back there. ( voice is low as it is gentle, gravel-toned and careful. he knows she isn't comfortable; hell, he can't blame her, but that doesn't mean he won't try and mend that over. ) You alright?
( his own wounds had already been nursed, only one that'd required a few stitches at the outer of his arm, snapping the thread with his teeth before nestling everything back together into that first aid kid. there was a handful of them lying around the bunker, and he's well aware that her own would need attention. from the way she held her own back there, however, he doesn't find it right to assume that she hasn't suffered an open wound before. he knows what it's like, to prefer to take care of himself, how difficult it is to accept the offering of a harbor she couldn't even really be sure was anywhere safe.
sam'd insisted just as much as the elder, and the two of them had spoken lowly about the accommodations before she'd slipped off quietly into the shower. of course, that'd included for him not to pull any shit, to which dean offered up two palms as if in a white-flagged gesture. sam's always found sleep a hell of a lot easier than he has; once upon a time he'd envied it, but dean's gotten used to the quiet of the bunker, the endless books at his disposal, a mind that never ceases to keep him company with harrowing thoughts.
he hears the light pad of her footsteps before her figure appears in the entry, glancing up from where he's leaning, and he can't help but look her over. it's a quick study, more appreciative than it is predatory. this wasn't the time nor place, wasn't some quick lay in a motel room, but there was no denying the allure she held standing before him so simple, so bare and in his clothes nonetheless. those dark scarlet locks dampening the collar of the shirt, the supple expanse of her skin, he finds himself clearing his throat and forcing his gaze down to the bottle in his hands, the briefest of smiles forming at her words. )
Didn't do anything for you that you hadn't done for me and my brother. ( honestly, he couldn't give two shits left what happened to him, but sammy? he'd build anyone a damn throne for sparing him a mere cut. idly, he fidgets with the beer in his hand before raising it to his lips once more, nursing on it familiarly. )
You took a hell of a beating back there. ( voice is low as it is gentle, gravel-toned and careful. he knows she isn't comfortable; hell, he can't blame her, but that doesn't mean he won't try and mend that over. ) You alright?
Acquiescing the reply with a slight nod and a gentle shrug, Natasha eased further into the small kitchen, controlling her wince with master aplomb, and came to gingerly take a seat at the table, resting her arms on its cool surface.
"That's true," she admitted quietly, gazing off into the middle space. "I suppose I owe you one, this next time." Her lips quirked with the thought. These two weren't unfamiliar, though she'd never lingered long enough to be considered introduced. Safer that way; she didn't need friends, she only collected enemies. But considering that she was in their fortress...
"Natalia Alianova Romanova," she intoned, the Cossack inflection thick in her voice, especially with her given name. "Anglicized to Natasha Romanoff," she added, dialect disappearing to leave her tone comfortably middle-American. "And you must be Dean Winchester, and that's your brother Sam, snoring in the library." She acknowledged him with another light nod. "I've heard of you."
Her back twinged just then, and this time she wasn't able to hide the soft hiss of indrawn breath, nor the moue of discomfort that crossed her brow. "I'm...all right," she insisted, but sat up a little straighter to keep from stretching the edges of the gaping gash. "That last ublyudki marked me pretty good before you beheaded him." It had stopped oozing blood, thankfully, but the wound was still raw and sore.
"I don't think it needs stitches, but it definitely hurts like hell." Hard to admit, but there was no use in posturing, not here or now. Still, she did opt to make light of the situation, saying, "Twelve hours will see me right as rain, and I'll be out of your hair, sooner, if possible."
"That's true," she admitted quietly, gazing off into the middle space. "I suppose I owe you one, this next time." Her lips quirked with the thought. These two weren't unfamiliar, though she'd never lingered long enough to be considered introduced. Safer that way; she didn't need friends, she only collected enemies. But considering that she was in their fortress...
"Natalia Alianova Romanova," she intoned, the Cossack inflection thick in her voice, especially with her given name. "Anglicized to Natasha Romanoff," she added, dialect disappearing to leave her tone comfortably middle-American. "And you must be Dean Winchester, and that's your brother Sam, snoring in the library." She acknowledged him with another light nod. "I've heard of you."
Her back twinged just then, and this time she wasn't able to hide the soft hiss of indrawn breath, nor the moue of discomfort that crossed her brow. "I'm...all right," she insisted, but sat up a little straighter to keep from stretching the edges of the gaping gash. "That last ublyudki marked me pretty good before you beheaded him." It had stopped oozing blood, thankfully, but the wound was still raw and sore.
"I don't think it needs stitches, but it definitely hurts like hell." Hard to admit, but there was no use in posturing, not here or now. Still, she did opt to make light of the situation, saying, "Twelve hours will see me right as rain, and I'll be out of your hair, sooner, if possible."
