#▸⠀𝐄𝐔𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀.⠀ ⠀[ … ] ⠀teenagers scare the livin' shit out of me.

[egojock]

@depictedblue: "i tried to be good. am i no good?" // perhaps... season one nassie?

nate resists the urge to smile, because he knows she's going to hang on his every word regardless. both mckay and cassie were so malleable, easy to manipulate. he'd taken every word about cassie's past promiscuity to heart, but in a way, he was also only trying to spare mckay some of his own pain. he knows maddy has been unfaithful to him, which is why he doesn't feel as guilty about having wandering eyes. an eye for an eye makes the whole world go blind. "nah. you're great. maybe he's just not ready for a big commitment right now, he's got a lot on his plate," nate reasons, awkwardly rubbing the side of his neck because this was by all means, horseshit. it's a half-hearted attempt at making her feel better. he doesn't actually have anything against cassie, aside from the fact that she's the kind of girl he'd be nervous to take home out of fear his dad may try to fuck her. if she was a saint, capable of immaculate conception like fucking virgin mary, then it might have been a different story but instead he resents her promiscuity. he doubts she's the kind of girl that stays faithful. nate's just doing them both a favor, really. "but it's better you know now rather than later, right? seems like you didn't know, uh, that you were just chillin'," nate recalls, huffing a little mean-spirited laugh.

[egojock]

nate had been convinced that what happened between them was a mistake, he hadn't meant to get so attached when all he wanted was something casual, but perhaps they were meant to collide with each other. maddy had always challenged him, emasculated him and humiliated him where cassie seemed to erode all of his sharp edges. she was the pinnacle of femininity, blue doe eyes and plush lips, his american dream. conversely, nate jacobs was the stereotypical red-blooded american male, fitting into all the conventional molds he was supposed to. perhaps they were written in the stars. he was archie andrews, oscillating restlessly between his betty and veronica. nate frowns at the sight of her tears, a large palm cupping her face to sweep them away with a gentle thumb while his other hand settles at the dip of her waist when she climbs into his lap. he can pick up on her anxiety, fingers rubbing soothing circles against her lower back before pressing a reassurring kiss to her cupid's bow. "make that appointment and i'll come with you. we should confirm it and see if it's a pregnancy you can even carry to term first," he reasons, feeling her jackrabbit pulse beat against his skin with how close they were. nate breathes shakily, nodding. he's filled with trepidation and anxiety, not wanting to repeat his father's mistakes when his mom got pregnant with aaron. nate steels himself, his own eyes fluttering shut as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. he knows that cassie is afraid of being abandoned more than anything else, needs validation and frequent reassurance. nate is hesitant to make promises he can't keep, but he wants to try, wants to be better. "i'm not leaving you like this. we'll figure it out."

suddenly it is like a switch and she feels sick to her stomach with guilt like she did something wrong. like it was not both of them, both of their thoughts, a blunder. a blunder that could mess up the future and cassie breathes in shakily at nate's reply feeling her indignation fading into concern and then with concern comes sadness even at his careful words she does not know what to say. she is just sorry. her big blue eyes blink up at him feeling tears in them giving a nod. cassie could never stay mad at him anyway it was a bad habit of hers. she sniffles quietly feeling his reassuring kiss and her eyes close. cassie does not even realize she is climbing into nate's lap until she is there looking at him and kissing him softly, her fingers moving over his neck keeping him there in desperation. she is so scared and he is her undoing. " okay, i'll make an appointment. " is all she says resting her head against his shoulder listening to his heart imagining what their life is going to be for now on. maybe she was not pregnant at all... maybe it was just stress. " will you take me back then? " she dares to whisper keeping her eyes closed, heart racing.

@egojock

[egojock]

@carminekings: [ GIFTS ]: sender arrives at the receiver's house with gifts for the homeowner themselves

when martin shows up to the jacobs household with gifts for the entire family, nate is dumbfounded, to say the least. thought out and considerate gifts, too. martin is detail oriented and has taken everything nate'd told him in confidence into consideration, offering marsha a bouquet of fresh flowers and aaron a smiley-face keychain. he looks befuddled, but grunts an affirming "thanks," before retreating back to his room. "so you're the kid my son has been hanging around." cal is assessing martin, and nate's stomach feels like it's full of lead as he stands there beside him, so nate opens the door to allow him inside. his cheeks heat, accepting the nfl chargers mug martin's gifted to him to inside and promptly fill it with whiskey. nate takes a swig, his expression pinched because the night hasn't even begun and he already wishes it was over. it was nothing against martin, he just didn't like involving people he cared about with his family. it always ended disastrously. "mom says dinner's ready," nate says, trying to provide an out or an alternative conversation escape route as his gaze flickers over to martin's face, then back to the family-style buffet spread. salmon, roasted parmesan aspagarus and cheesed cauliflower. he hurriedly makes his plate, avoiding eyecontact.

