#<- using that tag again and you CAN'T STOP ME

[ihadlife]

been thinking about pirate!au cod men. them finding you above a corpse on your husband's ship and deciding to keep you. 

tags: 18+, fem!reader, talks of rape, non–con, graphic description of murder, death of a character (oc), gore, kidnapping, traumatic events

You've been sailing on your husband's godforsaken ship for more than two weeks now and you've had enough. Your husband, a wealthy British merchant with business ties to Americas. Your husband, to whom you were downright sold by your parents, who has never cared about you, not even a little, who rapes you every night in the comfort of his cabin and who doesn't stop them and only laughs when other sailors mock the sounds you make during the act.  

You've lost everything – your home, your dignity, your happiness, all thanks to your husband. You decided a week ago that you were going to kill him. Even if you die in the process. 

So, you use the opportunity when your ship gets attacked by pirates. You rush to your husband's cabin and fetch the letter opener you've been eyeing ever since your decision and frantically start looking for him amidst the carnage. When you do find him, bile rises in your throat at what you see before you. Your husband is cowering behind some barrels, trying to make himself as small as possible to save his own life while his men are fighting and dying. 

You've never despised anybody this much. You wouldn't even think it possible before your wedding. 

You don't recognise your own voice when you let out a savage shriek and tumble him on his back, raising your skirts so you can sit on his hips – for the one last time you'll ever have to. 

The skinny blade of the letter opener burrows into your husband's chest before you even realise what you're doing. It's wet. And squishy. You feel the bile in your throat again but you force it down. When you take out the letter opener to deliver another stab, you can hear it. The low rustle of air going in and out of the wound as your husband frantically breathes, making almost a whistling noise. You must've punctured his lung. 

You stab him again, this time in the abdomen, the low whistle now providing a perverted symphony to harmonise your actions. After stabbing him for the third time, you let out a breathless laugh. Your hand is getting all bloody while the eyes of your now-dying husband desperately search yours for a pinch of mercy but you can't find it in you. Not when you can feel the life leaving his body the same way life left yours every night when he had his way with you. Now you have your way with him. 

You don't recognise yourself as you deliver one blow after another, quicker and quicker. It's fair though, you think. He has changed you beyond recognition. 

You don't stop even when he's long gone. What was before a slightly jiggly, fat-covered belly is now a bloody pile of mush, which you don't stop stabbing with the letter opener. Not even when you hear male voices entering the entrails of the ship, not even when you hear the surprising yell when they see you, not even when two pairs of hands grab you by your arms and wrestle you off the corpse. 

You've gone completely feral by this point. You can feel it in your throat when you're almost growling at the men, screaming let me go repeatedly, thrashing so they would release you from their hold. 

You're not scared of what will happen now that the pirates caught you. You don't care. Even if they all have their way with you. It can't be worse than the absolute pain of betrayal you felt when your own husband did it. 

"Christ a'mighty," you can hear close to your ear, apparently coming from one of the men holding you back. You can't see him, but you can distinguish the thick Scottish accent in his voice. 

A tall man with mutton chops steps into your field of vision, coming so close to you that you're sure he can feel your frantic breathing against himself. Even though he's so close to you, so close you share the same air, he doesn't touch you. Doesn't even raise his hand. 

"Bring her with." Is all he says before walking away. You don't protest. Your body feels almost like a gelatine as they push you towards the deck, their grip on your arms loosening considerably as you start calming down. 

You will be fine. You've survived your husband, you will survive this. 

all works © ihadlife. all characters are already adult, or aged up. do not copy, plagiarise, or promote my works on any platforms. i do not own any characters unless specified. 

#ves writes #pirate au #pirate!au #fem reader #john price #captain john price #captain price #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #ghost simon riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley #gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #task force 141 #tf 141 #cod men

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 5 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | other parts here

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: you have an unsettling exchange with cal, you spend the day with nate, then he takes you to a party with the express purpose of getting you drunk.

— tags: shopping with nate, learning to drive, partying, swimming

— tw: f receiving oral, humping nate's thigh in public, coerced intoxication, skinny dipping, reader touching nate's genitals at his suggestion while drunk, lying, dollification, guilt-tripping/emotional manipulation (sexual & otherwise), gas lighting, major invasion of privacy, sexual assault (reader is drunk and nate touches them in a sexual way, so i count it), love-bombing, vomiting, eating | there will not be a date rape in this after the party, i promise!

— word count: 15,729

— a/n: cal, during his convo w/ reader, isn't trying to be an asshole toward nate, he's trying to give her a genuine warning. the line 'he kills what he loves' i went back & added to try & i guess pull some kind of parallel between the two men, like when cal said 'i kill what i eat' on the show. bc i do think cal is capable of love. i think nate is only capable of obsession/infatuation, which is easy to mix up in the heat of the moment.

if nate seems different w/the reader than he does w/ cassie, it's bc he's obviously still hiding his true colors with reader.

the song I had in mind during the party is dangerous (oliver remix), which was indeed used during the show.

i hope reading this feels as ominous as it did writing it lmao.

When you wake in the middle of the night, it's with Nate's arm slung heavily over your abdomen, his hand hanging off the side of the bed.

You wiggle out from under him, still naked, before picking up his t-shirt and slipping it on before quietly unlocking his door and heading down to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Once you have it, you go to head back up to bed, until you hear his father calling to you from the living room, stopping you in your tracks.

You pad into the room, the light from the TV flickering against the dark which fills near every corner. "I was just getting a glass of water," you say, worried that he may think you were trying to steal from him in the middle of the night.

"Anything else you need?"

You shake your head, wishing you were wearing more than just a t-shirt right now. "I'm all set, thank you."

"Can I ask you something?"

You shift nervously as his eyes trail from your bare legs, back up to your face. "Sure."

"How is he? Nate?"

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs, glancing back to the TV. "He doesn't talk to me. Can't stand me, as I'm sure he's told you, or, at the very least, from what you can tell all on your own. I just want to know how he's doing." He looks at you again. "I assume he talks to you."

"If you mean in regards to you: no, he doesn't. You're the one thing he refuses to open up about. He...he seems fine, though. Most of the time, at least. He just seems to have this simmering-"

"Rage?" He finishes.

You nod. "I don't know if it stems from something that happened between the two of you, or if it's from however Maddy treated him, or something else." You glance down to the floor, then back up. "Maybe it's all of it. Maybe his life has just snowballed and he doesn't know how to deal with it. But you obviously care about him. So... I know what it's like to have an absent father." You pause. "I know it isn't my place, but...try to fix whatever is broken between the two of you before it's too late. Even if he hates you for it, he'll at least know you made that effort."

Cal grows quiet, for a long while, only the TV playing softly in the background. Then, "You're a smart girl, I can tell. Mature for your age. So, I'm going to give you a piece of advice." He leans forward. "Run. My son is not the guy for you. You can't fix him, and you can't help him. You can't give aid to a drowning man who chose to jump into the deep end in the first place.

"If you stay with him, he will ruin you. But I know you will anyway, despite this conversation. Maybe in spite of it. Just know that you're not the first, and you won't be the last." He leans back again. "No woman will ever make him happy, will ever live up to his perfect ideals of femininity. And, if they do, he'll fucking hate them for it. That anger he feels toward me? Give it time. You'll become the new punching bag. He kills what he loves"

You suddenly feel sick.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

You swallow, even if your mouth has now gone dry. "Goodnight, Mr. Jacobs," you say, turning away from him.

"Cal," he calls after you.

You turn your head back to look at him.

"Just Cal is fine."

You only nod before going back upstairs.

When you close Nate's door behind you, he's still asleep.

You lock it, then lean back against it, staring at him, your head spinning.

What the hell had just happened?

You watch Nate sleep, wanting to cry. But not for yourself. No. For him. He's only seventeen, and his own father is trying to drive away someone he's only just gotten together with.

You try to piece things together.

Nate dislikes him, of course. The incident in the kitchen had seemed a bit more aggressive than Cal just joking around with him.

So, maybe...maybe he's jealous? Jealous that his son is young and still has options, whereas, at his age, he's set in his ways. But that doesn't make sense, either. Cal is handsome, successful, wealthy, has—what seems like, at least—a lovely wife. Has two sons, who you're sure will both go far, given their dad's money, if nothing else. At least, in Nate's case, it will also be due to hard work and perseverance.

No wonder Nate hates this house so much, had been so eager to get you into his room and away from...him.

It'd been something in the way he had looked at you that had made your skin crawl. Like he could see everything under the thin t-shirt draped over your frame.

Then you wonder if that's true at all, or if Nate's disdain for him is just rubbing off, creating a perception of him that isn't even real.

You want to blame it all on being tired, but you can't just ignore what Cal had told you.

So you finally lie down next to Nate, his body quickly pulling your own against his—finding you even in his sleep—and you stare up at the ceiling.

You try to think back through every interaction you've had with Nate the last couple of weeks. Trying to find any blaring red flags.

This had all started out as a secret: the tutoring.

You wonder if you should've brought it up to his dad just to see his reaction. To see if it would even bother him. But, even if not, it's easy for children to be terrified of disappointing their parents so much so that they hide things that said parent would never even get upset over.

There'd been the Fezco story, which hadn't seemed quite right to you. Rue was a drug addict, a sad fact, but a fact nonetheless. However, she seemed to mostly mind her own business and keep to herself. She never seemed the kind to stir up pointless drama. So, why would she target Nate randomly?

You mentally file that away for further observation.

Then there was his dressing you and doing your hair, which still came off as a bit odd. But maybe it's just another way of him trying to show affection? And honestly...you kind of like it. Not in a sexual way, but in a way that makes you feel warm and looked after.

And it's less for you to have to worry about. At least if he's doing your hair, it saves you time and effort in fighting with it.

Him spending obscene amounts of money on you without your permission had been a bit much for your comfort levels, but as you look at him, your heart breaks.

He'd told you how with Maddy he'd done all he could to "get her to love him back". And you're sure that's what he's trying to do with you, because that's what she had taught him love is: financially transactional.

Honestly, you want to hold him just thinking about it.

What had happened to this poor, sweet boy to make him think that he alone isn't good enough?

From his father being cruel and overly-critical, to Maddy being emotionally and verbally abusive, to Cassie being controlling and possessive, he's done nothing but endure mistreatment after mistreatment from people that're supposed to love him and that he tried to love himself.

You stop trying to find something wrong with him then. Instead focusing on the good. Him giving you compliments, always getting the door for you, driving you places, taking you on dates, giving you sweet gifts, helping you with the groceries, opening up to you and you also doing as much with him...the list goes on.

You cuddle closer to his chest, thinking, as you drift off to sleep, that Maddy and Cassie have no idea what they've lost.

When Nate wakes the next morning, you're still asleep, pressed against his side. And as he lays there, looking down at you—you breathing softly—he says it for the first time in a quiet whisper.

"I love you."

You don't stir, even for a moment.

And he means it. Really means it this time.

Because he knows he's finally fucking done right by himself. He'd studied and observed and manipulated you for two weeks until finally getting you into his bed, and you'd played along beautifully. Backing down at every turn when he needed or wanted you to, letting him have control.

From choosing places you both went together, to ordering for you at the bistro, him choosing your clothes, doing your hair, driving you around, letting him touch you—even if you weren't entirely comfortable with it, but allowing it anyway because you knew it made him happy—to making yourself smaller and sweeter and more agreeable to him in his moments of anger and irritation... You were perfectly submissive and gentle and soft.

He'd only have to make a few more tweaks here and there and his work would be done. You'd be everything he's been waiting and looking for.

He lays back against the headboard, fingers dancing along the bare skin of your back—it'd only taken one evening to get you naked and spreading you legs for him in bed. And he didn't think less of you for it. If you'd been with anyone else before, he would, absolutely. But he'd seen the proof plain as fucking day while going down on you last night: you're still intact. No one else has touched you.

No, you'd done it because you were falling, whether you knew it or not. And because he had tons of experience over you. All you had known in that sweet, innocent little mind of yours was that you wanted more of what he was willing to give you. Because it felt so much better when it was coming from another person. From him.

He grabs his phone, scrolling through Instagram, checking his email, his texts, while he waits for you to wake up next to him.

When you wake, it's with your face pressed against Nate's side. It takes you a moment to realize he's already awake, sitting up.

You sit up as well, covering yourself with a dark blue sheet.

"Good morning," you say shyly.

He drops his phone onto his bedside table, giving you his full attention. "Morning, angel."

He leans forward, planting a soft kiss to your lips.

You reach up. "My hair is probably a mess," you say nervously.

He leans back. "You look perfect. But you can use the bathroom if you want."

You nod, standing, and Nate takes in your naked body before you slip on his t-shirt, walking into the bathroom.

Once you've relieved yourself, you brush your teeth, then gasp when you look in the mirror before starting on your hair.

You quickly open the bathroom door and Nate looks at you with a lazy look on his face.

"What did you do?" You ask, fingers reaching up to gently press against the dark purple bruise he'd left on your neck.

He smirks. "Oops."

Blood rushes to your face in embarrassment. "People will see this."

He shrugs. "Let 'em."

You cross your arms, feeling uncomfortable. "It...it looks trashy."

He sighs. "It looks like a hicky."

"Nate-"

He rolls his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "So, what, did I fuck up last night, too? I thought you enjoyed it."

You withdraw into yourself. "N-no, you didn't. I did—enjoy it, I mean."

He lowers his hand, looking up to you with a hurt expression. "Do you regret it?"

You feel absolutely horrible.

You pad over to him, sitting down beside him, taking one of his hands in yours, the other coming up to cup his cheek. "No, of course not. I liked it...all of it. I'm sorry. I overreacted."

You wrap your arms around his neck, and his face quickly returns to normal as you hug him.

"I enjoyed it, Nate. That's the first time I've done anything. I'm glad it was with you." You whisper, pressing your body closer to his own.

He waits a moment, lets you sweat over a possibility of having truly hurt him, then you relax when his arms wind around you.