( it doesn't take a great deal of effort to detect that her discomfort doesn't solely stem from the fact that she's on foreign grounds, here, with two guys she may've run into in the past, but only just now got on a first name basis with. for a moment, though, he's a bit distracted with the—what is that, russian?—that slips smoothly from her tongue, watches pink lips bounce gently off the syllables as she offers out a pretty mouthy, distinguished name.
natalia. natasha. bit more proper than the 'red' he's been tagging her as with sammy in their past run-ins, bringing her up mildly mid-conversation over the fluff of waffles and a coffee, black and strong. )
I get that a lot. ( the whole 'i've heard of you' bit, except it's normally at the opposite end of a barrel or after he's been beaten half to hell. ) Can't say the same for you. (it's when she winces, weakly attempting to keep the pain that hisses from her lips covered that he shifts a bit from where his back rests, brow taking on the slightest furrow. it isn't difficult to assess where it's stemming from, what with how she straightens her spine and speaks a little more through her teeth than not. beer is set on the countertop beside him before he's brushing palms together, taking a step toward her before he hesitates, glancing toward the med kit sat beside said snoring brother. )
Hey, hey—easy does it, Red. ( it's habit. ) You need me to take a look? ( an offer that comes without a trace of any straying intentions. how quickly he snaps into that little soldier daddy'd made him out to be, the only time hands were as steady as if on the pearl grip of his pistol being when tending to a wound. )
Make sure it's good, if anything. If you're walkin' out in twelve hours, let me at least make sure it's in one piece, huh?
natalia. natasha. bit more proper than the 'red' he's been tagging her as with sammy in their past run-ins, bringing her up mildly mid-conversation over the fluff of waffles and a coffee, black and strong. )
I get that a lot. ( the whole 'i've heard of you' bit, except it's normally at the opposite end of a barrel or after he's been beaten half to hell. ) Can't say the same for you. (it's when she winces, weakly attempting to keep the pain that hisses from her lips covered that he shifts a bit from where his back rests, brow taking on the slightest furrow. it isn't difficult to assess where it's stemming from, what with how she straightens her spine and speaks a little more through her teeth than not. beer is set on the countertop beside him before he's brushing palms together, taking a step toward her before he hesitates, glancing toward the med kit sat beside said snoring brother. )
Hey, hey—easy does it, Red. ( it's habit. ) You need me to take a look? ( an offer that comes without a trace of any straying intentions. how quickly he snaps into that little soldier daddy'd made him out to be, the only time hands were as steady as if on the pearl grip of his pistol being when tending to a wound. )
Make sure it's good, if anything. If you're walkin' out in twelve hours, let me at least make sure it's in one piece, huh?
The moniker she let slide; she didn't really mind either way. She'd had nicknames before. The Black Widow, for one. One of the KGB's most ruthless assassins, a weapon created from an institutions of little girls, homeless with pale hope of any sort of future.
Dark green eyes flicked up when he moved, automatically noting every shift of his body; professional habit that. To her credit, she didn't reach for the weapons stashed beneath her--his--clothing; and the tension which had gathered behind her shoulders subliminally eased as she sensed he'd moved only to assist her with her injuries.
"...if...you like."
She wasn't one to ask for help--she'd learned to either tend to herself or die in the process of 'soldiering on', but it was damned hard to see, much less reach the middle of her back, so Natasha eased up from the chair and turned to perch a hip on the corner of the table, grimacing as she pulled up each side of the t-shirt, the movements stretching the rent skin beneath.
Dusky skin sported several small, light scars, and a few fresh cuts and scratches glared here and there, but the main issue ran very close to her spine, perhaps eight inches long, expanding to almost two inches at the direct center, where the claw had gouged the deepest. It hurt, yes, but she'd had worse. But the creature responsible had been destroyed, as had the rest of its filthy compatriots. And there was a hefty payoff waiting, which reminded her...
"How did you know to come to that farmhouse?"
Dark green eyes flicked up when he moved, automatically noting every shift of his body; professional habit that. To her credit, she didn't reach for the weapons stashed beneath her--his--clothing; and the tension which had gathered behind her shoulders subliminally eased as she sensed he'd moved only to assist her with her injuries.
"...if...you like."
She wasn't one to ask for help--she'd learned to either tend to herself or die in the process of 'soldiering on', but it was damned hard to see, much less reach the middle of her back, so Natasha eased up from the chair and turned to perch a hip on the corner of the table, grimacing as she pulled up each side of the t-shirt, the movements stretching the rent skin beneath.
Dusky skin sported several small, light scars, and a few fresh cuts and scratches glared here and there, but the main issue ran very close to her spine, perhaps eight inches long, expanding to almost two inches at the direct center, where the claw had gouged the deepest. It hurt, yes, but she'd had worse. But the creature responsible had been destroyed, as had the rest of its filthy compatriots. And there was a hefty payoff waiting, which reminded her...
"How did you know to come to that farmhouse?"