[egojock]

❛ fucking hit me already. ❜ ( rue )

darker vibes prompt ( accepting! )

she thinks so fucking lowly of him, understandably so, and the goading sound of her voice has the desired reaction. his hackles are raised, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek with irritation. when he put his hands on maddy, it'd been because she was so comfortable airing truths he himself wasn't comfortable with, emasculating and humiliating him. there was no excuse for his actions, his immutable rage, but nate resorted to violence in specific situations -- mainly when he was being provoked or taunted about his sexuality. at times, he can't help but be impulsive and reactive, but nate erred on the side of careful calculation. being in rue's presence unnerves him. addicts were manipulative and charismatic, because that's how they get their fix. at this point in his life, the manipulation felt like a gentle breeze blowing on his face and the concept of putting his hands on rue seemed so laughable when he's seen her walk into door facings or struggle to stay upright. "i know you like to self-destruct in any way possible, but do you think i was born yesterday?" he questions, letting out a derisive snort as he folds his arms against his chest to meet rue with a measured look. nate would characterize rue the way people would most addicts, as unreliable and impulsive, but he knows that despite her incessant substance abuse that she's got her wits about her. enough for nate to be suspicious and wonder what the play was here. despite the tension and animosity, he didn't hate rue. he just didn't like to deal with wild cards. she was difficult, unapologetically obtrusive and not as malleable as other girls in his life. "don't tell me fezco's hiding around the corner ready to bludgeon me with another fucking smirnoff bottle." he doesn't understand their relationship, how fezco's simultaneously holding her back in life but trying to protect her from the big bad nate jacobs. he was literally a drug-dealing gangster with a heart of gold, and somehow more trustworthy in her eyes. maybe if nothing else, another head injury could bring him some much needed perspective. his defensive posture falters and he brings a tired up to scrub over his face, brows pinched. he'll level with her. "look, i've kind of had a long day, so can you give me something more to work with or find some new and exciting way to destroy your body that doesn't come with consequences for me personally?"

[egojock]

@ourpretender: you've got on your 'tough guy' face. ( ollie & nate / teasing or sincere if perhaps they're out together in public or come across nate's dad or family or friends ? ? ? or an ex ? )

the not so secret thing about nate was that whenever he felt like he didn't have control, whenever things didn't fall in line to the rigid mental rules he'd came up with for himself, he felt like losing his temper. it completed a self-fulfilling prophecy. he was obsessive and anxious, both of these character traits forming an undesirable cocktail because it meant he didn't know when to leave well enough alone. it's taken unfaltering effort, routine and discipline to be comfortable in his own skin, and even on a good day he was still seething, dripping with self-loathing. this only amplifies when he feels like he's being made fun of. nate spots his father through the windshield of another car as he's pulling out of the motel's driveway, and the shared glance of recognition between them with oliver fastened in the passenger seat is enough to make everything in his stomach curdle, prompts his blood to run cold. intrusive thoughts come rushing in, jumping to the worst conclusions. cal's seen them together. suddenly, his life wasn't such a fucking mystery any more -- and nate finds that thought abhorrent. it was no longer a huge secret what his father got up to in his spare time, but the same couldn't be said for nate, up until now. he's not even sure oliver is paying attention to anything but nate, observing the sudden tension in his body and commenting on it, but it's not what he needs to hear. oliver is faultless, and yet he can't make himself see reason, not when he's filled with such a sense of dread. his grip on the steering wheel tightens, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek in frustration as he pulls to an abrupt stop. the drinks in the cupholder threaten to spill. it's not violence, but a hairs breadth away from it with the animosity radiating off of nate right now. "and you're saying something fucking stupid again. is this a game to you?" these were words oliver had uttered to him before, and evidently, it does not feel good to be on the receiving end. "god fucking damnit. i knew this was a mistake."