"If you don't want me to in the fut-"

You pull back. "No, I do." You don't really wanting to be walking around with love bites for all to see, but you'll just have to figure out a way to cover them up in the future.

You'd rather that than making him worry that you don't enjoy being intimate with him.

You press your lips to his. You look at him for a moment, giving him a soft smile before you stand, returning to the bathroom.

Once you've brushed your hair, and washed your face, you return to bed, sitting next to Nate.

You gingerly take one of his hands in your own.

“Are you hungry?” You ask.

He glances between your legs, then back into your eyes.

You blush, looking down. 

“Are you?”

You shrug. “I could eat.” You look at him again. “Do you want me to make you breakfast again?”

He slowly moves his hand up your thigh. He doesn’t like the idea of his dad seeing you like this. Bare from your thighs down—more-so uncomfortable because you have nothing on underneath the t-shirt you’re wearing, even if he wishes you hadn’t bothered with putting it back on in the first place.

He stands. “Let me see if I can find you a pair of shorts or something.”

“I thought you said nothing you have will fit?”

He doesn’t reply as he pulls a pair of drawstring basketball shorts out of his dresser, turning around to hand them to you. “Put these on.”

You stand, doing as instructed, cinching the waist. They still look ridiculously big, but they stay in-place.

“Good enough,” he says before pulling on a t-shirt and putting on his sweatpants from last night—before going to sleep he’d taken them off, only sleeping in his boxers. He typically sleeps naked, but knew doing so last night most likely wouldn’t have been a good idea. Perhaps after you stay over a few more times he’ll strip one night, letting you wake up to his naked body pressed against yours.

He takes your hand as the two of you exit his room and he leads you downstairs. 

You’d slept until nearly eleven, so the rest of the house is already up. He just hopes you sleeping so late isn’t a regular thing. But he understands that you’d exerted yourself a bit more than usual last night. He smirks at the thought.

Thankfully, the kitchen is empty when Nate leads you into it. 

You lean back against a counter. “What would you like to eat?”

He seats himself at the island. “Do you know how to make an omelette?”

You smile. “Yes.”

You go to the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs, some cheese, and you grab a bell pepper from a fruit bowl on the counter, setting it all down. 

You begin pulling open drawers, looking for a knife, a whisk, and a bowl, and Nate just watches with idle amusement at you familiarizing yourself with his kitchen. 

You and Nate eat side-by-side, his knee brushing against yours as he takes bites of his omelette. 

He swallows. “I know I said it before, but you really are a good fucking cook.”

You glance at him and smile. “Thank you.”

Once the two of you are finished, Nate helps you load the dishwasher. “What do you want to do today?”

You lean back against the counter again and he plants his palms flat on either side of you, caging you in. 

You grip the hem of his t-shirt. “I’m not sure.”

“I could take you shopping again?”

Your heart sinks. 

You reach up, gently touching your fingertips against his cheek. Your eyes have softened as you look into his own.

“I know we talked about it before, and that you said that’s not why you did it, but I don’t ever want you to think you have to buy my affection, Nate. And I know you also said you didn’t want to talk about them anymore, but I’m not Maddy. My feelings for you aren’t transactional. I’m with you for you. And I’ll never try to control you like Cassie.”

You briefly think back to your exchange with his father last night and that well of sadness you now feel for him deepens. You wrap your arms around his neck, running your fingers through his hair. “I just want you. Exactly as you are. You’re more than enough for me. Please don’t ever feel like you have to bend over backwards to make, or keep me happy. I’m just glad I finally have someone to talk to and spend time with; that I'm not alone anymore.”

Nate slowly wraps his arms around you as well, wondering what the hell had come over you. He doesn’t dislike it. No, the very opposite. He likes it when you’re soft and kind with him. Not because he needs it, but because your feminine personality, especially in moments like this, more than compliment his masculine one.

All he can think is: this is exactly how it’s supposed to be. You submissive and sweet, loving and caring. Cooking and cleaning and doing as you’re told, letting him—one man—teach you about sex and your own body. Letting him make your decisions for you, like what you can wear, how to do your hair—he plans to expand that list drastically as time goes on. Also letting him think for you in the future, he hopes.

His sob stories about Maddy and Cassie had worked, apparently. A few truths, a few lies, and you saw him as someone who’d been used and taken advantage of by evil women.

You saw him as a good man.

He doesn’t wish he were. He knows what he is. He just hopes he can keep you blind to that truth for awhile longer. At least until after the two of you have started having sex.

He presses his face into your hair. “I’m so glad I met you. Even if it had to happen twice.”

You nod. “Me too.”

Neither of you are aware of it, but his mom stands just around the corner, tears stinging her eyes. And she knows her little boy has finally found the right girl for himself.

When you pull away from Nate, he caresses both of your cheeks, bringing his lips down to your own. His hand slips under the oversized t-shirt hanging from your frame , moving higher until he's cupping one of your bare breasts. He rubs the pad of his thumb against your nipple until it pebbles.

You pull away and he quickly moves his lips to your neck, sucking on that same hicky from last night.

You gasp. "Nate, what if someone walks in?"

He gently bites down and your hips buck against him.

He lifts you onto the counter, moving his lips back to yours, considering reaching his hand into his shorts that hang from your hips, until his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He bites back a curse at the ruined moment.

He pulls away from you with an irritated sigh and you wait patiently while he checks the notification.

He scans over the message, then looks up to you. "Do you want to go to a party tonight?"

You blink at him. "Like a birthday party?"

He smiles at your sweet innocence. "No, baby, a real party."

"Oh." You consider it for a moment. "I've never been to one."

He smirks, stepping closer to you, between your dangling legs. "I figured as much."

"Do you want to go?"

In truth, he usually wouldn't much care either way, but he knows this is a perfect opportunity to get you drunk, just to see what he can get out of it—out of you.

"I wouldn't mind it. It'd give us something to do tonight."

He give him a peck on the lips. "Okay."

He'd honestly thought you'd try to talk him into some fairytale movie night instead. He's pleased with your easy agreement.

"The party doesn't start until nine, which really means to show up after ten, at least. So we have the whole day ahead of us. We could run over to your place, get you changed, and pick up an outfit for tonight." He doesn't mention also getting pajamas for when he brings you back here after getting you loaded. You can either sleep naked or in something of his. But he'll make that decision then.

"Okay," you say pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Once you've changed I'll give you your first driving lesson."

You still then, and he dislikes your sudden change in demeanor. He prefers you agreeable and cute.

"What do you mean?"

He raises a brow. "Don't worry, I'm not going to be putting you on the interstate your first day. I'll teach you some of the basics in the school parking lot."

He moves his hand back under your shirt, gripping the curve of your side.

"And that's all, right?"

He nods.

You gently grip his t-shirt. "Okay."

He smiles.

Once you and Nate have arrived at your house, he follows you into your bedroom. Before you can open your closet to find a proper outfit to change into, he beats you to it. You stand to the side, still unsure how to feel about him picking out your clothes.

You say nothing about it, however, telling yourself it's one way he shows affection.

He hands you the blue babydoll dress he'd bought you, then picks up a pair of matte silver flats from your small shoe rack at the bottom of your closet, setting them near your bedroom door.

Without a word, without even your permission, he opens the top drawer of your dresser and begins to browse your panties and bras.

"W-what're you-"

He looks at you over his shoulder. "I've already seen you naked, sweetheart. Am I not allowed to pick out your panties?"

You blush furiously—your cheeks hot—before sitting down on your bed. You don't answer as he turns back around, picking out a pair of sky-blue panties with tiny dark-blue flowers printed on them and a white bra with lace trim and a heart sewn in the middle.

He tosses the items on your bed.

"Stand up for me, baby."

You do as he asks and he slowly pushes the hem of the t-shirt you're wearing up. You lift your arms and he removes it entirely, dropping it on the floor. You feel the need to cover your bare breasts, but refrain as he rubs the pads of his thumbs over each of your nipples.

He then reaches down, puling at the drawstring of the shorts he'd given you to wear and they fall to the carpeted floor, pooling at your feet.

You feel beyond self-conscious being completely naked before him in the daylight.

And he can tell just by your shift in body language. Pressing your thighs together, hands clasped in front of your genitals. And you refuse to look at him now.

He cups one of your cheeks in his hand, his other arm resting at his side. "Are you insecure?"

You shrug.

His lip twitches. Good, he thinks.

Maddy had been too fucking confident in every way. And Cassie had been completely secure in her looks, her body. And he'd thought them both shallow sluts for it.

But you? You have humility. You need his approval. Because you have no idea what you have.

"Look at me, Y/N."

You do so reluctantly.

"Do you have any idea how fucking perfect you are? What seeing you like this does to me?"

He uses his free hand to grab at his erection over his jeans and fills with such fucking satisfaction at seeing your pure, innocent eyes widen when you look down.

You look back up to him. "O-oh."

He glances to your bed behind you, that teddy still in-place. He looks at you again, your eyes watching him, waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

And he revels in it.

"Lie back on the bed, sweetheart."

You give a terse nod before doing so.

He leans over you, grabbing your bear, before handing it to you. "Hold this."

Your brows furrow, but you take the plush object from his grip.

He stands back up, removing his leather jacket before tossing it toward your chair in the corner. He then kneels down on the floor at the foot of your bed. Finally, he reaches forward, grabbing your hips and bringing himself face-to-face with that pretty pussy of yours.

"N-nate, wha-"

He immediately gets you to shut up by throwing your legs over his shoulders just like last night and devouring your already-wet pussy.

You grip your bear tighter, your body relaxing.

Nate eventually removes his lips from your cunt after a few minutes, then starts planting firm, wet kisses against your inner-thighs. Slowly. One after another after another. Occasionally sucking in one spot here, another there, working at giving you a couple more hickys, marking your privates as his very own.

He does the same as last night, gripping your hips in his large hands, keeping you still.

You whimper quietly, so he blows against your weeping pussy and you wiggle your hips, trying to get closer and he grins.

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit and watches as you pulsate for just a moment.

He reaches down, spreading your labia with his fore and middle fingers and admiring your in-tact seal. Mine, all fucking mine, he thinks before putting his mouth back on you.

He looks up, sees you gripping your teddy bear, biting your lip, your back arched and he moans against you at the beautiful fucking sight of you spread open and completely vulnerable before him.

He has you so fucking duped—thinking he's some injured boy looking for love—when all he really wants is to possess every part of you.

But he knows he's the best thing for you. What you need.

Not any of the idiotic guys at school who wouldn't know how to appreciate you. Wouldn't know how to provide for or protect you. Wouldn't know the first thing to do with you, other than try to shove their cocks in your face, or between your legs.

No, he wants you for far, far longer, and for far more than just some quick fuck.

You're sweet, inexperienced, and all alone. Not even you know what you need, what you want, who you are. But he does.

He runs his tongue along your hymen and you cry out and his eyes roll in pleasure at the sound. Finally he's gotten you to make some fucking noise.

He does it again and your body shudders.

He does his utmost to ignore his cock straining painfully against his pants.

He removes his mouth from you again and he hears a sound escape your lips that's something akin to a sob.

He begins to kiss your thighs again, working his way down to your knees, then back up each side. He sucks against the soft skin, leaving angry purple bruises on both sides before blowing against your clit again. You throw your teddy down out of frustration and he knows he nearly has you there.

He blows again, flicks his tongue lightly against your clit, a kiss and then another on either of your thighs, lightly biting. And then finally, finally, you reach down, tangling your fingers in his hair and you move your pussy closer, your ass now nearly hanging off the edge of the bed.

He looks up at you. "This what you want, sweetheart?"

Your fingers tighten then loosen against his scalp. "Mhm."

He blows against your dripping pussy. "You want me to let you cum, baby?"

You look down at him and your cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, your eyes glazed over with lust. "Please, Nate."

"How about pretty please?"

You lie back down against your fluffy white pillows with their frilly cases. "Pretty please?"

He kisses your right thigh. "Can you say with sugar on top?"

You squirm your hips and he holds them each in an iron-tight grip against the bed.

You let out a small sob.

She's finally fucking crying, he thinks.

"With sugar on top, please, p-pretty please?"

He kisses your left thigh, sucking on that pretty purple bruise of his own doing.

"And a cherry?" He asks.

You let out another sob and he can see a tear slip from your eye, dampening a spot on the pillow beneath your head.

God it's hardly taken him any effort at all. But, then again, you have nothing to compare him to.

"Prettypleasewithsugarontopandacherry?"

It all comes out as one long, garbled word, you say it so quickly. But he deems it good enough. He knows he's humiliated you by making you beg. But that you're so desperate for it that you'll do anything to have his mouth back on you.

"Good girl," he says before getting back to work with his tongue.

You start crying. "T-thank you."

It's after another ten minutes—you whining and grinding yourself into his mouth, whispering his name quietly over and over again—that he finally lets you fall over the edge. And it's something beautiful to fucking behold when you do.

Halfway through, he'd spread your right leg wider, his hand squeezing your thigh, keeping it in-place. He'd found your left hand with his, twining his fingers between yours, your hand squeezing his every few seconds as you concentrated on trying to find your release.

And when you orgasm, your hand squeezes his so hard it hurts, even a bit. He keeps your legs spread as you arch your back, your fingers tugging against his hair, rubbing your pussy against his mouth. And once you've calmed, your hammering heart slowing, he keeps your legs spread, watching your ass and pussy pulsate slowly. It's only once they've both stopped that he allows you to finally close your legs.

He climbs up onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and you cry quietly for a moment and you can't understand why.

He shooshes you. "It's alright, baby. You did so fucking good for me."

He places a soft kiss to the top of your head and you close your eyes, pressing yourself closer to him.

You feel so...different. Your body feels hot all over, a pleasant soreness between your legs, your thigh muscles a bit more overworked than usual, and your head feels...a bit foggy somehow? You feel relaxed for once. Content.