( he stays put where he is as she stands from where she'd perched, resting her wait at the edge of that table and easing up the thin cotton of his shirt to reveal an ivory expanse beneath. the wound is glaring enough to draw his attention immediately, but he doesn't miss the baby-pink swells that've long since healed over. he doesn't feel the need to comment on them, and he's sure she isn't unaware of the fact that they're fully exposed. it's not his place, especially not when he doesn't care to speak on his own.
a low whistle; while the laceration didn't show any signs of fresh blood, it definitely wouldn't go well without some bit of patching up, at least to stave off infection. it's in a spot that's too easily aggravated, prodding tongue at the inner of his cheek before wagging a single finger in the air— ) Hold that thought.
( he's brief, shuffling over into the library where he snatches the kit as well as one of the clean cloths that'd been dug out with it. it's on his way back to her that his voice breaks the quiet of the room once more, metal tin set with a quiet clang atop the table, ensuring to speak primarily so that she knew of his proximity to her. ) Tracked one of the bastards to a local bar. Didn't take long to figure out it wasn't exactly top-shelf tequila they were serving. Couldn't tell you what it is about farmhouses, but it's not the first nest I've found in one.
( a pause, and then, murmuring: ) Here, ah— ( what little bit of courtesy he can provide before hand sets at her shoulder to get a look, repositioning to gingerly raise the shirt a bit higher to reveal the entirety of the cut. ) Just hold that there. ( he continues, then, hands moving almost instinctively, like second nature, one grabbing the peroxide to dampen the cloth. ) Me and Sammy, we've traced right to the source before. Most of the time, though, if you're patient they'll lead you right home themselves. ( he leans a bit before her to be a bit more eye level with the gash, warm palm resting at her side while the other comes prepared with alcohol. )
Might sting like a bitch.
a low whistle; while the laceration didn't show any signs of fresh blood, it definitely wouldn't go well without some bit of patching up, at least to stave off infection. it's in a spot that's too easily aggravated, prodding tongue at the inner of his cheek before wagging a single finger in the air— ) Hold that thought.
( he's brief, shuffling over into the library where he snatches the kit as well as one of the clean cloths that'd been dug out with it. it's on his way back to her that his voice breaks the quiet of the room once more, metal tin set with a quiet clang atop the table, ensuring to speak primarily so that she knew of his proximity to her. ) Tracked one of the bastards to a local bar. Didn't take long to figure out it wasn't exactly top-shelf tequila they were serving. Couldn't tell you what it is about farmhouses, but it's not the first nest I've found in one.
( a pause, and then, murmuring: ) Here, ah— ( what little bit of courtesy he can provide before hand sets at her shoulder to get a look, repositioning to gingerly raise the shirt a bit higher to reveal the entirety of the cut. ) Just hold that there. ( he continues, then, hands moving almost instinctively, like second nature, one grabbing the peroxide to dampen the cloth. ) Me and Sammy, we've traced right to the source before. Most of the time, though, if you're patient they'll lead you right home themselves. ( he leans a bit before her to be a bit more eye level with the gash, warm palm resting at her side while the other comes prepared with alcohol. )
Might sting like a bitch.
Again, her mouth crooked in a semblance of amusement. "I'm hardly a stranger to pain, Mr. Winchester." As the marks littering her body could quite easily testify. She mulled over what he'd said while he stood behind her, breathing slowly and deeply to keep from automatically tensing at the foreign touch.
His hands were warm, however, promising. If a trifle roughened, but her own were hardly soft and delicate. She could sense the strength in his hands; unsurprising, given his occupation, but they were also sure, steady, hardly hesitant. She obligingly held the shirt where he directed, telling herself that the shiver coursing down her spine was from the coolness of the air, and not the brush of calloused fingertips over her skin.
"Even monsters prefer the comforts of home," she heard herself quipping lightly, though she did clench her teeth around another hissed breath when the peroxide hit exposed flesh. "I had been tracking one of the younger ones," she forced out, more to take her mind off Dean's doctoring than aught else. "He ravaged then butchered five teenage girls before the local authorities caught him." She shifted, slightly. "They had no idea what he was, so they incarcerated him as they would a human."
She muttered a low curse in Russian, shaking her head. "He destroyed their station, mutilated all of the local officers, then vanished. I was contacted not long after, and set on his trail." Her lips pursed, though she flinched away from the alcohol's bite. "My mission parameters were to decapitate him and burn what remained." Hence her diving back into the bloody nest to do just that.
His hands were warm, however, promising. If a trifle roughened, but her own were hardly soft and delicate. She could sense the strength in his hands; unsurprising, given his occupation, but they were also sure, steady, hardly hesitant. She obligingly held the shirt where he directed, telling herself that the shiver coursing down her spine was from the coolness of the air, and not the brush of calloused fingertips over her skin.
"Even monsters prefer the comforts of home," she heard herself quipping lightly, though she did clench her teeth around another hissed breath when the peroxide hit exposed flesh. "I had been tracking one of the younger ones," she forced out, more to take her mind off Dean's doctoring than aught else. "He ravaged then butchered five teenage girls before the local authorities caught him." She shifted, slightly. "They had no idea what he was, so they incarcerated him as they would a human."
