[She supposes she ought to feel a little guilty for getting him to come here tonight. He's surprisingly gone along with everything she's suggested, ranging from ditching their plans to stay in and order pizza so she could come to the carnival and enjoy some terrible fried food. Some corn dogs and beer turn into sharing a funnel cake, which turns into Clara suggesting they go on some of the rides "since they were already there". He even wins her a stuffed bear, which she makes a big deal of and names after him. It's probably easy to tell how much she values the bear, just by the way she holds it and doesn't want to put it down.
She's a reckless daredevil and loves everything they go on, even the roller coaster that he swears isn't bolted in the right way and the ferris wheel that he swears is going to kill him once they reach the top and sit there for a while. She thinks she gets him to relax well enough with some kissing.
But nothing's likely going to be able to get him to relax as she guides him out onto a grassy area that's set up for dancing. The stars are out overhead and a live Journey cover band is playing Faithfully. It's more than a little cliche, but she wants to have this moment with him. So she stubbornly drags him to the dead center of the area and gets him to start dancing with her. It's at about the moment where the song registers with him and she glances up at his face that she knows he realizes that she's just tricked him into spending an entire night out with her.
It's a date.
They've been careful to avoid them, always keeping things physical with conversation and little things like carry out and old movies on TV being their main activities. She's never asked him for more than that, but after a year of always popping up to be with him wherever he goes (and the frequency of her visits starting to come on closer together and for longer stretches of time) she knows for sure now that she wants more. The fact that she feels so much for him and hasn't let herself say any of it yet needs to be addressed too. They've been doing this for long enough that she doesn't shy away from the fact that she thinks she might love him. She just has no idea how to approach that matter with him, especially not in a way that won't have him vanishing for a few months.]
Come on, don't look at me like that.
[She quietly pleads with him. The look on her face strongly resembles a kicked puppy, and it only becomes more dejected when she fears he might pull and run away. ]
You're enjoying yourself, aren't you? It's only a dance.
[But it isn't, not to her. And she's positive that they both know that.]
[The video Cathy sends was...well. Not intended for Dean specifically. In fact she's not really sure who this is going to beyond "someone who is not a contact in her list." She and her friends are playing a game in which they send risque content to a phone number that has been randomized, and to see what happens. So enjoythevideo, Dean.]
had fun at the club tonight but I didn't feel like taking any of these guys home. so I'm texting you to see if you can entertain me better than them
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. )
( 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?
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.
âĒ hey. brothers are a different code. especially co-dependent ones. âĢ
I mean, he'd try. âĒ and then, a haze-induced tangent—(you should probably get that ride to him, cait. âĢ We've gotten into some good brawls in our days I ever tell you the time we took out three biker dudes? Turns out it was more a sticky situation than we thought. Imagine some huge guy, white beard, vamp teeth Ruined the whole look. Turns out trim santa didn't like anyone making that joke, either
Tell you? âĒ he's never really had a problem with that, has he. âĢ
If you're inviting me to break in the sheets, there is no part of me that minds taking you up against them, devouring you against them, anything you want against them. We'll have to be thorough, though. Have to make sure we leave an honest review.
As for the red, I wouldn't mind you in nothing but that lipstick, but if you have anything for me to unwrap, can't say I'd complain.
âĒ in fact he'd nearly die about it. lingerie's always been a weak spot, for dean.
he shouldn't of even brought this up. why, christian grey? âĢ
Uh, basically some millionaire with daddy issues. More than daddy issues. Hence leading to him finding some girl, making her sign some kind of dom contract shit to keep everything hush hush between them. He's got this red dungeon looking room with apparatus', paddles, you name it this guy is on his shit.
Dunno what happened to using your hands or a good old fashioned tie, but what do I know.
[ She's not sure how long they've already been at it, Sam and Julia trading another book filled with ancient texts and no answers. Her fingers trace the rim of her whiskey glass as she reads, trying to figure out how another Knight of Hell apparently came into existence when they were supposed to be wiped out.