And the way you feel about Nate in this moment... You can't think like that. Can't acknowledge that little four-letter word. You were being ridiculous. But you'd never felt like this before. Never felt the way you had last night in his bed, either.

You can't say it. If you do, you'll lose him. And you can't lose anyone else. Because you have no one else to turn to if you do.

Now that you know how good it feels to be cared for and wanted and desired, you don't ever want to be alone again.

You suddenly feel tired and feel yourself starting to drift off to sleep against his broad, warm chest, his hands rubbing soothing circles against your bare back. You press your palms against him and yawn.

Then, "You ready for me to get you dressed, angel?"

Your eyes slowly flutter open. "I'm so tired."

He smirks. You would be.

Wait until he starts fucking you multiple times a day. You won't have energy for anything else. Or, that's the plan, at least. All you'll want is to stay naked in his bed. Too exhausted to even get up and put a t-shirt on.

He squeezes your small, soft body for a moment. "I know, but I really wanted to give you your first driving lesson today."

Not that he plans to let you start driving—not that you have the means to do so in the first place—but because he knows you'll learn sooner or later, and he wants to be the one to teach you yet one more thing.

He doesn't want it coming from another man, even if it's your dad.

You're his.

He sits up and you bury your face in a pillow and all he can do is think how cute you look.

"C'mon, let's go get you cleaned up."

You look up at him, at his outstretched hand, and you take it, following him sleepily to the bathroom.

As you stand in the shower, Nate gently wiping down your naked body with a warm, soapy cloth, you almost want to cry from how loved you feel.

You just can't manage to wrap your head around how Maddy or Cassie could've ever treated him the way they did. How Maddy could've been so cruel. Could've only wanted him for what he could give her. How she could've been so materialistic when he alone is so...wonderful.

You suppose you understand Cassie losing it over the thought of losing him. But it seems so evil to try and trap someone so kind and thoughtful in a relationship they no longer feel safe or comfortable in.

God, no reason he doesn't want to talk about either of them.

And then his dad treating him so terribly and trying to drive you away almost immediately after the two of you get together... You wonder if it isn't so Nate won't be 'distracted'. If he's the type of man to try and force his son to live up to some ideal image of manhood he himself could never quite achieve.

Your heart swells with affection for Nate, just like it did last night and this morning both.

You're broken from your thoughts by him speaking. "Turn."

You do.

Once Nate has rinsed you off, even shaved your legs, and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, he gestures for you to sit on the toilet lid and you watch as he pulls out your straightener like the day before.

You sit silently for a moment as he runs it over your hair. Then you decide you have to finally ask about his interest in styling.

"Nate?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

He's quiet for a moment, then, "Sure."

"How did you learn to do hair?"

He raises a brow, even if you can't see it. "Just comes naturally, I guess."

"Is...is that something you think you'd like to do one day? Styling or barbering?"

He nearly laughs at you. A straight man as a stylist.

"No. I just like doing yours."

"Oh." Then, "Why? Do you not like how I do it?"

Your tone sounds hurt, if not also a bit worried.

Good, you're finally worried about what he thinks of your appearance. You want his approval.

"I didn't say that. I just like taking care of you; dressing you up."

Like a doll, you think, but you don't say it.

He drops his hands, the hot tool now hanging by his side. "Why? Do you want me to stop doing it? Does it bother you that much?"

You turn back to him, gripping the towel wound around you. "No. I didn't say that."

You echo his own words back at him and his jaw feathers, not liking it. He'd picked out your clothes for you, gave you an orgasm without asking for anything in return, bathed you, and was now doing your hair, and you wanted to get fucking smart with him?

His free hand twitches at his side.

"It means...it means a lot to me, Nate. That you want to do things like this for me. That you care enough to try in the first place. No one has ever been so sweet to me." A tear falls and you quickly wipe it away, looking up at him again. "You're the most selfless person I've ever met."

He softens, his jaw relaxing, his fist loosening. He kneels down. "You're sure you don't mind?"

You shake your head, giving him a warm smile. "You make me feel so..." You trail off. You can't say loved. "So cared for. And safe."

You lean forward, kissing him softly. He moves his free hand under your towel and it falls open. He slides his hand from your thigh, to your hips, then to your back, pulling you closer to him. Finally, you wrap your arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss, flicking his tongue against your lips, silently asking for entrance, which you immediately grant him. Just as you start to spread your legs, clearly wanting him to give you something more, he stands, returning to your hair.

And as he finishes up with the straightener, all he can do is bite back an amused smile at you having called him 'selfless'. As if the things he does to you are for you.

Once Nate has finished with your hair—parting the fronts on either side from the rest, then joining them together in the back with a light blue bow he clips into place—he leads you back into your room.

He kneels down in front of you again, slipping your panties over your legs—you gripping his shoulder for support as you put one foot through one side, then the same with the other—he plants a quick kiss to your belly, which makes you giggle—the sound making him hard again. He then puts your bra on you.

Once he's clasped the back, he grabs your new dress and carefully lowers it over your head, careful not to mess up your hair. Once he's tied the large bow at the back of it, he adjusts your Tiffany necklace.

The pendant still resting in his palm, he looks at you. "Can you promise me something?"

You nod gently.

"Don't ever take this necklace off unless I tell you otherwise."

You're quiet for a moment, then, "Okay."

Once Nate has slipped your flats onto your feet, he looks you over for a moment, his eyes honing in on the hicky he'd left on your neck.

You stare back at him for a moment, before reaching up and pressing your fingertips against it. "I think I have some concealer-"

He shakes his head, not feeling like bothering with giving you a full-face of makeup at the moment.

"Do you have any chokers?"

Your brows furrow. "The necklaces?"

"Mhm."

You shake your head. "I never really got into those."

Well, you're about to, he thinks. He offers you his hand. "Let's go."

You slide your palm against his.

Once you're seated in Nate's truck, you grab your seatbelt, until he holds it in-place before you can pull it across your chest.

"Let me."

You let go and wait as he reaches across you, buckling you in. "I-I can do that."

He gives you a peck on the lips and a smile. "It's fine, I don't mind," he states before shutting your door.

Just as you're perhaps ten minutes away from the school, Nate turns down an unfamiliar road.

"I thought we were going to the school parking lot?"

He slides his hand up your thigh, under your dress, until it's so close to your panties he can feel your heat. "Just making a little detour, something I want to pick up real quick."

Perhaps five minutes later he pulls up to a small, expensive-looking boutique. He exits the truck before you can ask him what's going on, coming around to your side. He goes through the same—but also slightly-new—rendition of opening your door, and now also unbuckling you. He grabs you by the hips, helping you down, then taking your hand firmly in his as he walks inside.

An older woman with straight grey hair, an orange dress, and glasses calls out to the both of you, welcoming you to her shop.

You greet her back, while Nate all but ignores her.

"What are you looking for?" You ask, looking at him.

"I need to see if they even have it first."

He looks to the woman. "Where's your jewelry section?"

She points to the back of the store. "Back there and to the right. Let me know if you need help finding anything. Or need something ordered in a different size or color."

He leads you alongside him, until he finds a small display of lacy chokers.

He releases your hand, picking one up, holding it toward you.

You shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I don't wear them for a reason. They're called chokers for a reason. They're really uncomfortable and-"

He cuts you off by tying it around your neck. "You wanted to cover the hicky I gave you. So, unless you want to put on a sweater in this heat, I don't see any other options."

You go silent, feeling like he's wrapping a collar around your throat instead.

He notices your sudden change in demeanor.

"What's wrong?"

You reach up, gently touching the fabric wrapped around your throat. "I don't know." Your tone is unsure.

He flexes his jaw. He takes a calming breath, refusing to make a scene in public. He sighs, cupping your cheek. "I just thought I'd buy you one to make you feel better. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to." He smirks, trying to come off as playful, flirty even. "I might prefer it if you don't, actually."

You blush, a small smile coming onto your lips.

He nearly releases a breath of relief.

He's fine with letting you think that him putting a collar of ownership on you was all your idea. He's fine with letting you think it's something else entirely.

You look in the small mirror set up off to the side of the jewelry selection. "I guess it feels okay."

He picks up a few more then. "Anything you'd like to look at while we're here?"

You shake your head immediately and it displeases him.

He leans down, kisses you, then whispers against your lips. "We're not leaving until you've picked out something for me to buy for you."

He kisses you again and again, then pulls away.

"You're sure?"

He nods. "I told you yesterday that I plan to spoil you fucking rotten. I like buying you presents, sweetheart. So let me."

Even if he knows it's just another form of him love-bombing you.

You gently twine your fingers between his and begin to browse.

By the time the two of you are done, Nate has spent over three-hundred dollars on you.

You'd only picked out a pair of sunglasses and a cheap pair of earrings, hoping that'd be enough for him, but he'd shopped more for you than you had for yourself.

He'd bought you two more dresses, a pair of jean cut-off shorts with a light-purple shirt to go with them, a new pair of sandals, the chokers he'd picked up when you first came in, and a few bows for your hair, along with a couple bottles of nail polish.

Just as you'd thought the two of you nearly finished, Nate had stopped, you bumping into his backside.

"Sorry," you'd said, squeezing his hand, but he'd not been paying any attention to you.

And when you followed his line-of-sight, your eyes grew wider.

No. Not lingerie.

But it was too late. He was already leading you over to their wide array of options. From simple bras and panties, to thongs, garters, chemises, but Nate only shows interest in, of course, babydolls.

He picks up a burgundy one, holding it up to you, but not looking at you, but your body. He shakes his head, then flips through the other colors before finding a soft pink one. He removes it from the rack.

"Nate-"

He quickly cuts you off. "We'll get this one. I'd like to see it on you at some point."

He takes your hand as he leads you up to the register.

You'd stood silently by his side as he swiped a shiny black credit card, an unsettling feeling in your gut, but you merely pressed yourself against his side then—willing it away—and he'd pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head as he grabbed the decorative boutique bags off the counter with one hand, taking yours in the other as he led you back out to his truck.

You're silent the entire way to the school, Nate's hand wedged firmly between your thighs, and it feels like the choker around your neck grows tighter.

Once Nate has pulled into the school parking lot, he kills the engine, turning to you.

He'd noticed your silence on the way to your destination. Had noticed your refusal to look in his direction. Instead keeping your eyes on the passing scenery outside your window.

He knows he's moving too fast, doing too much. That it's making you uncomfortable. Perhaps more than uncomfortable. And he fears that if he pushes too much harder, right now, at least, you might just jump ship. You've only been together since Thursday evening. Not even a full two days yet.

But he's good with words, always knows exactly what to say after reading someone to get desired results.

You're no different.

He turns toward you, you still looking out the window. "Hey," he says softly, quietly. "Can you look at me?"

A couple seconds pass and then you do.

He removes his hand from between your legs, instead using it to take one of your own in his. He looks down at your hands, furrowing his brows. "I'm sorry if...if maybe I did too much back there. If I made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention. I just..." He looks out the windshield. "I see everything you've gone without. Things I never have. Nice clothes, shoes..."

He looks back at you then. "Even just someone to talk to. I just..." He sighs, acting like he's at a loss for words. "The last thing I want is for you to continue on that way. So, sometimes, I like to buy you gifts. Take you to nice places on dates. Above all else, I want to make sure you're always happy.

"I want you to feel as happy as you've made me in the time we've spent together. Because I've never met anyone like you. Someone so good-natured and empathetic and affectionate. I think that's honestly what it is," he says with a small laugh, as if he's just figured something out. "I've never had that before. From anyone. So it makes me want to...to be better. It makes me so fucking happy to do things for you. To take care of you. I feel like maybe you bring out the softer side of me—the best of me. A side of me I don't ever share with anyone else. Because every time I have, they've either used it against me, or taken advantage, or mocked me for it. So, I feel like I always have to keep it under lock and key.

"And now I feel like it's only served to make you uncomfortable and-"

You interrupt him by reaching up, pressing your palm against his cheek. Now you understood it better. It wasn't just about him liking to give you gifts. No. It went far deeper than that.

This—this young man right here—is who he's always been. But he's never felt allowed to show it. The last thing you want to do is make him feel, yet again, like he needs to hide it away.

This is the side of him that you want to see.

"It did. Because for a second it felt like...like maybe you're trying to change me or..." You don't want to say it, but you're both being honest. "Or maybe control me? And after only a couple days together, that frightened me. But now? Nate, this," you say, reaching down to take his other hand in yours. "This is the one thing you can give me that I actually need. Honesty. If I understand it—you—then it won't bother me. Whatever it is."

You rub your thumb against the back of his hand. "You don't ever have to be afraid of being like this with me. Of opening up. If anything, it makes me feel closer to you. I know some girls expect men to be masculine and tough all the time, but I don't. I just want you as you are."

He gives you a loving look. He reaches across the console, wrapping his muscled arms around you, his hand cupping the back of your head. "I'm so glad I have you now."

You nod. "Me too."

He pulls back the least bit, simply looking into your eyes, until you press a kiss to his lips, and then another, and then he grabs your chin, deepening it. After a moment, you climb across the truck, into his lap, your legs bent on either side of him. He quickly reaches down, sliding the seat back. He then reaches under your dress, into the back of your panties, squeezing your ass in each of his hands and you grind down against him, gasping lightly before pressing your mouth back against his.

His cock is already straining against his jeans, desperately aching to finally fucking be inside of you, but he once again tells himself no, even if he's already grown sick and fucking tired of it.

He then reaches into your panties, his palm flat against your slick pussy.

You pull away a bit.

"I want you to cum on my hand," he whispers.

You don't even think about it before you begin to buck your hips against his palm, bringing your mouth back down to his own.

In a few minutes, the truck is shaking from the movements of your hips, trying desperately to reach your finish, pushing down against him as much as the limited space the two of you occupy allows.

Damned bucket seats, you think.

Nate wants to shove a finger or two inside of you, but knows that seal is meant to be broken by his cock and his cock alone.