She muttered a low curse in Russian, shaking her head. "He destroyed their station, mutilated all of the local officers, then vanished. I was contacted not long after, and set on his trail." Her lips pursed, though she flinched away from the alcohol's bite. "My mission parameters were to decapitate him and burn what remained." Hence her diving back into the bloody nest to do just that.
( he doesn't allow himself to fall into the trap that is her skin, the vessel of warmth she embodies. it's no secret dean's infatuation with women, but she's far more than a simple prototype. the way she'd fought, hell, the way she'd hunted, he has to wonder how long it is she's been at it, with scars like these to tell the tales of all she's conquered. needless to say, although his mind has a tendency to wander quite inappropriately, he holds a great deal of respect for the girl currently left open before him, back turned in both trust and an offering.
and yet still, he's just a man. it's easy to map out her figure, even in the way his clothes practically drape over her, picking up on the subtle notes of sammy's shampoo, some natural ingredient shit infused with argan and rose-something. it's not just that, though, but the way it mixes with the gentle scent that can only be ascribed to her. he's quiet, as she explains, and it's pretty clear that the way she operates is a lot neater than him and his brother. they scope the news, interrogate and reel for headways; not that he's ever seen one, but she's pretty damn close to what he'd figured would be a 'professional-type' hunter.
he's delicate with her—not to claim her fragile, but an apology in touch-form for the hydroxide eating away at any traces of dirt left along the raw flesh of the wound. ) I read the article. ( tone's a little more sullen, like a pit of anger much like her own wells inside his chest. ) About the girls. Authorities indicated a sixth, but she'd been drained. Little did they know exactly how.
( a beat, and he's ducking down to blow a bit of cool air against the bubbling white of peroxide, hands quick to the draw in retrieving a bit of gauze, the telltale peel of a bandage's wrapper being pulled back. butterfly bandages, to be exact. she'd heal, but it'd take a fair amount of time to close on its own. )
Think it's safe to say you wrapped up your mission. ( not that it ever feels that easy to close case for dean, not with the casualties. as far as he's concerned, the more deaths only indicated how much quicker he should've gone. ) Scumbags deserved a lot worse, always do, but the town's a hell of a lot safer with one less nest. ( a soothing touch to press the bandage to her skin, thumbing along its edge afterward almost absentmindedly. )
and yet still, he's just a man. it's easy to map out her figure, even in the way his clothes practically drape over her, picking up on the subtle notes of sammy's shampoo, some natural ingredient shit infused with argan and rose-something. it's not just that, though, but the way it mixes with the gentle scent that can only be ascribed to her. he's quiet, as she explains, and it's pretty clear that the way she operates is a lot neater than him and his brother. they scope the news, interrogate and reel for headways; not that he's ever seen one, but she's pretty damn close to what he'd figured would be a 'professional-type' hunter.
he's delicate with her—not to claim her fragile, but an apology in touch-form for the hydroxide eating away at any traces of dirt left along the raw flesh of the wound. ) I read the article. ( tone's a little more sullen, like a pit of anger much like her own wells inside his chest. ) About the girls. Authorities indicated a sixth, but she'd been drained. Little did they know exactly how.
( a beat, and he's ducking down to blow a bit of cool air against the bubbling white of peroxide, hands quick to the draw in retrieving a bit of gauze, the telltale peel of a bandage's wrapper being pulled back. butterfly bandages, to be exact. she'd heal, but it'd take a fair amount of time to close on its own. )
Think it's safe to say you wrapped up your mission. ( not that it ever feels that easy to close case for dean, not with the casualties. as far as he's concerned, the more deaths only indicated how much quicker he should've gone. ) Scumbags deserved a lot worse, always do, but the town's a hell of a lot safer with one less nest. ( a soothing touch to press the bandage to her skin, thumbing along its edge afterward almost absentmindedly. )
Natasha lowered her head and arched her back outwards, the better for the bandages to cohere to her skin when he was ready to apply them. The twitches and little shifts beneath his hands she couldn't entirely help; the liquids burned, damnit, and sitting still for them was torture she simply didn't need.
She didn't miss the timbre of his voice when it changed, speaking about the vampire's victims. It struck a resonance down in the pit of her own stomach, a thread of frustrating anger unable to be stifled, unable to be expunged. Because there was always something else, something else to hunt, something else to fight, something else to destroy. Man or monster, the evil never stopped coming.
Then he paused, and Natasha very nearly stuttered in surprise to feel a waft of warm-cool air brush over her aching skin, then the soft press of bandages followed, easing that mild trepidation. A sigh escaped, and her shoulders eased a moment later, eyes closing beneath the fall of scarlet.
"God knows I tried," she murmured beneath the red curtain. "Although he led me a merry chase, the bastard. I'd just completed a job the day before I received the call, but couldn't turn it down, not after hearing the details." The soft touch gliding down the bandage's edge brought a shiver and a bit of gooseflesh to the area, but Natasha straightened and eased the shirt down, simultaneously turning to face her host.
"Thank you," she said simply, with a single nod. "It feels better already."