Julia can't stop her eyes from wandering to Dean when the Latin phrases all start to meld together, barely registering Sam mentioning something about needing help with an Ancient Greek passage. Whatever was going on between herself and Dean wasn't something she spoke about openly. Especially not to his brother of all people. They had fun together whenever she was in town and she tried to be a safe place for him if he needed to vent his feelings... Though it usually wasn't verbal. But where he didn't talk, she did -- confided in him when he'd been at some of his lowest points. She didn't take his shit and she'd been in his shoes. Not the same situation, but being stripped of her soul and possessed, being forced to take a back seat while she watched atrocity after atrocity go down. People telling her she shouldn't blame herself, not understanding why she couldn't have been strong enough to fight it. Even if it had been an unkillable monster inside her.
She had no idea what emotions were going through his mind, but she had a guess of how he wanted to spend her first night back in the bunker. She runs her fingers through her long curls, brushing them out of her face as she returns her attention to Sam to help with the translation. But she can't stop the way her eyes keep drifting to the other brother, casually dipping a finger into her whiskey as she debates a word choice with Sam before bringing her finger to her lips.
If he needed to escape, she was ready to indulge him as soon as she and Sam hit a natural stopping point. Could be hours from now, but she'd make it worth his while. The hours cemented into place once she genuinely gets caught up in a theory from Sam, jumping to her feet to walk around and grab one of the books she'd brought with her near Dean -- remembering something she'd seen in passing. Her knee-length sweater billows behind her, pulling away from her black tank top and jeans. She's never not in enchanted heels, the sound echoing in the large room as she walks. Pulling out the chair next to him, she quickly sits, flipping through the pages as she calls names and phrases out to Sam while he takes notes. Her concentration is completely dedicated to the pages, already reaching for another book as she and Sam follow another idea that could be a possible lead.
Even this close to him, she's already distracted again -- giving his thigh a quick squeeze under the table before she throws herself fully into translating Aramaic on the fly. ]
[ guess who drove an hour out to follow a lead on some big bad that ended up going nowhere? this gal. ]
I might stick around one more day to make sure I covered all my bases, but I'd rather not. There's only one motel around here and it's making me seriously reconsider my rule about not sleeping in my car. Please tell me you found something.
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She's a reckless daredevil and loves everything they go on, even the roller coaster that he swears isn't bolted in the right way and the ferris wheel that he swears is going to kill him once they reach the top and sit there for a while. She thinks she gets him to relax well enough with some kissing.
But nothing's likely going to be able to get him to relax as she guides him out onto a grassy area that's set up for dancing. The stars are out overhead and a live Journey cover band is playing Faithfully. It's more than a little cliche, but she wants to have this moment with him. So she stubbornly drags him to the dead center of the area and gets him to start dancing with her. It's at about the moment where the song registers with him and she glances up at his face that she knows he realizes that she's just tricked him into spending an entire night out with her.
It's a date.
They've been careful to avoid them, always keeping things physical with conversation and little things like carry out and old movies on TV being their main activities. She's never asked him for more than that, but after a year of always popping up to be with him wherever he goes (and the frequency of her visits starting to come on closer together and for longer stretches of time) she knows for sure now that she wants more. The fact that she feels so much for him and hasn't let herself say any of it yet needs to be addressed too. They've been doing this for long enough that she doesn't shy away from the fact that she thinks she might love him. She just has no idea how to approach that matter with him, especially not in a way that won't have him vanishing for a few months.]
Come on, don't look at me like that.
[She quietly pleads with him. The look on her face strongly resembles a kicked puppy, and it only becomes more dejected when she fears he might pull and run away. ]
You're enjoying yourself, aren't you? It's only a dance.
[But it isn't, not to her. And she's positive that they both know that.]
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decadentdecade.
I'm not asking
[ yes he is. just grumpy, as he's been paired with her for yet another case.
sammy was completely unwilling to go undercover with her. big guess why. ]
what a good world
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dean pls
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sorry for the wait. had a crazy week
np, same
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text;
had fun at the club tonight but I didn't feel like taking any of these guys home.
so I'm texting you to see if you can entertain me better than them
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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
punches myself in the face
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đžđ đđđđ đđđđđ đļđ đđžđđŊđ.
( 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?
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Cont. (or something)
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.
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trigeminal headache â tfln overflow.