Eventually, you groan in frustration. He reaches up, throwing some hair back behind your shoulder, which your dress is beginning to slip off of. "What's wrong, baby? Tell me what you need."

You whimper, grabbing his arm, humping his hand, but it's no use on its own.

"Would my leg be better, angel?"

You look up at him and nod.

First, he reaches around, pulling loose the bow tied against your back, then pulling down the top of your dress, until that lacy little bra is visible. He quickly unhooks it at the back, tossing it into the passenger seat. He then grabs your hips, repositioning you over his left thigh.

"Go on, sweetheart, cum for me."

As you begin to grind down against his thigh—a shudder wracking through your body—he leans forward, taking one of your breasts in his mouth.

"Mm, so much better," you say quietly, head thrown back.

His hand is now soaked, but he reaches into the back of your panties once again, gripping your ass, feeling your movements as you ride his leg.

It's only a few minutes later that he begins to feel a wet sensation against his thigh and he pulls back, watching you.

Your face, neck, and chest are red with a sex flush, your soft breasts as well. He firmly grips your hips. "Come on, angel. Cum for me."

You begin to move faster, grinding down against him, whimpering, sighing.

"That's it, baby, I know. I know it feels good."

You whine, nodding your head.

"You look so fucking beautiful. Cum on my leg, sweetheart. You're almost there. Come on, baby."

It only takes a few more seconds before you fall over the edge. "Ah, Nate!"

You press your lips back to his, riding out your orgasm, bucking your hips against his thigh until you're sore and can't go anymore.

And his cock is throbbing from you saying his name as you climaxed. A sound he'd hoped to hear last night, or even this morning, but all that mattered was that he now had that lovely fucking sound in his head.

You only whispering his name in your room hadn't been nearly satisfactory enough.

Once your movements have slowed, you slump against him, your breathing ragged.

He holds you, hands rubbing against your bare back. He presses a kiss to the side of your head. "You did such a good job, angel."

You lie your head on his shoulder. "I did?"

He hums in approval. "I fucking loved hearing you say my name like that."

You pull back, eyes now hooded. "Really?"

He smirks. "Of course. Why wouldn't I like that?"

You gently plant your palms against his chest.

"Did you like that?"

You look at him from under your lashes and nod shyly.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Good."

You glance down at his erection, then back up to him. "Should I-"

He shakes his head. "I just wanted to take care of you. I enjoy helping you cum."

Lies, fucking lies. Yes, he enjoys knowing he's the one making you orgasm, but God if he doesn't want to pull his cock out and force it down your warm wet throat right now just to get some fucking relief.

But he can't. Not here. Not like this.

You nod.

He grabs your bra and begins dressing you again.

"Right blinker."

You glance at the levers on either side of the steering wheel. You know it's one of them, but unsure which one exactly.

You look at him.

"Try the lever on the left side."

A small green arrow starts blinking on the dash.

"Now left one."

A new arrow appears.

"Hazard lights."

Once Nate has schooled you on the various buttons and levers and switches his truck has to offer—you hope can you remember all of them—he makes you identify the brake and then the gas, then the gas and then the brake over and over, before telling you to adjust your mirrors, and finally instructing you to take the vehicle out of park and do a lap around the parking lot.

You don't go over ten miles per hour as you do as instructed, his palm resting on your thigh all the while for support.

One you've reached the spot where you first started, you press down on the brakes a bit too hard—the both of you lurch forward in your seats.

Your face grows warm and you look at him, gripping the wheel tighter. "Sorry."

He chuckles and you're glad you at least got him to smile. "It's ok. We'll work on that. Go ahead and go around again."

You do as instructed.

At the end of your lessons, Nate deems that you've done rather well. He'd had you drive around the parking lot a few times, reverse, park, even parallel park, which wasn't your favorite, but he tells you that all of it will improve in time the more he has you do it.

When he finally comes around to the driver's side to unbuckle you, you can't help but smile at how...special you feel.

He'd told you before you ever even switched seats that he'd never let another person drive his truck. Ever.

You'd thanked him for the privilege, then joked that you would only put, at most, a couple dents in it.

He'd told you he might have to punish you if that happened, his hand snaking between your legs.

On the way back to Nate's house, he'd called ahead and ordered the two of you Chinese for dinner, saying he wouldn't take you to a party on an empty stomach.

You'd merely told him thank you, twining his fingers between your own, his other wrist draped over the wheel.

As the two of you sat at the dining room table in his house, eating your dinner side-by-side, he'd fed you some of his Kung Pao chicken, your throat immediately burning. He'd laughed as you gulped down half a glass of water.

You ignored his telling you water would only make it worse as you drank more.

He finished half his food, putting the rest away in the fridge before coming to sit back down beside you while you finished, his body facing yours, pressing soft kisses to your hair every few moments as you ate your rice and chicken.

And at one point, when you'd finally looked at him, the look in his eyes was nothing short of adoring.

He merely continued to stare at you, his fingers threading through your hair. "You're so beautiful."

"Thank you."

He nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before you went back to eating.

So polite, he thought. Even after giving you oral you had thanked him—thanked him—for getting you to orgasm. God, you were so different than anyone he'd ever had before.

As his eyes trailed over your body, he couldn't help but smile at knowing you're his.

Once you're full, he leads you up to his room, stripping you out of your outfit for the day, before slipping one of his t-shirts on over your head for you to relax in for the next couple of hours before he gets you ready for the party.

You seat yourself on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to decide what the two of you are going to do next, until he sits down on his lifting bench.

"Do you care if I work out for a little bit?"

You shake your head. "Go ahead," you say with a smile. Perhaps even a little eager to watch him.

He lies back, legs spread, feet planted on the floor on either side of him, then reaches up to start weight-lifting.

You lean forward, your legs crossed, elbows pressed into your thighs, head resting on your fists as you watch him with utter desire.

The way his biceps flex, his abs taught as he pushes the weight up from him, then back down, with little difficulty. You lick your lips as your eyes trail lower, somewhat wanting to see what you'd felt pressed against your heat earlier in his truck.

You know you had told him that you didn't mind him being softer, gentler, but the fact that he plays football, drives a big truck, and works out...it's all definitely a turn-on.

After a number of reps—you'd not bothered keeping count of just how many, you were otherwise occupied—Nate sits up, only glancing to you before starting with the leg lift next. And your eyes once again trail from his abdomen, all the way down to his muscled legs, dark hair littering both.

You feel warm, especially between your thighs. God, you can't believe he's all yours.

Who cares if he wants to blow large loads of money on you and dress you up occasionally if you get to watch him do this sometimes.

Once he's finished, you sit up straighter as he walks over to you. You look up at him.

"Sorry if that was a bit boring."

He knows you liked it. Can tell from how intently you had watched him, the obvious warmth of your cheeks.

You shake your head. "It wasn't," you say, your voice barely above a whisper you're so turned on.

He grips your chin, running his thumb alonger your lower lip. "No?"

You lightly shake your head.

"You liked it?" He pretends to feign mild suprise.

You nod.

He studies you for a moment. Then, he leans down toward you, forcing you to lay back on the bed.

He reaches between your legs and you gasp in surprise as he runs two fingers along your soaking wet folds. "That much, huh?"

You nod, then spread your legs wider, reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt, quickly removing it, leaving yourself completely naked before him.

A silent plea for him to do something—anything—to relieve that pulse going between your legs now.

He rubs his thumb over your clit and you smile, reching up to grip his broad shoulders.

"Did that feel good?"

You nod. "Y-yes."

He looks down at your pussy. "So wet for me, aren't you, baby?"

You spread your legs wider, the backs of your thighs now resting flat on the mattress they can't be parted any further.

And all Nate can think is how needy you fucking are. And he loves it. How easily wet you get for him, how you're already so willing to let him touch and taste and tease you. How you so easily hand over control of your body to him.

He presses a kiss to your lips for just a moment before pulling away, rubbing his thumb over your clit again.

"Mm, Nate..."

He smirks as you close your eyes, expecting him to give you yet another orgasm today.

Finally, he steps away, shutting the bathroom door behind him, the shower turning on.

Your eyes pop open and you shoot up in bed, bringing your legs back together, wondering why the hell he'd left.

Nate takes his time showering, hoping you're lying on the bed sexually frustrated from his teasing you, something he plans to do a great deal more of in-time.

He knows how powerful of a weapon sex can be, and with your experience being null...he never had that kind of upper-hand before. He's beyond elated that he does now.

He'd known Maddy had been lying when they fucked for the first time. When he had pulled out of her and there's been no blood, when she'd clearly known what the hell she was doing. But, because she'd been something warm and tight to stick his cock into, he'd resigned himself to not having a virgin like he wanted.

But you? You don't stand a chance against his sexual prowess.

Once he's showered and has also shaved, he jacks off thinking about the things he's done to you so far, but even more-so the things to come.

When he finishes, it's with cum shooting out, onto his hand, on the dark shower walls. Finally he feels some small form of release.

It's beyond fucking difficult maintaining control when it comes to being intimate with you, but he has a plan and knows he has to—must—stick to it. It's imperative that your first time with him is full of emotion and love and passion.

Because once the two of you have shared that moment?

His hooks in you will be permanently set.

Once Nate had showered, you'd not said anything about his teasing you. In reality, you kind of liked it... You knew he was being a flirt by doing it, if not also a bit of an ass, but for some reason all of that turned you on all the more.

The build-up to something else.

The two of you lied down on his bed for awhile, you naked, pressed into his side, one of your legs twined around his own while while some cheesy romance movie played—something he'd put on, thinking you would like it.

But you couldn't focus on that. Instead, all you could think about was how good this feels. This level of comfort and warmth and trust with someone to be with them like this. Naked in his bed, one of his arms around you, fingertips brushing against your hip, his other bent behind his head.

You think how lucky you are to have him. He's smart, handsome, sweet, so, so kind and giving and selfless, mature, determined...the list goes on.

He moves his hand up, his fingers working themselves against your scalp and you close your eyes, falling asleep listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart.

You're woken by Nate planting featherlight kisses against your cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, lips. Your eyes flutter open and you wrap your arms around his neck, stretching, arching your back. You smile up at him through drowsy eyes. "Hi."

You crane your neck up to kiss him and he melts into you. Literally melts.

Your softness, your graceful femininity, your love and desire for him and only him.

He pulls away for a moment, your gentle fingertips touching his lips as you look into his eyes.

"Time to get up and let me get you ready, angel."

"What if we stayed here in your bed?" You ask, your voice light and dreamy.

And fuck him if he doesn't consider it for a moment.

He shakes his head, then. He needs to get you drunk tonight.

"Sit up for me, sweetheart."

You keep your arms around his neck as he pulls you up with him, yawning as he disentangles himself from you, then takes your hand in his, leading your naked form into the bathroom as he turns on the shower.

Once he's washed you, the two of you go through the same rendition as that morning. And due to your still feeling sleepy, you let him do as he pleases as he brushes out your still-straight hair, forgoing any accessories. He then leads you back into his bedroom, seating you on his mattress as he goes through the bag he'd packed for you. He'd found a comely black dress in your closet that he'd actually been surprised you even owned, it showed so much skin. Well, a lot for you, at least.

But it'd also been shoved into the back, so it clearly was not a favorite of yours.

You raise your arms as he slips the soft black dress over your naked form. He admires it on you for a moment—it's a mini dress, with a plunging neckline, the sides cut out, leaving your sides bare, but against your back is a large bow.

He doesn't consider putting a choker back on you, wanting anyone who looks at you tonight to see the mark he'd put on your body, branding you as his property.

He then kneels down, slipping a black pair of pumps onto your feet which are covered in a pleasant floral pattern, small bows on each.

He then stands, heading over to his closet and throwing on a t-shirt and jeans, and a pair of clean socks and tennis shoes, shrugging on a zip-up hoodie before offering you his hand.

A small smile plays on Nate's lips the entire way over to the party. This afternoon had been so perfect. You naked in his bed, asleep in his arms, then sitting there contently—silently—while he readied you, dressing you up as he pleased. And now here you sit in the passenger side, entertaining yourself with his right hand resting in your lap, holding one of your own while your other traces idle shapes along his veins and skin.

As he slows for a traffic light, he glances at you, how beautiful you look. And all he can think is how much he loves you.

"Are you happy, baby?"

You look up at him, smile, then nod. "Yes."

The light turns green and he looks back to the road before the both of you.

Once Nate has parked, you feel your pulse rising under your skin. Flashing lights, and loud, thumping music come from the two-story house before you, numerous people coming in and out, milling around outside, drinks in-hand.

Once Nate has come around and unbuckled you, you stay seated. "There's a lot of people here."

He just looks at you, waiting for you to continue. "I...I get anxious in crowds."

He takes your hand in his, helping you down. "Just stay close to me, then, sweetheart."

You twine your fingers securely between his, your other arm coming up to wrap around his own and you press your body as close as you can into his side as you enter the strange domicile you've never been to before.

And Nate eats it up—you clinging to him so closely, afraid of being parted from his side—and he feels both a sense of satisfaction, as well as jealousy, if not also possessiveness, as young men's eyes trail along your young body. All of them want what they'll never have. You belong to him now.

He glances down at you and you're already looking up at him, completely oblivious to the men practically lapping at you with their tongues.

He gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head, then leads you further into the house, the music growing so loud you can feel the bass in your chest, intermixing with the wild beat of your heart.

Nate's eyes dart this way and that, looking for possible familiar faces—not because he wants to spend any amount of time with anyone but you tonight—but because he wants the word to spread like wildfire that you're already wrapped around his finger already. Completely devoted to him.

When he spots the kitchen, he leads you in that direction, honing in on the plethora of alcoholic drinks sitting out on the counter.

He releases your hand for a moment, your body pressing impossibly closer to his own, as he looks over the bottles, searching for something good to start you out with. Something sweet and sugary to get you drunk on before he has you start downing hard liquor to keep you that way for the rest of the night.

His goal is to get you drunk enough that you black out and forget what he has planned this evening.