She didn't miss the timbre of his voice when it changed, speaking about the vampire's victims. It struck a resonance down in the pit of her own stomach, a thread of frustrating anger unable to be stifled, unable to be expunged. Because there was always something else, something else to hunt, something else to fight, something else to destroy. Man or monster, the evil never stopped coming.
Then he paused, and Natasha very nearly stuttered in surprise to feel a waft of warm-cool air brush over her aching skin, then the soft press of bandages followed, easing that mild trepidation. A sigh escaped, and her shoulders eased a moment later, eyes closing beneath the fall of scarlet.
"God knows I tried," she murmured beneath the red curtain. "Although he led me a merry chase, the bastard. I'd just completed a job the day before I received the call, but couldn't turn it down, not after hearing the details." The soft touch gliding down the bandage's edge brought a shiver and a bit of gooseflesh to the area, but Natasha straightened and eased the shirt down, simultaneously turning to face her host.
"Thank you," she said simply, with a single nod. "It feels better already."
( that's what it was all about, wasn't it? the unrelenting hunt. there was always bad shit out there in the world, there was before the winchesters and there sure as hell would be when someone finally ganked the both of them. sometimes it's easier than others to believe they're making a difference, but it's those other times, mostly when sleep doesn't come at all and they're fresh off a hunt that he wonders what the point of it all is.
he admires her tenacity. he's never been one to underestimate another based on their sex, and while she may not call herself a hunter, she's certainly earned his respect as one. he has to reel himself back to the present, that article and the girls that'd suffered coming back to the forefront of his mind that'd previously been inhabited by the warmth emanating from her skin.
a beat and those doe-like eyes are on him again, grateful and soft. ) Look, uh.
Don't feel like you have to rush. ( he knows better than anyone the restlessness that comes with unfamiliar grounds, but for once there's a company other than his brothers that he doesn't seem to mind, and that's... well, something different, that's for damn sure. ) We got plenty of grub, beer, warm water—whatever you need til you're good on your feet.
Somethin' tells me that won't take long for you, though.
he admires her tenacity. he's never been one to underestimate another based on their sex, and while she may not call herself a hunter, she's certainly earned his respect as one. he has to reel himself back to the present, that article and the girls that'd suffered coming back to the forefront of his mind that'd previously been inhabited by the warmth emanating from her skin.
a beat and those doe-like eyes are on him again, grateful and soft. ) Look, uh.
Don't feel like you have to rush. ( he knows better than anyone the restlessness that comes with unfamiliar grounds, but for once there's a company other than his brothers that he doesn't seem to mind, and that's... well, something different, that's for damn sure. ) We got plenty of grub, beer, warm water—whatever you need til you're good on your feet.
Somethin' tells me that won't take long for you, though.
An eyebrow arched and a bit of her humor--sad, battered thing that it currently was--curved her lips in amusement. "I do appreciate the offer, Mr. Winchester, but..." What but? The refusal was sheer reflex; she'd always scorned favors whenever they'd been offered.
Trust. She'd been taught that there was no such thing, that 'trust' was just another word for 'betrayal', and that letting anyone--anyone at all--inside was tantamount to suicide. Trust no one, her instructors had drilled into them, and you never be betrayed.
And she'd held to that maxim ever since.
Natasha nibbled lightly at her lower lip, wondering why she was even entertaining the notion. She couldn't stay here. --could she? This place was certainly a fortress; she'd spied damn few structural weaknesses in her brief examination after her shower. And she was savvy enough to guess there were more than a few unseen traps lying in wait for whatever nasty smart enough to make it inside, as well.
And, God, but she was so damned tired... She never wanted for work; she'd checked her voicemail just an hour ago and had five new messages, all of them contracts for her skills and services. A little time off to rest and recuperate might be just the thing, particularly if she didn't have to constantly keep watch over her shoulder...
These thoughts and others scrolled through her mind as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, weighing pros and cons, automatically calculating. Finally, Natasha lifted her eyes and met Dean's gaze again, pursing her lips in a small crooked smile before giving a soft nod. "...well...how about we just play it by ear, hm? Take things one day at a time." Her mouth crooked a little more. "I could use a little vacation, actually."
Trust. She'd been taught that there was no such thing, that 'trust' was just another word for 'betrayal', and that letting anyone--anyone at all--inside was tantamount to suicide. Trust no one, her instructors had drilled into them, and you never be betrayed.
And she'd held to that maxim ever since.
Natasha nibbled lightly at her lower lip, wondering why she was even entertaining the notion. She couldn't stay here. --could she? This place was certainly a fortress; she'd spied damn few structural weaknesses in her brief examination after her shower. And she was savvy enough to guess there were more than a few unseen traps lying in wait for whatever nasty smart enough to make it inside, as well.
And, God, but she was so damned tired... She never wanted for work; she'd checked her voicemail just an hour ago and had five new messages, all of them contracts for her skills and services. A little time off to rest and recuperate might be just the thing, particularly if she didn't have to constantly keep watch over her shoulder...