[egojock]

evidently, sasha knew how to fight fire with fire. the type of girl who likes to be burned. her words are like fucking music to his ears, feeling like he's been given free reign to be as dirty and as sick as he wants, as they both want. a deep chuckle escapes his lips when sasha brings up his girlfriends, dark eyes sweeping over her from head to toe. "do you really want to hear about me and my ex's sex lives? seems like a waste of time when you could be telling me about all the sick shit you're into," nate reasons, that audacious hand of his stroking over the outside of her pussy, pads of fingers teasingly circling her clit. if they had more time, nate would eat her out, right here where everyone could see.

a grin dimples his cheeks, soft brown eyes simmering with an unabated hunger as he trails in after her, letting out a huff of laughter when she manhandles him onto the foot of bed. "fuck, you're bossy, shovin' me around like this," nate murmurs, eye level with her breasts just as she intended as the sound of his belt unfastens and hits the floor along with his jeans. two large palms grip her glutes, pulling her into his lap so he could look up at her, massage the palmful of her ass. "good question. a better one is, should i shut you up with my cock or fuck that slutty pussy of yours until you can't scream anymore?" there's remnants of slick coating the pads of his fingers, his briefs tenting painfully with an unmistakable shape. he tilts up to kiss her, tongue sweeping over the seam of her lips, tasting her before pulling away with hooded eyes. "go grab a condom and i'll prove it to you."

ㅤㅤit almost concerned how easily he could read her. dirty talk was a must for sasha, but she could take it to a whole new level of twisted when given the opportunity. he was unavoidably handsome, and yet so normal and boring looking, and yet he was able to tick every sick box she dared to present him with.  “ i don’t think anything could change my mind about fucking you, not if you’re saving all that nastiness for me.  ”  sasha liked the mean ones, so she could only hope that he’d be able to live up to expectations.  “ do you talk to your girlfriends like that? ”

ㅤㅤ“ the sadistic-possessive type? yikes. no wonder you’re between girlfriends. ”  she taunted, and yet she found that his confession goes to rest right between her thighs. his bluntness was hot, but he was even hotter. she could see why he was between girlfriends — plural. sasha didn’t really do relationships, but the idea of having this stranger obsess over her made her wish that she was. pouty and painted petals are agape as she toyed with the string of his hoodie, basking in the weight of his gaze as her own fell down to watch as he squeezed at her soft, plump thigh, cold heart racing at his suggestion. 

ㅤㅤ“ don’t fucking tempt me… ”  words are almost sighed as she all but melted between his broad frame and the door, knees nearly buckling when he yanked the fabric of her flimsy thong, damp lace tangled between her now spreading legs as she dropped the string to comb scratched up fingers through his dark locks, pushing the hood back so that she could admire how handsome he looked under the orange fluorescents overhead.  “ you gonna fuck me like you wish you could fuck your boring girlfriends? show me how possessive you can be… i can be your girlfriend for the night. ”  

ㅤㅤit was quiet enough, and the risk of getting caught only had her growing wetter. but she’d already had a few too many complaints from other regulars, and she was sure the noise they’d produce would be bad enough without the owner catching her bent over the railing making things worse. one hand gripped firmly at the side of his neck, fingers still entangled in his locks as her other hand fumbled behind her back to open the door, not caring to lock it. it’s not like she had anything worth stealing.  “ always unlocked, if you ever want to find me. ”  only the lamp on the bedside table was lit when she tugged him inside, backing him up towards the bed before she’s grabbing at his shoulders to push him onto the edge, forcing him down to be eye-level with the ample cleavage that threatened to burst through the leather harnesses as she stood between his thighs.  “ still think you can fuck the brat out of me, baby? ”

[egojock]

nate's been walking on eggshells within his own home long enough that you'd think he'd be better at recognizing when there was an elephant in the room, some social phantom overlooking them all that needed immediate addressing. but ignoring those glaring red warning signs, pretending the man that was supposed to be his protector was an omniscient god he merely had to avoid invoking the wrath of might've been the only thing that's gotten him this far. acknowledging it meant confronting it, and confrontation often lead to violence. normally, nate has no problem with violence, but laying hands on your own blood was never a good look. you didn't have to look very hard to discern that something was deeply, pathologically wrong with nate, and this was something he'd never fought too hard to convince people of otherwise. (aside from when he got arrested.) there's an analogy about apples and trees that could apply here, nate thinks. so he spends most of his time out of the house, involving himself in any extracurricular that distracts him from thinking about it, that requires him to think about everything else. nate's not too picky. about extracurriculars, or the company he keeps. he fixates on maddy, on which muscle groups he can work til failure, on how much school work he can get away with slogging through before he risks getting pulled off the football team. sometimes it felt like the fact that he read for pleasure, for some form of escape, was more of a cry for help than his violent outbursts or neurotic rituals. the images and intrusive thoughts are hard to keep at bay, especially when they can be triggered just by locking eyes with one of your classmates. they walk into the pharmacy with something else malevolent tagging along for the ride, and nate is none the wiser until a pinched expression takes root in the shape of joe's face. his footsteps falter when joe says something, a genuine look of concern lighting up his gaze, unsure how to react. toxic masculinity suggests he make a joke, provide levity to accompany the discomfort, but the unpolished and more childish version of nate urges himself not to do that, cautions a gentler approach that isn't molded by his father's problematic worldview and rhetoric. he quickly pays for all of joe's procured items at the cashier and then dashes out the door afterwards, receipt tucked hastily in the plastic bag as his brows pinch. "take a deep breath. i think you're having a panic attack. unless you have asthma. do you have a rescue inhaler?" his hand finds the breadth of joe's shoulder, trying to maneuver him into standing upright so he can get a good look at the color on joe's face, soft-brown eyes doing an elevator sweep over his features. "talk to me, tell me what's going on."