He spots a bottle of sparkling cider and picks it up, pouring some into a solo cup, placing it in your small delicate hands.

"I-I don't drink!" You practially have to scream at him over the music.

His brows furrow, acting like he has no idea what you've said. He leans down, placing his ear close to those pretty lips that he'd put some pink lipgloss on before leaving.

"I don't drink, Nate."

He places his lips against your ear, his hand gripping your hip in silent encouragement. "Just try it, you might like it."

You look at him for a moment, then finally take a sip. And your eyes widen in interest before taking another one. He bites back a satisfied smirk.

"Do you like it?"

You nod your head fervently and he can't help but think how utterly fucking adorable you look.

He takes your cup, filling it nearly to the brim with the orange substance.

He, himself, grabs a bottle of Budweiser before leading you further into the house, seating himself on a couch before pulling you into his lap, one of his hands coming to rest firmly between your legs under your dress.

He takes a sip of his beer, then watches as you take another sip and then another from your cup. He reaches up, tipping it forward, forcing you to down a third of it in one go. Finally, he drops his hand, picking up his beer again and laughs playfully when you look at him, shaking your head with a smile.

By the time you've reached the bottom of your cup, you're already drunk. Your head feels light, like it's spinning. You lean back against Nate, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Did you finish it?"

You merely nod, a giggle escaping your lips.

"Want me to get you another one?"

You sit up straighter, then turn to look at him and burst out laughing.

He can't keep himself from smiling at you.

"Is that a yes?"

You nod, scrunching your nose up adorably before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing a firm wet kiss to his cheek, then kissing his lips. He notes that you taste pleasantly of apples.

You stumble alongside Nate as he pulls you into the kitchen, filling your cup again and you don't notice, as you go to take a sip, that he once again puts his index finger under the base, holding it in-place until half the cup is drained.

He glances behind you, seeing Maddy across the room, wearing some revealing purple dress that nearly shows her ass, Kat at her side.

He watches them as they watch you, Maddy leaning over to Kat, saying something to her, which he can't quite make out.

He thinks, if he's read her lips correctly, she said 'what the fuck did he do to her?'.

He looks down at you, cupping one of your cheeks in his hand. "Do you want to dance?"

"What?" You giggle again, hugging him affectionately.

When you pull away he repeats himself.

"Do you?" You ask, your words slurred.

He doesn't answer before grabbing your hand, leading you into the middle of the living room, pulling your body against his. He grabs your hips, shaking them this way then that, one of your arms slung over his shoulder, the other occasionally lifting your drink to your lips.

He then sees Cassie, who's been watching the two of you for God knows how long, so he leans down, pressing a long, passionate kiss to your lips, adding in plenty of tongue.

You moan against him and he has half-a-mind to reach into your panties, wondering if all the alcohol has gone where he hopes it has.

He refrains. He won't humiliate or disrespect you like that. Not in front of a crowd.

He moves his lips down to your neck and you throw your head back. He moves one of his hands under the cut-out side of your dress, under your panties beneath, gripping one of your ass cheeks. The other comes up to caress the back of your head as he begins kissing your neck, sucking on that purple bruise, keeping it firmly in-place.

He licks your neck when he sees Cassie finally walk away, chugging her beer.

Nate pulls back, looking down at you.

You smile up at him. "I feel so-" you laugh. "So good." you giggle a few times. "I want you so bad."

He raises a brow. "Is that so?"

"Mhm." You reply, kissing him.

He puts his lips right up against your ear. "I bet if I checked them, your panties are fucking soaked right now. Aren't they?"

He feels you nod and blood fills his cock.

"You wet for me, baby?"

You nod again. "Yes," you say breathily.

His fingers tangle in the hair at the back of your head, gently yanking your head back, and he devours your neck. He wedges one of his legs between your thighs, moving his lips back to your ear. "There you go, angel. Take what you need."

You grind against him and whimper.

He presses his lips against your own, teasing you with his tongue.

Your kissing grows sloppy, uncoordinated, your hips bucking randomly against him.

He pulls away and you pout. He pulls you back into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels before holding it against your lips. "Try this one, sweetheart."

You don't argue, you just drink, the whiskey dripping down between your breasts, which he quickly cleans with his tongue. You giggle. "Stop it," you say between laughs.

He holds the bottle to your lips again and doesn't stop until you've drunk more than a sufficient amount.

You tug against his shirt then and he gives you his ear. "I have to-" You laugh. "Have to potty."

He holds you against his side as he goes in search of the bathroom, hoping you can hold it and that you haven't broken that tab just yet.

He finally finds it at the end of a hall. He knocks once, twice, then opens the door, finding it empty.

You stumble inside.

"Can you go on your own?" He does not fucking want to have to wipe you, but will look after you if that's what needs done.

You nod your head, slamming the door in his face.

He leans back against a wall, waiting for you. And rolls his eyes when Cassie comes to rest back against the wall opposite him.

She takes a swig of her beer—because of course she's drinking beer—at least you like the sweet stuff, which he thinks certainly fitting for you—before crossing her arms over her ample chest.

He only gives her a bored glance before leaning his head back, taking a drink of his Budweiser.

"What does she have that I don't?"

"Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters while staring up at the ceiling before looking at her. "Are you serious right now?"

She shrugs dramatically, her eyes widening. "You never had any interest in her before. Didn't you call her 'fucking boring' one time?"

He shakes his head. "Doesn't fucking matter what I said before, Cassie. I'm with her now. End of story."

She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "She's not even your fucking type!"

He laughs, mockingly. He licks his lips, glancing away, then back to her. "You have no idea what my type even is."

"I thought it was me..." She mumbles.

He raises a brow. "Are you fucking slow or something? Alright, fine. You want to know what she has that you don't?

She nods her head dramatically. "Yeah, I do. Because it sure as hell isn't looks, or-"

His fuse is near-gone by now. "She came to me a fucking virgin, for one. I sure as shit couldn't have said the same for you."

She flinches.

"Do you know how humiliating it was to be with you? The way you acted sometimes-" He rubs his thumb against his brow, lowering that hand back down to his side. "You were nothing more than a greedy whore looking for attention, and that still hasn't changed even now. It's why you're trying to make a scene in the middle of a party in front of all our peers. I mean," he holds out his hands, palms face-up before her. "What did you really hope to accomplish with this?" He relaxes one of his arms back down to his side again, the other holding his beer to his lips for a quick drink.

"Look at the fucking way you're dressed for one. You might as well have walked in here naked-"

"Look at the way she's dressed!"

"I know exactly what she's wearing because I put it on her!"

Hurt flashes across her features, remembering when he had once done that for her.

"So, is that it, then, you just needed a new doll to play with?"

He leans back, lightly banging the back of his head against the wall. "You don't fucking get it."

"Then explain it to me, since I'm so ignorant."

He looks at her again. "She's everything I've ever wanted. You can't hope to hold a fucking candle to her. You, Cassie, you were just a toy for me to fuck when I had nothing better to do. You're the girl you brag to your buddies about making another notch in your belt for. She's the girl you marry and provide a life for."

Her lip trembles.

He shakes his head. "Even then, I don't brag about you because I'm fucking ashamed I was ever even with you. I'm probably lucky I didn't catch something, since half the guys around here have rode you like a goddamn Greyhound."

She explodes then. "Fuck you, Nate! I gave you fucking everything! I bent over backwards for you—to be perfect for you. I blew up my life for you! I thought we were in love and that...that we'd have forever together and...so what? What is it, then? Do you love her now?"

He throws his bottle at the wall, no more than half a foot from her head, causing her to jump in fear as it shatters, alcohol spraying on her. "Yes, Cassie, I fucking love her!"

Right as he screams it in her face, you open the bathroom door, hearing every word.

Both their heads jerk in your direction and you glance from Cassie to Nate, back to Cassie, before finally settling on Nate again. You let out a quiet sob. "I can't get them back on, I keep falling over."

He looks down, and sees your panties around your ankles. He suddenly softens then. "Oh, baby, c'mere."

He kneels down, grabbing your hand and placing it firmly on his shoulder. "Lift your leg for me sweetheart."

You do, head spinning as he slips one foot free. "Now the other side, angel."

Cassie watches, heart breaking at how gentle he is with you. The sweet names he calls you—something he'd never done for her. She was, at the most, Cass.

Finally, he stands, pocketing your lacy black panties.

You lean back against the wall to steady yourself, and he cups both of your cheeks in his hands and all she can do is stare at the two of you. At the look in his eyes—seeing that it's true; they're filled with love and devotion and care.

"Did you go?" He asks, his tone gentle, but concerned.

You nod.

He brushes a thumb over your lips. "Did you wipe, sweetheart?"

You nod again.

He presses a firm, yet soft kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before wrapping one of his arms around you, holding you close to his side, not sparing Cassie another glance as he tells you "Let's go get you another drink."

Cassie slams the bathroom door behind her, unable to think of anything else but how, if that had been her, he wouldn't have waited for her, wouldn't have helped, or tended to her. Would've most likely started a fight with her over how she was embarrassing him. How she was being a trashy slut.

What the fuck was so different about you?

Once Nate has gotten you so drunk that you can't even stand up on your own, he has to carry you back to his truck bridal-style. His jacket is draped over you to keep you warm, your face pressed against his neck while one of your hands grips his t-shirt for dear life.

He quickly unlocks the truck, his keys held firmly in one of his hands underneath you, and he lowers you into your seat, carefully buckling you in. He gently shuts the door, coming around to the driver's side. Once he's buckled in as well, he locks both doors, making sure you don't do something stupid in your stupor, like try and open it.

You lean your head back against the seat, holding his jacket over you.

"So dizzy..."

He turns the heat on. "Just close your eyes, baby. We'll be home soon."

You do, wishing the world would just slow down.

Once Nate has gotten you home, he carries you inside, and when he sets you down in the foyer, you slam back against the wall, back to giggling again.

He tries to shoosh you, holding a finger up to your lips, but you gently pull it down, trying to instead shove it under your dress.

He shakes his head. "Are you going to be a naughty girl tonight, then?"

You shrug, but barely, your limbs not entirely cooperating.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours and you giggle yet again and his hand grips one of your inner-thighs.

He pulls back a little, glancing down the hall, then to you. "Do you want to go swimming?"

You nod enthusiatically, then immediately regret it as you press your forehead against his chest, willing the dizziness away. "Nooooo..."

"So you do or don't?"

"Swim mmm."

He takes that as a yes.

He leads you that way, you nearly falling on your ass halfway down the hall, but he drags you along, despite your stumbling. He grabs a couple beers from the fridge, intending on giving one to you outside.

Once you're in the backyard, he picks you up, slinging you over his shoulder. "Oooh noooo."

"Oh yes," he replies.

Your head slumps, bobbing with every step he takes, until he finally sets you down on a pool chair.

He hands a bottle of beer to you and you can't quite figure out the twist top, so he takes it from you, opening it, then handing it back. He watches in satisfaction as you take a long drink, licking your pretty pink lips.

He kneels down, not even buzzed and reaches his hand between your legs.

You hum with pleasure, closing your eyes.

"Look at me, sweetheart."

Your eyes pop open.

"Do you want to go skinny dipping?"

You nod.

He helps you out of your heels and then your dress, tossing the latter onto the chair you'd previously occupied.

He grips the back of his shirt, pulling it off, then toes off his shoes and socks before he reaches down, unbuckling his belt, and unzipping and unbuttoning his jeans before he pulls them, along with his briefs, off in one motion. You barely get a chance to look over his naked form before he walks the both of you over to the pool. He seats you on the side, your legs dangling in the warm water as he slips in.

He grips your hips, easing you in as well, wrapping your legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and his own arms around you to ensure you don't drown.

You gently lie your cheek against his shoulder, the only sounds to fill the night being the lapping of water, crickets and frogs, and the pool filter humming under the water.

"I love you," he whispers, knowing you won't remember any of this.

"Mmm," is all the reply you can manage, your body shaking with a small laugh.

"You're all mine. Every part of you."

You stay silent, enjoying the bouyant feeling of weightlessness and the warmth of him.

"Can you tell me that, angel? That you belong to me?"

"I..." you giggle. "I belong to youuu."

He hums his approval.

"I'm going to take your virginity tomorrow," he says, tone relaxed.

"Okaaay."

He smirks. You have no idea what he's even saying.

"And when I do, you're mine. Forever."

You only wrap your arms tighter around his neck. "Juuust get the home-" you snicker. "Homework done, 'kay?"

He doesn't say anything as he wades the two of you arond the pool. His studious little angel.

You yawn and he knows it's time to get out then.

You take his hand as the two of you exit the pool. Nate grabs some towels out of a nearby bin, but you laugh when he comes to stand in front of you. He fills with seething fucking rage when he sees that you're looking at his cock when you do it.

"What's so funny?" He asks, hands in fists at his sides.

"I've n-never seen one. In-" You cackle. "real life. It's so-"

If you're about to insult him, he knows he'll snap and do something he'll later regret.

"So preeetty."

All the tension releases from his body. Not quite what he'd been expecting, but he'll take it.

You look up to him with a drunken smile. "I l-like it."

He smirks. "Do you want to touch my cock, sweetheart?"

You nod.

He takes one of your hands in his, wrapping it around his member, which quickly grows harder in your grip.

"Feels funny."

"How?"

"Soft. Like vel-Velveeta."

He knows you mean velvet.

Your strokes are sloppy, unsure. He knows that you have no idea what the fuck you're doing, but it only turns him on all the more.

Just as he begins to consider asking you to get on your knees, he looks toward the house and immediately loses his erection when he sees his dad watching the both of you.

You frown. "What...w-what happened?"

You look up to him.

"You're exhausted. Time for bed."

You hang your head as he wraps your naked body in a towel. "Noooo..."

"Yes, c'mon," he says, taking your hand, grabbing your clothes and his in the other, slipping his shoes back on, handing you yours.

