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. )
( 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?
( 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. )
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. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text obviously
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. )
obviously she says with a brick of prose
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?
punches myself in the face
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
( 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.