Remind me to have a talk with her later
âĒ hey. brothers are a different code. especially co-dependent ones. âĢ
I mean, he'd try. âĒ and then, a haze-induced tangent—(you should probably get that ride to him, cait. âĢ
We've gotten into some good brawls in our days
I ever tell you the time we took out three biker dudes?
Turns out it was more a sticky situation than we thought. Imagine some huge guy, white beard, vamp teeth
Ruined the whole look.
Turns out trim santa didn't like anyone making that joke, either
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shieldingfoundation â tfln overflow.
Tell you? âĒ he's never really had a problem with that, has he. âĢ
If you're inviting me to break in the sheets, there is no part of me that minds taking you up against them, devouring you against them, anything you want against them. We'll have to be thorough, though. Have to make sure we leave an honest review.
As for the red, I wouldn't mind you in nothing but that lipstick, but if you have anything for me to unwrap, can't say I'd complain.
âĒ in fact he'd nearly die about it. lingerie's always been a weak spot, for dean.
he shouldn't of even brought this up. why, christian grey? âĢ
Uh, basically some millionaire with daddy issues. More than daddy issues. Hence leading to him finding some girl, making her sign some kind of dom contract shit to keep everything hush hush between them. He's got this red dungeon looking room with apparatus', paddles, you name it this guy is on his shit.
Dunno what happened to using your hands or a good old fashioned tie, but what do I know.
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siphoners â tfln overflow.
Don't call me that.
âĒ
but do it again.whoever said he didn't deserve to go to hell may have been wrong. âĢRight, well give me your options
If I'm gonna be chaperone I gotta have some say in it don't I?
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c:
[ and if it allows her to tease dean in the process — can she be held accountable for that? ]
Which shade of lipstick goes well with a battle axe?
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Julia can't stop her eyes from wandering to Dean when the Latin phrases all start to meld together, barely registering Sam mentioning something about needing help with an Ancient Greek passage. Whatever was going on between herself and Dean wasn't something she spoke about openly. Especially not to his brother of all people. They had fun together whenever she was in town and she tried to be a safe place for him if he needed to vent his feelings... Though it usually wasn't verbal. But where he didn't talk, she did -- confided in him when he'd been at some of his lowest points. She didn't take his shit and she'd been in his shoes. Not the same situation, but being stripped of her soul and possessed, being forced to take a back seat while she watched atrocity after atrocity go down. People telling her she shouldn't blame herself, not understanding why she couldn't have been strong enough to fight it. Even if it had been an unkillable monster inside her.
She had no idea what emotions were going through his mind, but she had a guess of how he wanted to spend her first night back in the bunker. She runs her fingers through her long curls, brushing them out of her face as she returns her attention to Sam to help with the translation. But she can't stop the way her eyes keep drifting to the other brother, casually dipping a finger into her whiskey as she debates a word choice with Sam before bringing her finger to her lips.
If he needed to escape, she was ready to indulge him as soon as she and Sam hit a natural stopping point. Could be hours from now, but she'd make it worth his while. The hours cemented into place once she genuinely gets caught up in a theory from Sam, jumping to her feet to walk around and grab one of the books she'd brought with her near Dean -- remembering something she'd seen in passing. Her knee-length sweater billows behind her, pulling away from her black tank top and jeans. She's never not in enchanted heels, the sound echoing in the large room as she walks. Pulling out the chair next to him, she quickly sits, flipping through the pages as she calls names and phrases out to Sam while he takes notes. Her concentration is completely dedicated to the pages, already reaching for another book as she and Sam follow another idea that could be a possible lead.
Even this close to him, she's already distracted again -- giving his thigh a quick squeeze under the table before she throws herself fully into translating Aramaic on the fly. ]
excuse my tl;dr just setting up his ~brain's setting
hell yeah
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idek i just wanna dick around with these two
[ guess who drove an hour out to follow a lead on some big bad that ended up going nowhere? this gal. ]
I might stick around one more day to make sure I covered all my bases, but I'd rather not.
There's only one motel around here and it's making me seriously reconsider my rule about not sleeping in my car.
Please tell me you found something.
i am happy to supply
sigh or i could just DISAPPEAR sorry about that