Once the two of you have taken a shower—Nate not wanting his sheets to stink like chlorine—he puts you to bed, lying down beside you, still naked.

Before you fall off to sleep, however, he reaches over, grabbing your phone from the nightstand.

He hopes to God you're not too drunken to answer his next question. "What's the pin for your phone?"

It takes a few tries and a lot of laughing, but you finally give him the four-digit code, which he immediately commits to memory.

And then you drift off to sleep, once again firmly against his chest, feeling safe and happy.

Meanwhile, Nate goes through every single app on your device. He's glad to see you have no social media, minus Pinterest and Letterboxd accounts, neither of which have any messages on them. He browses through your emails, finding nothing of interest.

He next checks your gallery, searching for nudes he's sure he won't find, even checking for hidden folders.

He finds naught.

Finally, after browsing your texts—you only having threads with him, your dad—which you haven't texted with in hardly three weeks, and Lexi—who you left on read Friday when she texted you asking 'what the hell is going on with you and Nate?'—he briefly considers blocking her number, but knows that decision, that action, needs to come from you—he installs an app for tracking your location, syncs it to the very same app on his own phone, and then hides it.

He makes it so that, unless you go into your settings looking through your app list, you'll never find it.

He tells himself that he's only doing it to keep you safe. But he also knows that if he ever catches you with someone else, he'll fucking kill him.

You wake before dawn with an extreme feeling of nausea. You practically jump out of bed—head pounding—and race to the toilet, barely making it as you kneel before it, vomiting up the contents of your stomach.

Nate wakes as well, sitting up, heading toward the bathroom in a panic to take care of you, before remembering that he's naked. He grabs a pair of briefs from the floor, sitting on his bench press as he pulls them on. He comes into the bathroom then, kneeling beside you and pulling your hair out of your way as you continue to get sick.

Once your stomach has calmed, you close the lid, flushing, then lying your head down. "Oh God."

He smirks, running his hand along your naked back. "Hangover?"

"Don't ever, ever, ever let me drink again."

He stands, grabbing a clean washcloth and running it under some cool water before wringing it out and holding it against your forehead.

You merely hum your appreciation.

"I feel so horrible."

"It usually goes down a lot easier than when it comes back up."

You groan.

He presses a kiss to your hair. "Are you cold or hot?"

"Both. My body is freezing."

He stands, grabbing a spare blanket from the foot of his bed, then returning to the bathroom, wrapping you up in it.

"Thank you," you mumble.

And then the feeling hits you again, so you throw the toilet lid open and vomit once more.

It's almost an hour later before you feel confident enough that, if you go back to bed, you won't get sick all over it. Nate puts a trash can on your side anyway.

He'd gone down and gotten you water, a bottle of Gatorade, and some crackers before coming back up and setting them on the table on your side of the bed.

He likes that you now have a side.

While you lie there, facing away from him and instead toward the side that the trash can is on, he also lays on his side, rubbing your back.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For?"

"Embarrassing you, probably."

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"I don't remember most of it."

His hand stills, but only for a moment. So it worked, he thinks, a sick sense of satisfaction filling him.

"What's the last thing you do?"

You close your eyes. "It's like there's holes in my memory. I remember dancing. I think I went pee. I think...I think I went pee and Cassie was in the bathroom with me?" You pause for a moment and sigh. "I think you carried me to your truck. Did we swim?"

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "Just for a little bit. Then we came up and watched a movie until you fell asleep on my chest."

You hum in response. "Was it The Princess Bride? I think I remember."

He's glad you do, because he sure as hell doesn't, since it never happened. "It was."

"Oh."

You're quiet for a moment, then, "Have you ever been drunk?"

He nods. "A few times. I try not to make a habit of it."

You moan. "That's smart. Smarter than me."

He chuckles. "First time for everything. Including get wasted. Honestly, it's more on me than it is you. You've never drank before and don't know your own limits. I should've cut you off a lot earlier."

You press your face into the soft pillow under your head. "That's a lifetime achievement I could've lived without. But it's not your fault."

You lie your cheek against the pillow then. "How long until I feel better?"

He shrugs. "A few hours, better part of a day. Just depends how long it takes to work its way out of your system."

You take a sip of your Gatorade and chew on a cracker. Once you've swallowed you lie back down.

"Just close your eyes and try and get some sleep, angel."

You nod against the pillow. "Goodnight."

He presses a kiss to the back of your head, curling his body around yours, pulling you back against him. "Goodnight," he replies, even if it's now morning.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader) #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs imagine #euphoria x reader #euphoria x you #i'm so mean to cassie i'm so sorry lmao #i prommy i don't hate her #she's just another one of nate's victims & someone who deserves sm better than the hand she was dealt #lana really went off with 'this is what makes us girls' huh

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Not too smutty but--

Shimmer!Kane is definitely the type to keep your bed "messy" by average standards but insists the blankets are arranged specifically to be a "nest".

Every time you remake the bed, twenty minutes later you come back and it's a mess again; blankets piled and arranged almost perfectly in the middle, pillows strategically placed for the most comfort...

You ask him why but he can't really tell you (instincts, duh!). But it's perfect to snuggle in! (And y'know nice and cosy to pound your brains out later if you want)

I am screaming over this!! (Also I'm so sorry this took me so long!)

Shimmer!Kane x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

A/N: My brain is just like is this a one shot? Is there a part two? What am I doing? Also I have to tag @ominoose just because all of their amazing Kane fics and head canons have just shaped my brain.

Warnings: pining, dry humping, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 811

“Kane, what the fuck?” You sigh, no real heat in your words. 

He looks up at you from where he’s crouched over the bed, the faintest hint of a quizzical expression on his features. 

“What are you doing?” 

He shakes his head a minute, obviously not understanding. 

“I just made the bed, and now you’ve,” you gesture half-heartedly, “done whatever this is.” 

The pillows were piled seemingly haphazardly in the middle, the duet cover bundled up. As you looked you realised that he had also brought the bedding from his own bed onto yours. 

“It’s fine when it’s just your bed, but can you not come in here and mess with mine?”

You’d been assigned to ‘monitor’ him, try to help him adjust back into everyday life after… whatever happened. You weren’t privileged with the details, or even the vague notion.

He continues to look at you with that quiet stare he had, like he was trying to read the dictionary definition for every single word you said. 

You sigh again, moving towards the bed and beginning to put your pillows back at the top of the bed. 

Kane stood quickly, putting his hand softly on your forearm to stop you. You stare at him, a small frown of confusion on your face. 

When he doesn’t say anything for a moment you move to continue your task, but his grip tightens. 

“Stop.” He whispers, his voice barely audible. 

Your frown deepens. “What? Why?” 

You swallow as he stares intently at you, his lips slightly parted, his pupils dilated. It’s only now that you realise how close he’s standing to you. 

“Kane?” You whisper, your heart thudding in your throat. 

He was handsome, of course he was. But looks weren’t everything. 

He was kind, considerate. He listened when you talked, did little things to be helpful, affectionate. He made you drinks without even asking, usually bringing them to you a second after you realised you were thirsty. When the temperature dropped close to freezing a few weeks ago, he’d warm blankets in the tumble dryer and bring them to you, offer you hot water bottles and put your slippers by the radiator when you weren’t wearing them. 

He liked to be in the garden, around plants and animals and taking care of things. The apple tree hadn’t stopped blossoming, despite its leaves coming in since he’d been here. The forget-me-knots hadn’t been hampered by the late frost. Bumble bees and butterflies gathered around the honeysuckle that had bloomed exceptionally early, its sudden growth spurt meaning it was now covering most of the back wall it leant against. 

You liked him being here. 

You liked him. 

Kane carefully placed his hands on your shoulders and gently guided you with your back to the bed before he slowly moved you, urging you to sit  and then lay in the middle of the pillows and blankets. 

You stared up at him, a little bewildered as he climbed in next to you. 

“Comfortable?” He asked in that soft voice of his, but you weren’t sure if it was really a question or just an affirmation. You nod your head anyway. 

He pressed his lips together, deep in thought for a moment on your reaction, before he moves to lay on top of you, pressing his thighs between yours and settling his hips against yours. 

You freeze out of surprise. He’s never done something so bold before. You look up at him, his nose barely an inch from yours. 

Your mouth goes dry, anxiety building under his heavy gaze, like a scientist looking at a specsamin in a jar. 

“Kane,” you whisper, “what are you doing?”

“Are you uncomfortable?” 

You shake your head without thinking and there’s a little flicker of emotion that crosses his face. Satisfaction, you think. 

“Why, erm,” your mind is short circuiting with him this close, the warmth radiating off his skin, the sweet, almost floral smell that permanently surrounds him fills your lungs. The way the hard outline of his cock presses against your core. “Why did you bring your blankets in here?” You blurt out. 

“Making a nest,” he says simply, like that was all the information you would need. “Wanted it to smell like us.” 

He dips his head lower, nuzzling against the side of your neck and breathing deeply. 

“A nest?” You gasp as he rocks his hips against yours, leaning closer so that your chests are flush. 

“Hmm.” He continues to run his lips and cheeks over your neck, feeling your skin and sighing contently. All the while he rolls his hips languidly, dragging his cock against your heat. 

You can’t hold back the shudder and whine as his fly presses deliciously against your clit. 

While it doesn’t hamper his movements, the sound obviously amuses him and he focuses his actions solely on making you repeat it.

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#kane #annihilation #kane x reader #x reader #kane x you #x you #kane x afab reader #afab reader #kane x female reader #x female reader #kane x f!reader #x f!reader #kane x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

[oconswrld]

That smile on your face, makes it easy to trust you.

Girl with the smile. - Sergio Pérez x Reader.

summary: Checo finally gets to talk to the girl he's been smiling at every day.

The sun hit her face so beautifully, like an ancient greek goddess. There are so many words Checo could use to explain her beauty, yet none ever captured the breaths she takes away. Every drill, every motor sound blurs and the world slows when she smiles right back at him.

It's been a race season filled with smiles from her. Teeth showing, or even just a grin that he couldn't get enough of. The amount of times he has caught her staring can't be counted, but it also works vice-versa.

Y/n is her name, she's Adrian's new protégé. They never crossed paths enough to talk, maybe the fact they were both blushing even at the sound of each other's name helped with the avoiding too.

The moment Sergio saw her relaxing outside the garage on her phone, he just knew it was time to finally talk to her. Those bambi eyes she always had moved up to look at him. And that damn smile came out again. Y/n's pink lips pulling and her perfectly asymmetrical teeth showing.

" Hi! " She started the conversation with a light giggle at his presence. Locking and setting her phone down, leaning forward to show him how much she was interested in talking to him.

His legs shook, being at her full mercy. She could simply walk away from him and he'd still watch her walk away with a love-sick look. A permanent blush stuck on Sergio's face at her attention to details.

" Hey. " Showing a tight lipped smile to her.

" I'm Y/n! How are you Checo? " The way she talked so gently yet so confident in her own knowledge made him want to listen to her for eternity. Her accent is heavy on the way she says his nickname. Heavenly and simply beautiful.

" I'm good. It's finally the moment for us to talk. " Light pours over his back, highlighting the way his eyebrows move closer while pronouncing words, as if to not trip over himself. Y/n never saw Sergio do that with anyone else. It made her chuckle.

Her hand finds her drink, taking a quick sip only to resume her talking.

" Been looking for you every day and night I'm here. " Laughing at her own middle school crush.

" I've been wanting to hear your accent slip through when you're talking to me, not to those interviewers. " He stated, remembering the times he saw her embarrassed over not knowing the english words for something.

" If you want it, i will grant it to you, Sergio. "

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 568,239 others

yourusername: Those innocent eyes.

tagged: schecoperez

View all 893 comments

schecoperez: That smile on your face.

yourusername: taught u so well abt Miguel babyy🥹

landonorris: Y/n really taught Checo about Girl with the tattoo before she did anything else🤨

maxverstappen1: I literally don't wanna see you look at each other with those lingering stares anymore..

yourusername: stfu lil bro. im chewing on your set of tires the next pit stop😤

Viki's Radio: I love my man smm!!! omfg i love checo sm its odd at this point🙏🏻 need more fanfics 4 himm.

#sergio perez x reader #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #checo perez x reader #sergio perez #sergio perez smau

[servicedaddy]

Meeting you while out with common friends. Instantly lightning is rushing through me when I see you. Carnal desire is forming that needs to be held back. My eyes running over your body, trying to be subtle

Well ...

Not subtle enough. You hold your glance and I'm convinced you can read my inner emotions Thoughts, wishes, desires - depraved of romance. Induced with an intense need to claim.

You notice. I can tell. Though you don't say anything Unexpectedly you reduce the distance between us Wanting to sit beside me Leaning closer to me than your own friend

Tension, stress, desire, all rise up. My body heat increases. Behave. Don't creep. Don't mix up friendliness with invitation. But your cleavage... sweet lord...

Two minutes alone in the restrooms to calm down Breath out deeply. Unclench. Let go of the tension... ...that only builds up again when I sit down. When you move closer, closer... And your leg touches mine

Your perfume encapsulates me It's becoming impossible to look away from you as the night goes on My gaze lingers longer on your body Was your skirt this short before? Did your top reveal this much skin before?

BEHAVE. Scooting away, losing the warm contact of your leg That returns a minute later when you close in again Your lovely legs parted They're driving me insane

I can feel your stare while I can't look away from your legs A moment too long for innocuous friendship You smile at me. There is something in your eyes You keep on smiling when my hand touches your knee below the table

I don't know what casual topic we're talking about Our friends long forgotten All I can truly focus on is your leg pushing stronger against me Opening yourself up more, welcoming me When my fingers softly creep up your leg Your skin so warm and soft

You've done it You've broken down all self-restraint of mine How could I ever hold myself back with such sweet temptation in front of me

Words become fewer as my fingers trail up, up, up Your smile unwavering, your gaze held expectantly The edge of your panties a last stop

Soaked

The conversation holds Concentration needed to keep up the charade in front of our friends Trying to hide the tension While my fingertips circle the slick, slick fabric

Your name is called Your body turns to your friends. The fingers stay - circling, pressing, enjoying.