These thoughts and others scrolled through her mind as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, weighing pros and cons, automatically calculating. Finally, Natasha lifted her eyes and met Dean's gaze again, pursing her lips in a small crooked smile before giving a soft nod. "...well...how about we just play it by ear, hm? Take things one day at a time." Her mouth crooked a little more. "I could use a little vacation, actually."
( yeah, he'll just try to focus on everything other than the sight of those pearled teeth tugging and playing at the plush of her lower lip. impossibly plush and impossibly pink and—shit, it's been too long. he's got no right taking out those sort of neglected manners on her, though, especially not after the hits she'd taken for him in response to those he'd taken for her. they were on even grounds, and while he couldn't call the case a win, they'd landed a pretty solid resource out of it all.
he can only chuckle at the word: ) Vacation. ( it huffs from his lips as if a mirage he's fantasized one too many times. there were no breaks from 'the life', no vacations. taking a few days off meant there was a chance there were innocent people out there dying, lives that could've been saved if they weren't shacked up with their feet on the table cracking open beers. )
Yeah, as close as we can get, huh? ( hand lifts to scratch at the scruff shadowed along his jaw, tracing that uneven split of her mouth. )
Hope the room's comfortable enough for you. We ah, don't usually have guests. ( or not any that stay, anyway. )
he can only chuckle at the word: ) Vacation. ( it huffs from his lips as if a mirage he's fantasized one too many times. there were no breaks from 'the life', no vacations. taking a few days off meant there was a chance there were innocent people out there dying, lives that could've been saved if they weren't shacked up with their feet on the table cracking open beers. )
Yeah, as close as we can get, huh? ( hand lifts to scratch at the scruff shadowed along his jaw, tracing that uneven split of her mouth. )
Hope the room's comfortable enough for you. We ah, don't usually have guests. ( or not any that stay, anyway. )
She had the sense that these brothers weren't part of any organized clan of hunters, not like the Syndicate for which she worked. But then, those sorts of clans kept well below most radars; no one found one unless the organization wanted to be found. She wasn't sure just how many Syndicates operated on American soil; perhaps only one.
Either way, killing paranormal entities for a living did get a little...wearing, and she'd learned to compartmentalize both monsters and victims in order to complete her contracts without going absolutely insane from the horror of it all. Yes, she knew what lurked on the other side of the shadows, and perhaps she wasn't wired correctly not to be afraid of it.
But then, she hadn't needed a monster in the closet to witness the ultimate horror. Humans were quite adept at that, after all.
Now, however, Natasha found herself watching--without meaning to--Dean's fingers scritching along that sharp jawline, and felt slow warmth beginning to seep into her blood. Horrible timing, that. And for the love of God, she had no intention of getting involved further with these two...no matter how this Dean Winchester just somehow fit the type of man that checked each and every one of her preference boxes.
Bloody fucking hell. Mind yourself, Natalia Alianova.
So she pulled her gaze away briefly, giving it back to respond with, "Mm? Oh, yes, thank you. It's fine." A sincere smile curved her lips, backed by a soft chuckle. "I'm not the sort to expect satin sheets and a gilded headboard, Mr. Winchester."
Either way, killing paranormal entities for a living did get a little...wearing, and she'd learned to compartmentalize both monsters and victims in order to complete her contracts without going absolutely insane from the horror of it all. Yes, she knew what lurked on the other side of the shadows, and perhaps she wasn't wired correctly not to be afraid of it.
But then, she hadn't needed a monster in the closet to witness the ultimate horror. Humans were quite adept at that, after all.
Now, however, Natasha found herself watching--without meaning to--Dean's fingers scritching along that sharp jawline, and felt slow warmth beginning to seep into her blood. Horrible timing, that. And for the love of God, she had no intention of getting involved further with these two...no matter how this Dean Winchester just somehow fit the type of man that checked each and every one of her preference boxes.
Bloody fucking hell. Mind yourself, Natalia Alianova.
So she pulled her gaze away briefly, giving it back to respond with, "Mm? Oh, yes, thank you. It's fine." A sincere smile curved her lips, backed by a soft chuckle. "I'm not the sort to expect satin sheets and a gilded headboard, Mr. Winchester."
( he catches the way she looks at him, but he can't help but to wonder if it's just his own selfish inclination to want her to pay attention to him that way. it's not the norm that he's this strung up, that he hasn't found someone to indulge whether it be a bar or one of those friggin' dating apps, but when cases came up one after the other, they were priority, and it was only when they'd settle back at the bunker or one of those rundown hotel beds that he'd feel it hungering within him.
her chuckle warms him, finding his thoughts wandering off far too much for comfort. still, she manages to bring him back. a smirk of his own meets hers in response, perhaps a little coyer. it's all unintentional.
of course. ) This place is a hell of an upgrade from bunking at motel rooms, the bedrooms though seems to be where they paid the littlest attention. ( given the grand library, the tech that still went beyond him at times. but ask him and he's perfectly happy with his room, merely for the fact that it's his. concrete walls and a plain old bed and all. )
Satin sheets would be damn nice though, huh?
her chuckle warms him, finding his thoughts wandering off far too much for comfort. still, she manages to bring him back. a smirk of his own meets hers in response, perhaps a little coyer. it's all unintentional.
of course. ) This place is a hell of an upgrade from bunking at motel rooms, the bedrooms though seems to be where they paid the littlest attention. ( given the grand library, the tech that still went beyond him at times. but ask him and he's perfectly happy with his room, merely for the fact that it's his. concrete walls and a plain old bed and all. )
Satin sheets would be damn nice though, huh?
She'd gotten the message almost two months to the day since she'd departed company with the Winchester brothers, thanking them quietly but profusely for their hospitality and for saving her life. Their good-natured acceptance, along with a few blushed cheeks, back-of-the-neck rubs, and crooked little smiles had touched her amusement, and she'd headed back to her own abode still a little sore, a bit stiff, but more than ready to get back to work.
And she had. Natasha had returned "home" to seven contracts waiting in her inbox and on her answering machine. As she'd earlier promised Dean during her brief stay, she triaged the work and bounced a few on to the brothers--legitimate work that she would ensure they were compensated for, and wasted little time getting herself back on the job.
Weeks passed, and Dean actually surprised her by keeping in touch, as he'd told her he would. It was a little...disconcerting at first; she was too used to operating solo and holding 'radio silence' unless breaking it was absolutely necessary, but Dean Winchester apparently didn't have many friends to talk with, either. Texts soon evolved into actual phone calls, provided neither of them were working, and almost without realizing it, Natasha found herself looking forward to those hours of seemingly meaningless conversation, often lying away until sunrise with her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she just listened to Dean's wonderful voice. The inherent growl in his tone seemed to vanish the miles between them and Natasha often imagined him lying right beside her, purring words right against her skin.
More than once she had to haul out of bed and take a cold goddamned shower after hanging up the phone.
Returning home after a particularly difficult hunt, Natasha headed straight for a hot bath and leftover pizza afterwards, scarfing down the remainder before turning off all the lights in her flat and slipped into bed--satin sheets, note--checking the time on her phone. Ten-fifteen. She had a quarter hour before it would chime with a familiar ringtone (Eye of the Tiger; he'd insisted) and the rest of the night would be considerably better spent than the day had been. Sighing softly, Natasha reclined against her nest of pillows, the satin feeling heavenly against her bare skin. A slow churning had been lurking in the pit of her stomach for a few days now; a pestersome happenstance whenever one was alone, damnit.
But long fingers slipped over her skin regardless, closing her eyes and shamelessly imagining another's hands doing the same thing, instead.
Ten minutes. An eternity, alas.
And she had. Natasha had returned "home" to seven contracts waiting in her inbox and on her answering machine. As she'd earlier promised Dean during her brief stay, she triaged the work and bounced a few on to the brothers--legitimate work that she would ensure they were compensated for, and wasted little time getting herself back on the job.
Weeks passed, and Dean actually surprised her by keeping in touch, as he'd told her he would. It was a little...disconcerting at first; she was too used to operating solo and holding 'radio silence' unless breaking it was absolutely necessary, but Dean Winchester apparently didn't have many friends to talk with, either. Texts soon evolved into actual phone calls, provided neither of them were working, and almost without realizing it, Natasha found herself looking forward to those hours of seemingly meaningless conversation, often lying away until sunrise with her cell phone tucked beneath her ear as she just listened to Dean's wonderful voice. The inherent growl in his tone seemed to vanish the miles between them and Natasha often imagined him lying right beside her, purring words right against her skin.
More than once she had to haul out of bed and take a cold goddamned shower after hanging up the phone.
Returning home after a particularly difficult hunt, Natasha headed straight for a hot bath and leftover pizza afterwards, scarfing down the remainder before turning off all the lights in her flat and slipped into bed--satin sheets, note--checking the time on her phone. Ten-fifteen. She had a quarter hour before it would chime with a familiar ringtone (Eye of the Tiger; he'd insisted) and the rest of the night would be considerably better spent than the day had been. Sighing softly, Natasha reclined against her nest of pillows, the satin feeling heavenly against her bare skin. A slow churning had been lurking in the pit of her stomach for a few days now; a pestersome happenstance whenever one was alone, damnit.
But long fingers slipped over her skin regardless, closing her eyes and shamelessly imagining another's hands doing the same thing, instead.
Ten minutes. An eternity, alas.
( this wasn't the sort of thing dean often kept up with. other hunters'd hear from him at times, sure, and maybe even with some sort of consistency should there be some sort of mutual benefit; while he'd told himself for long enough keeping in contact with red was merely for the fact that she was a damn good source of both intel and cases whenever their own stretch of land fell quiet, he wasn't blind enough to recognize the way it developed into more.