I don't register what the discussion is about All I can think about is the strap in my bedside table And wanting to use it on you Watching it glide into you, effortlessly Bottoming you out

Lost in thought and desire Fingertips slip below fabric Puffy, warm, drenched folds greeting me You flinch You keep up the discussion, smiling. Always smiling. The most talented actress

Fortune and time are against us. It's time to go. Turned away, secretly, I can't help tasting you I can feel your stare

We walk. You find me again and stay beside me You're driving me insane I can't concentrate

"There's something I forgot at home. It'll be quick." Friends rolling their eyes. Surprised but not questioning when you want to tag along. We'll meet them later.

Each step grows anticipation. The stairs feel longer than ever. The hot pulsation between my legs becomes unbearable the closer we get.

Turning the key I look at you. You still smile. Your innocent facade still up. You bite your lip.

I know I won't be able to hold back. And you don't want me to.

#wlw nsft #lesbian nsft #sapphic nsft #wlw yearning #my writing

[coffeeandbatboys]

This is Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Congrats on your 300 followers!!! Thanks for the tag! <3

I'd like to request Wolffe and the song "Kiss An Angel Good Morning" by Charley Pride.

I was just listening to it the other day, and I always really enjoy the "Kiss an angel good morning and love her like the devil when you get back home" part. <3 (It actually gives me chills.)

Thanks again!

Thank you!!! It gives me chills too! I was raised on classic country so Charley is a staple for me 😅

I acknowledge that the song is happy but does that stop the angsties? no.

Warnings: angsty, clingy Wolffe with a dash of hot sauce. Mention of the reader dying but its just a nightmare.

Kiss an Angel Good Morning (Wolffe x Reader)

He really doesn't want to leave you. But the 104th's shore leave is up and there's nothing he can do about it. You watch as he straps on his kit, checking the clips at least twice to stall for time.

You don't want him to go either. The two of you have had less and less time together as the war goes on.

His gaze lands on you. Mismatched, but still one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen.

"Kark, cyare." He mutters, kneeling next to the bed to touch your foreheads together. You shush him and press your lips to his. A groan resonates from his chest and his shoulders slump. Now he really doesn't want to go.

You gently push him by the chestplate. "Go, before the General gets suspicious and starts asking around." you giggle.

His lips twitch in a humorless smile for a brief second. "I love you."

You return the grin, albeit much happier than his. "I love you too. Come back safely."

You give him a couple more kisses 'for good luck' and watch as he bolts out the door.

Weeks pass before your apartment door is opened by his key. Happiness wells up inside you as you stir the pot on the stove and peek towards the entrance.

But the sight only makes you frown. He's haphazardly stacking his kit next to the door. He's never treated his armor like that, so you know that something must be wrong.

"Wolffe?" You ask, keeping your voice calm.

He says nothing, only looking at you and striding over to take you in his arms.

With the way he's holding you, something must have scared him. You reach behind you to turn the stove off and return the hug.

"What's wrong?" You ask, pressing a little so that you'll figure out what to do with him.

He shakes his head against your shoulder.

"Force osik and nightmares. I just want to feel you."

You nod, even though he probably doesn't see it and gently guide the two of you to the couch in the living area.

He presses his lips to yours. The kiss starts out slow, and as it goes on it deepens. It's desperate, but you lean into his hold. You won't deny him your affection on any day.

His tongue runs lightly over the edge of your bottom lip before his kisses trail down your jaw, moving to your neck where he gives the gentlest of nips. Your fingers curl into his hair as his kisses find their way to the collar of your shirt. You can't help but blush and giggle as he grabs the soft material with his teeth and pulls it aside to make room for more kisses.

His hand wanders beneath the hem of your shirt and caresses your torso.

"Wolffe," You murmur, bringing a hand to his cheek. "You have to tell me what happened."

His eyes squeeze shut.

"We came in contact with a sith artifact." He groans. "Gave us all our worst nightmares for a week."

You quirk a brow, knowing where this is going. "And?"

He sighs against your chest. "Mine was losing you. Kriff, Mesh'la. I watched you die every night after that."

Your hand cards through his dark curls again. "I'm right here, Wolffe."

He resumes his trail of kisses, nudging the crook of your neck with his nose. His hand slips further beneath your shirt, asking permission to go further.

You kiss his forehead in response as you let him feel you and make sure he knows you’re alive.

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe #wolffe x you #wolffe x reader #tcw wolffe #star wars wolffe #clone wars wolffe #commander wolffe #commander wolffe x you #commander wolffe x fem!reader #wolffe x fem!reader #coffee’s 300 follower celebration

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

[ID: Two panels from the BSD manga. The first shows Fyodor, clear eyed with an open expression, asking "What year is it?". The second shows Dazai looking down at "Fyodor's" corpse, saying "Then who the hell is this?" End ID.]

You guys. You GUYS. I feel so vindicated - it was significant!

And also I'm bringing this potential reference back because I forgot about it until right now.

[ID: Part of a white book cover. The author is Dostoevsky. The title is The Double. End ID.]

"Constantly rebuffed from the social circles he aspires to frequent, the timid clerk Golyadkin is confronted by the sudden appearance of his double, a more brazen, confident and socially successful version of himself, who abuses and victimizes the original. As he is increasingly persecuted, Golyadkin finds his social, romantic and professional life unravelling, in a spiral that leads to a catastrophic denouement."

"One critic wrote that The Double's main idea is that "the human will in its search for total freedom of expression becomes a self-destructive impulse"."

[ID: A screenshot of a paragraph from The Double's wikipedia page. The sections of note are highlighted: "The Double is the most Gogolesque of Dostoevsky's works", "a parody of "The Overcoat"", "Dostoevsky alters and wholly repeats Gogol's phrases". End ID.]

...Nikolai, I'm so sorry buddy, but I think you're screwed.

#storyrambles #bsd #AAAAAAA #bsd spoilers #bsd meta #bsd chapter 114 #bsd fyodor #bsd nikolai #call me ace detective the way i am ace. and also a detective #<- using that tag again and you CAN'T STOP ME

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Peter Parker if he got bit by a radioactive sword ☢️🟢⚔️

if I had a nickel for every time I made a Spider-Man au based off a video game, I'd have three nickels, which isn't a lot but it's concerning that it's happened three times. This au is the spidey/final fantasy vii mashup, where Peter becomes the Unreliable Narrator

anyway someone pretty please write this au for me <333 I'll pay you <3333333

bg variants under the cut

the BIGGEST dilemma(s) was figuring out if I should

A) keep the eyes in my art style (no colours, just the highlight), bc ngl it makes him seem more babey (pic 1),,, or

B) add the mako-glow to the eyes so i could be lore-accurate.... also I spent a lot of time!! on colouring in those pixels!!!!! dammit!!!!!!!!! (pic 2) and

C) OF COURSE i was struggling to choose between the white and red backgrounds!!!!! evil me!!!!!!! making difficult creative decisions!!!!!!

i will,,,, try to draw the other peeps as well (mj as tifa and gwen as aerith ,,, mmm yesss esysey yes ssss) but i fear the monkey brain has already died........ i will try tho,,,,,,,,,,

#finally. i drew the little freaky white boy after.... many many months of not drawing him #do you see the little spider :) it's. it's because he's spider-man!! (it's a very ugly spider i forgive you if you can't find it) #bro looks like a kpop idol im literally screaming #dance for us baby boy. honey bee inn that shit. crank that soulja boy. break it til ya make it #listen i have to draw peter in cloud's pretty blue dress sometime otherwise i WILL explode........... #anyway be like me and refuse to draw legs !!!!!! what are lower limbs!!!!???? who cares !!!!!! just run away when confronted by femurs!!!!! #you would not believe how long i had to stare at cloud's arms in order to make sense of them. why are his triceps so fucked up #many times i had to stop myself from jumping into my laptop screen and succumb to the fiery CPU death bc MY GOD.... #i am SWEATING..... EURHG #also obviously new colouring/shading thing again.... ough...... consistent art style WHEN #what the fuck do i tag this as??? #peter parker #spider man fanart #spider man #ffvii #final fantasy vii #agni and his many many au's number 39874 #artoftheagni

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

i'm cry laughing some people on twitter are now saying "izzy bashing" needs to be tagged in fics. how did these people ever survive watching this show where izzy is the CANON ANTAGONIST i'll never know

benefit of the doubt but i think most of them have gotten to this point gradually. when they first watched the show they were not attached to izzy the way they are now. i know for a lot of people it was blorbo at first sight with izzy but i've also seen izzy enjoyers say they didn't like him at first, and then fandom made them care about him.

like i'm pretty sure for a lot of ppl it started off with isolating themselves from ppl who made posts that they didnt like, like ppl who criticized ofmd for being based on two real people with direct connections to actual real-world slave trade (which is an incredibly valid thing to criticize abt ofmd).

another one that i think funneled a lot of fans towards being so delusionally attached to izzy was people pointing out or complaining about the disproportionate amount of fan content for izzy compared to prominent characters of color—which is a consistent issue in fandom no matter what the media, and is also a very easy one for people to be uncomfortable with whenever they see it get pointed out. people venting that "fans care too much abt this white man" often make fans who care abt that white man very defensive right off the bat, and then rather than engage with why they feel defensive or question if maybe their enjoyment of this character is fueled by implicit bias (which it might not be, to be clear! im not saying—and i have never said—that everyone who enjoyes izzy likes him for racist reasons), they stop listening to the conversation abt white favoritism and continue blorboposting as much as they want. it's incredibly easy for fans to brush off this convo as "just starting drama" and avoid the topic altogether because "fandom is for fun!" and they dont want to think abt difficult topics like racism and implicit bias, they just want to enjoy their blorbos in peace.

so they kept narrowing the takes they were seeing until they were in an echo chamber that kept moving more and more towards complete woobification of izzy hands. these people are now looking at the show entirely through izzy's pov, making posts abt how sad it is that none of the other characters are ever nice to him, how frustrating the show is from his perspective, how it feels to be deeply in love with someone who doesn't love you back. they've stared at gifs of con's micro-expressions and read angsty fanfiction and looked at endless izzy fanart and their entire ofmd fandom experience revolves around empathizing with this one character even tho the show itself continually makes him the butt of the joke.

at this point, telling these people to rewatch the show doesn't even matter. they've spent so much time over-analyzing every single one of izzy's scenes to the point where the emotional responses they get from these scenes are not the emotional responses anyone would have watching the show for the first time. they've warped the entire first season to fit their version of the show and are forgetting how often the show itself bashes izzy.

and the icing on the cake is the trolling. there's like, one or two people on here who go around sending anon hate and leaving nasty comments on instagram posts and harassing people on twitter for... like, i would say "for liking izzy" or even "for saying positive things about izzy" but like. i've gotten these messages, and the most sympathetic i've ever been to izzy was the post i made like "maybe he's mean bc he has chronic IBS. i'd actually understand him more if that were the case." so when i get these messages it's easier for me to just laugh them off bc it's so obviously just someone trying to make me upset, but people who do care about izzy (a lot of them being the same people who avoided engaging with the "why does fandom care so much abt white characters" convo) get these absolutely horrible messages about how they deserve to get hate crimed and they should kill themselves. and these fans who didn't want to even see vaguely negative posts abt izzy bc they just want to enjoy fandom in peace are now like "im targeted for just liking a character!"

so that's how we get to people saying that "izzy bashing" needs to be tagged. never mind that their definition of "bashing" almost certainly includes things that are not bashing but are just things that contradict the way they headcannnon him.

#ask #anon #mine #txt #og #izzy critical #izzy hands #ofmd fandom crit #if this post is in the izcourse tag no it isnt u just dont know how to use tumblr #obligatory Not All Izzy Fans disclaimer #also btw in case anyone tries to come at me with “it's stupid to tell people to pay attention to different characters”: #noticing the disappointing trend of fandom to fixate on white side characters ≠ telling people to stop making izzy content #im not telling individual izzy hands enjoyers to stop paying attention to izzy. there are a lot of reasons why ppl might like izzy #if i interact w someone whose ofmd contribution is primarily pro-izzy my thought is “oh they like antagonists” #not “oh they don't care about characters of color bc they're racist” ok im not gonna jump there without a reason #but on a fandom-wide scale this is a Trend that has happened over and over again in fandom after fandom after fandom #like We Live In A Society bro we can't just pretend white men are always the faves in fandoms just by coincidence #but also tbh if you think im saying that You Personally need to make content for characters of color? and you're getting MAD at me for it?? #then ur probs not someone i want making content for those characters lmao. u keep izzyposting to ur heart's content <3 have fun bestie

[abelllia]

going feral over “shit that isn’t even remotely canon and will likely never be confirmed as such” again (barnabas bennett being an almost-anchor to jonah that jonah willingly threw away)

#these tags are filled with nonsense so please don't look at them i beg #like for your own good #I'M ON MY MAG 92 VS MAG 159 BULLSHIT AGAIN #I CAN'T GET OVER HOW SIMILAR THE SCENARIOS ARE #There's a Lonely guy that is in a scenario that sucks shit because he pissed of a Lukas and now his only hope is his close friend that- #-is an Avatar of the Eye #the only difference is in one scenario the Eye guy wants to embrace the Entities and keeps him the Lonely to observe #and the other the Eye guy is so UNWILLING to part with his humanity and part of that is being unwilling to part with that Lonely guy #or like. literally any other person if he can do something at it #if by do something at it means 'throwing himself at it' #Is it a hot take that Jon and Jonah are pretty similar? it feels like a cold take #Eye guys and all #but I think the main difference exactly that humanity thing and putting yourself before others vs others before yourself #like jonah whole deal is he wants immortality and to do that he wants to stop people fucking him over #to do that he fucks them over first #if he has a problem he's most likely to throw something else at it which is why it's so rare to see him do anything #like gertrude and leitner are big deals because he actually got off his ass and killed them himself #meanwhile jon. fucking JOn is like 'I'm going to throw myself at the problem and you can't stop me' #like he'll use himself as a meatshield first and that's not. a good thing #i don't want to make it sound like putting others over himself as always a good thing #because sometimes there are way to stop problems without fucking yourself OVER jon #it's so bad #anyway what was i saying again #oh yes jon and elias being similar but also opposites via the themes of love and how you value people- #-is pretty cool i think which fits their position of protagonist and antagonist #since like. imo one of the big themes of the show is love and human connection and how important it is to have them #like the show emphasizes anchors a LOT and shows human connections literally warding off the entities. like the big bads. #makes sense imo that that's the big place they differ #like literally anime power of friendship but instead of conquering all it just helps #yadda yadda love didn't save them but it made things better or something