'more' was another thing that the winchester's weren't great at upholding. he doesn't dare let it tread into anything romantic, no, because he's got no right tangling up another woman in his fucked up life, even if it's a life strikingly similar to his own. he's got too many problems, too eager to push away what's too close, and he guesses that's why this works. this... whatever it is they're doing, a soft, velvet voice on the other end of that phone sometimes the lone thing that kept him sane.
him and sammy had just gotten back from a nasty case of shifters, a few fresh cuts left behind, but nothing he couldn't handle. skin is left almost supple save for perpetually calloused hands after a hot shower, losing himself beneath rhythmic droplets and letting the night's events whir through his mind again and again, as they so often did after a hunt. he recounts everything, and as he stands before the mirror in that bathroom he drags a single hand across it, almost letting out a pitiable laugh at the hollow shell staring back.
by the time he lets himself plop down at the edge of his bed, touch dragging across his features, his phone glows with a notification from sam. 10:28 PM. heading out to manchester, eileen needs another set of eyes. a small grunt, normally he'd be up for any sort of distraction, any case to wear himself out into, but instead he's damn foolish enough to lay back against his own mattress with the one thing at mind that stills everything else. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she'd walked into that bunker's kitchen in the loose drape of his shirt.
ring ring, nat. he's right on time. )
'more' was another thing that the winchester's weren't great at upholding. he doesn't dare let it tread into anything romantic, no, because he's got no right tangling up another woman in his fucked up life, even if it's a life strikingly similar to his own. he's got too many problems, too eager to push away what's too close, and he guesses that's why this works. this... whatever it is they're doing, a soft, velvet voice on the other end of that phone sometimes the lone thing that kept him sane.
him and sammy had just gotten back from a nasty case of shifters, a few fresh cuts left behind, but nothing he couldn't handle. skin is left almost supple save for perpetually calloused hands after a hot shower, losing himself beneath rhythmic droplets and letting the night's events whir through his mind again and again, as they so often did after a hunt. he recounts everything, and as he stands before the mirror in that bathroom he drags a single hand across it, almost letting out a pitiable laugh at the hollow shell staring back.
by the time he lets himself plop down at the edge of his bed, touch dragging across his features, his phone glows with a notification from sam. 10:28 PM. heading out to manchester, eileen needs another set of eyes. a small grunt, normally he'd be up for any sort of distraction, any case to wear himself out into, but instead he's damn foolish enough to lay back against his own mattress with the one thing at mind that stills everything else. if he closes his eyes, he can still see the way she'd walked into that bunker's kitchen in the loose drape of his shirt.
ring ring, nat. he's right on time. )
She answered on the second ring, since the phone had been held in a light, loose grip as she ran through a by-now familiar fantasy behind her closed eyes, a soft sigh leaving parted lips before answering.
"...hey, handsome." Her customary greeting by now, punctuated with a tiny smile as she envisioned the grin that no doubt curved Dean's own kissable mouth at the label. Another sigh, a bare expression of breath, escaped as she shifted slightly beneath the cool sheet, her bedroom dark save for the gleam of light from the phone. Which she extinguished with a single touch.
"I'm glad I made it home before you called." The following noise was a bit of a groan, disguising a brief muscle twinge as events of the day tried to catch up. "...been a long day. But definitely better now."
"...hey, handsome." Her customary greeting by now, punctuated with a tiny smile as she envisioned the grin that no doubt curved Dean's own kissable mouth at the label. Another sigh, a bare expression of breath, escaped as she shifted slightly beneath the cool sheet, her bedroom dark save for the gleam of light from the phone. Which she extinguished with a single touch.
"I'm glad I made it home before you called." The following noise was a bit of a groan, disguising a brief muscle twinge as events of the day tried to catch up. "...been a long day. But definitely better now."
"They would, indeed." She'd indulged in a set, back at her own flat a few states over. One of her very few guilty pleasures, that. But she could rough it when necessary, and never minded doing so, as it was usually far easier and cheaper, God knew.
"But seedy motels just fit the image, don't they?" The teasing query preceded a little giggle, though the sound was more tired than amused. "This place, though..." Natasha gazed around with an approving eye. "It's really amazing. A real safehouse." She gave him a lifted eyebrow once again. "I imagine it'd take an army or two to penetrate it."
Before she'd even realized she'd planned to do it, Natasha took a simple step forward, placed a hand against Dean's rough cheek and rose on her tiptoes to press her lips to the other, his skin warm against hers. "Thank you again," she murmured against the edge of his jaw, "for bringing me here."
"But seedy motels just fit the image, don't they?" The teasing query preceded a little giggle, though the sound was more tired than amused. "This place, though..." Natasha gazed around with an approving eye. "It's really amazing. A real safehouse." She gave him a lifted eyebrow once again. "I imagine it'd take an army or two to penetrate it."
Before she'd even realized she'd planned to do it, Natasha took a simple step forward, placed a hand against Dean's rough cheek and rose on her tiptoes to press her lips to the other, his skin warm against hers. "Thank you again," she murmured against the edge of his jaw, "for bringing me here."
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