[daz4i]

let me preface this by clarifying i am not anti therapy in any way whatsoever and in fact encourage people to get therapy if they can and even go the extra step to help friends find the right type of therapy that may help them

ok now that that's out of the way.

therapy is bullshit man you go to a therapist saying "hey. i wanna kill myself. can you help me stop wanting to kill myself somehow?" and they go "sure! first step, stop wanting to kill yourself" and you say "well i can't. that's why i came to you. bc i don't know. how to stop wanting to kill myself" and they'll say "that's a shame. i can't help you if you want to kill yourself. that'll be 125$ please"

#mad abt my old therapist again #even checked the cost of sessions in usd to make this accessible. came out to be 124$ and a bit. and i did that on a weekly basis for YEARS #and i'm extra mad bc trying to find a new therapist is already hard esp with bpd where your options are very limited as is #but when they ask abt my history with therapy and they ask why i stopped seeing him after years. what am i supposed to say #so that scares them off and they say they can't help me or they're like. scared to go deep with me ig. bc idk. they're scared I'll snap? #what am i supposed to do. hospitalizing myself isn't an option obvs. what is there left. #it feels like a cycle #like. 'i can't help you if you don't want to help yourself'. but i need help even figuring out how to want that #and it's not like ppl in my life know how to help. tbh they usually make it worse. so loved ones aren't an option and professionals aren't - #- an option. so what is there left. how am i supposed to do a thing that comes naturally to others but not to me #even with medication even being in a recovery program i want to kms more than i used to for years #I'm supposedly taking the right steps. but. to get metaphorical ig. the road is crumbling and there's nowhere to go #and that only makes me spiral more. despite taking the right steps i feel like i'm only getting worse. there's no hope for me. lol #vent #suicide // #negative // #ask to tag #i need a good cry like full-on sobbing and screaming but unfortunately. i became too emotionally constipated for that

[achairwithapandaonit]

by any chance does anyone have any demon slayer fic recs where nezuko is actually more of a proper character and gets development and is allowed to grow? cause honestly the further i've gotten in this manga the more disappointed in it i've been with the lack of meaningful development, especially in nezuko

#no idea if this is actually a controversial opinion on the series cause i've not come across much criticism #but i do think it falls short on every character. the concepts are great and i enjoy the characters and had a lot of fun watching and #reading this series. but i do think that it fails to do much that's actually meaningful or impactful with any of the characters #ready to be disagreed with but i feel like the only development nezuko ever got was when she went to attack those humans and had to #be restrained by tanjirou. and it falls incredibly flat when she never really has any other struggles other than at the start of the series #i thought she was meant to be a main character but she's more like a set piece #maybe i'm just missing something cause i'm still about 50 chapters from the end. but i just got so disappointed after they did nothing with #her becoming sun resistant except pull a gag that i didn't want to pick the manga up again #like that was the chance to do more with her and finally give her development and let her relationships develop! and the fact that they did #nothing kind of highlighted to me that the series really hadn't done much with any of the characters #there's beats where it feels like there's growth but i don't actually know what about the characters has grown??? apart from getting a new #power and being stronger because of it #they don't grow as characters. and supposed development only ever happens during fights or off screen #anyway i should stop criticising. i'm just very disappointed cause i really enjoyed the manga and then that happened and it was like what's #the point #criticism #demon slayer criticism #<- so you can block the tag if you don't want to see this stuff #it feels very negative for the fact that you really can't expect much from shounen. and i DID enjoy it. it's just disappointing #(the shinobu thing is also annoying. like i like that she can't decapitate demons and that she uses poison but the reason for it being that #she's weak and small is bullshit and FEELS like it's written that way because she's a woman)

[keeps-ache]

little soup cans are some of the neatest things we have, wish there were more soup-can-like things in this world

#just me hi #though canopeners need to stop being deadly weapons to some degree before that hfhs #'they're not deadly tho ?' well usually yes. but did you know that they can age Badly? i did not! #and the one I was using was dulled to an extent that it would Skip over a part of the can #(nearly the same spot every time lol) and when I thought I'd managed to fool it and had only #the tiniest bit of metal between me and some beans (pretty sure it was beans) I thought #'ohh I'll just pull up the can lid :)' Well the lid snapped off completely towards and Into my hand #and I had a bean-can wound on my pinky for about a week or so. I do not know how long it's been lol #//but soup cans are pretty cool I feel like they're kinda underappreciated !! #you can just have Soup ? Whenever ??? and it's Normal !! wow :D #sure making soup is pretty great. but that's a process man. and we're not even associates #[<- 'a process I am (not) intimate with'] #like there is a little can of menudo in the pantry rn - medunito they call it isn't that just !! - and it's just there. it can be made in #like 10 minutes. is this Not the best thing ever ! ? #//I've also gotta figure out this sleeping thing that I've got going on (everybody has it going on) #I was maybe half a week into actually have a consistent thing going but the night I stopped was bc I am a sucker of a storyteller and we #were up til about. I think 4-6 a.m. #that's on me yes. my siblings vs. my desire to tell stories and rubber willpower hfbdh #a deadly match truly #and also I lost my snoopy watch (RIP snoopy watch you will be missed (I can't find it send help Waough)) and that was the only clock I had #in this room so now if I wanna know the time I have to go the living room - which is like a whole dang thing lemme tell you about it #/first I've gotta get up - easiest thing by far - and get to the door - assuming I don't get KO'd by my siblings' belongings on the floor - #get to the door. the door Is broken to some extent. opening it means a loud THDPD noise is sent throughout the entire house lol. and you #have to yank on the thing to get it open - so double effort there - and then you step out into the hallwayish area where you can then enter #the living room - oh so easy! but No! you then have to either turn on the kitchen lights and wake everyone with their door open or sleeping #in the living room for whatever reason Orrr you have to clamber over chairs pots perhaps a cat if you've got real bad luck that night to ge #up nice n personal to the clock so you can read the dang thing and see it's 11:23. which is like nothing so you stay up Anyway and do not #check the clock again because not only was that a hassle but also you released every creature that was in the room with you (that's a lot o #noise). but Yea the clock situation is ongoing hfbsh #'why don't you get a clock' that would be much too easy loll :) (last one disappeared and we keep forgetting lol) //ran out of tag space so

[front-facing-pokemon]

Now i know this blog is obviously for.. well. Front facing pokemon, but your tags are always super interesting. I think your opinions on pokemon are pretty neat

i've gotten a few asks like this so far, and it's always nice to see that folks aren't annoyed about how much i talk in the tags. i have lots of opinions on lots of things! and i like to talk a lot. the reason i started talking more in the tags is actually because of asks like this—folks saying they liked seeing what i had to say on particular pokémon has encouraged me to actually talk about my thoughts more (although if you regularly read my tags, i tend to get off-topic pretty quickly. i queue these up very early in the morning, as soon as i get up, and i'm usually a little delirious), especially compared to my first early posts on this blog which didn't even have any tags at all, beyond the names of the pokémon. you're one of the like 4 ffp-mod likers how's it feel

#not pkmn #ffp-mod? i dunno if i like how that sounds. i'm just like out here. i'm just like. a bitch. just like. a fucker that exists in the world #a pokémon just like the rest of you! right? #this also gives me an opportunity to say holy shit the blog hit 1000 followers? which is like nothing in the grand scheme of tumblr #when my man rodney realpokemon is out here with like 20k but that's a lot for *me*. that's way more folks than i'm used to #it's a good thing i'm not actually Making any content for this blog so i don't have to be worried about the output. it's just pokémon innit #if a pokémon looks bad it's nintendo's fault. not mine #anyway. thanks for sticking around‚ i s'pose—though it's not necessarily benefitting me very much‚ unless i turn on that “tips” button #but doesn't that just look so self-absorbed? haha yeah. my posts are good enough to deserve my followers giving me free money #some folks who are genuinely making content on here it's like. fine. but for me? someone who just posts pokémon staring at the screen? #i can't imagine anyone really seeing it as worth it to pay me for that #also holy shit i'm doing it again. the thing where i talk in the tags and make them a mile long. i'm cutting myself off here this is the en #clearly folks sending in asks is just my opportunity to continue talking more because i definitely always take the opportunity #to continue talking. and not stop talking. here i go again

[wildflowercryptid]

ngl i have so many thoughts about penelope sitting in the back of my mind, she's such an interesting character...

#i'm gonna try to avoid using penny when talking about her just so i don't confuse my pokemon moots ;0; #but yeah... just the imagery surrounding her has got me pondering #like the fact that the room she spends most of her time in at tangle tower is quite literally a gilded cage #or that she's wearing an outfit that's strikingly similar to her mother's if not the same exact outfit... #i also can't stop thinking about how i feel like she doesn't even have any true ill will towards anyone currently living at tangle tower #even flora (the character you could expect her to dislike based on her motivations) is someone she has some care for... #ALSO HER FUCKING REACTION WHEN YOU SUGGEST HER MOTIVATION WAS LONELINESS UGH!!!! #just.... fuck dude #i do hope we get to see her again #random idea i've thought about too is harrow getting involved in tracking down penny and it ending w/ a face-off between the two #i think that'd be cool... #wait shit my brain is making a connection with another idea i had hold on #*rubs my gay lil hands together* hmm 😈 #sorry that my rambling's always relegated to the tags it's easier to parse my thoughts in short bursts like that #tangle tower #mj.txt #tangle tower spoilers

[bmpmp3]

i shouldnt really be giving any hot takes on character design as someone who, despite having mild success in the adoptable scene in highschool, absolutely does NOT still got it when it comes to character designing (nowadays im just trying to do my best orz) but i do think one of the most important things with character design is that they serve the medium theyre in well.

like, a super exaggerated shape style triangle man with tiny legs a la mr incredible works great for an action cartoon movie but i dont know how good that style would work in a visual novel where you tend to only see the top half of the body. you wont be able to appreciate the tiny legs 😔

and as much as i goof on the visually cluttered anime boys in otome games and their odd fashion choices (kent from amnesia. at least 21 belts. 11 on one arm alone) i genuinely think they work for what they need to do, like all those fucking sashes and scarves and cords and capes and swishy things on the ikemen sengoku guys, painful to draw for me who wants to draw a goofy comic of them but WONDERFUL for an unanimated visual novel sprite, flowing clothes and hair adds a lot of movement to static images that you'll be staring at for 20-50 hours.

but of course on the visual novel/japanese adv game end of things u also have stuff like phoenix wright and the absolutely beautiful hotel dusk that tend to have blockier silhouettes than the fluttery flowing cloth and hair of like, a character in a bishoujo game from Key or something, but their sprites are animated which benefits from the blockier and (usually) less cluttered designs.

and theres still lots of exaggeration to be had to get very varied character designs, like the jake hunter games have a very grounded semi-realistic style but everyones posture and body types and expressions are pretty distinct, just the distinction is focused on the upper half of the body rather than the whole body like you would focus on with a comedy slapstick cartoon or like a comedy newspaper comic strip. okay its becoming increasingly obvious through what im talking about that i grew up in north america in the 00s-10s using deviantart where if ur cartoons didnt look like disney or pixar or like i dont know johnny test ur designs were considered not good enough so im still in that world. im still in that world. i hope the world is more open now

and something like the hotel dusk designs also would work well for drama or thriller comics - like i was also thinking about big sparkling shoujo manga designs and like. in a comic if ur like a garfield slapstick comedy u wanna look like a garfield, but if ur constantly doing closeups with serious emotion like a romantic drama shoujo manga, having big glittering expressive eyes and emphasizing the upper half of the character is pretty effective for the combination of medium and genre. i also think naoki urasawa's character designs would look so so good in a hotel dusk style game, that guy makes like the perfect thriller design, varied and diverse in shapes but so effective for a serious toned horror mystery thriller thing will lots of closeups of characters faces. i guess because i love serious and dramatic stories about people talking a whole lot i do gravitate towards this style of character design, where the emphasis is on the silhouette from the waist up LOL but it really goes to show that some character designs that may not fit the late 2000s comedy animation shape-based design philosophy have their own places where they thrive <- obvious thing everyone knows except for me who was on deviantart too much when i was 12

i think what im trying to say is i think big boobied super busy anime girl vtuber designs are fine, good even. i like em, i think they do the job and a lot of work goes into them. u only have a headshot/bust (heh) shown on screen 99% of the time u might as well make it with a bunch of particle effects and cool hairclips and lace and weird moving head wings or some shit. slap some sparkles on that thang

#i really am like a washed up highschool jock when it comes to character design. i used to be so good #im not BAD now but theres plenty of things to improve on LOL #i can't stop making the same 20 something year old vaguely ambiguous mixed race everyman normal guy character #sowwy. it will happen again. it me #old man voice BACK IN MY DAY I COULD BUST OUT 4 DESIGNS A DAY #they would sell within the WEEK. the WEEK SONNY BOY. do you HEAR ME #THE WEEK!!!! #alright grandpa now lets go back to bed (you guys are saying this to me in my strange tag roleplay scenario) #(u guys are my. grandchildren? maybe) #oh this is a long ass post isnt it. hold on im trying to remember to tag that kinda thing more often #long post