he tends to live on that side of the argument. a bad influence from the start, joe's never been particularly good for anyone; not his mom, not his half brothers, his mates, his exes, not margaret, not even the likes of his deadbeat dad. and sure, nate isn't a fucking saint, but he's no worse than anyone else, just another kid with a whole stretch of potential futures at his fingertips. even rough around the edges, a bit of sanding, a bit of varnish, a bit of focus and nate will sail out of here. joe is a street kid, a fucking hooligan with nothing to go for. his rap sheet, even as a stupid minor, is comically long, and the income he gets from lifting pedophiles can't pave him an entrance to college. it's an old story, a common retelling that the world's heard time and time again. and he was okay with it. he has a laugh, he gets his fix, and he ends some nights banging it out — sweating the day off and coming hard enough he sees stars. it's a relaxed cycle to be in, a day to day that suits him. except he bristles this time around, swallows shallow when nate's imaginary parents shake their head, wedge a college fund in between them, and scrape joe from the pebbling on their talented son's walls. hell, even if they don't believe in his potential, the rest of the world does. what's joe got to do with any of it? christ. maybe he's ruptured something internally because his stomach is starting to hurt. with his lips thinning into a flat line, joe nods, perturbed, " — yeah les' — fuck. i dunno' — lemme just." he swipes two bottles of painkillers, a pepto to be safe, and a lemon throat lozenge not because he's sore but because candy — even the medicinal sort — solves everything. he knows he's coming off a little erratic, suddenly too quiet for his own good, and joe doesn't know how to communicate that he's fucking fine without feeling embarrassed about it. his fingernails look gnarly and he still wants to gnaw them clean off. " — jus' need some air 'aright? m' headin' out for a smoke or somethin'." he reminds himself to thank nate for spending his parents' money on him, but as soon as he steps out from the door, a wave of nausea hits him. it comes like a suckerpunch, and he wretches, limp arm clutching the bend of his stomach. nothing comes up or out, just spit along the hover of his mouth, and a weight upon his ribcage he can't pinpoint the source of.

[egojock]

the dismissal is blatant in the tell of hara's face, and nate prickles. it's clear they're having trouble communicating, but not for a lack of trying. her next response has him thrown for a loop, irritating flaring and aching like the bruise on his cheek. "wow, someone thinks highly of themselves. good for you. are you autistic?" why was she saying that she was born yesterday? nate was under the impression that was a derogatory thing to say. he's in uncharted waters here, struggling to stay afloat amongst their unprecedented conversational tide. maybe she thinks he's a flight risk, and for good reason. he thinks the same about her. her offering is something to cling on to, at least, but it's not enough to anchor them. his gaze flits around the interior of her vehicle and then back to her face with a thoughtful expression. "uh. sounds dangerous, but exciting. i think i could. you should get a gym membership, if you don't have one. wear flip-flops in the showers," he advises, a small smile dimpling his cheeks. he'd assume she prefers her toenails the way they are, fungus free. the fact that he seems prepared for this conversation is something they could prod at, if they cared to. but nate has to continue biding his time, he can't entertain his escape yet. he wears hypervigilance like a second-skin. they've met twice, and that's a coincidence, three times is a pattern. nate's sure they'll meet again, and when that happens he'll likely have to convince her he's not a stalker. his gaze flits to the wristwatch sitting on his forearm, then back up to hara's delicate features. there's more beneath the shallow surface, he knows, but nate'll never hear the end of it if he's not back. "i've gotta go. you have a nice night."

❛ My story? ❜

Oh, so this is where he wants to pry in. She would have never understood off the soft launch of his previous asking. Her face is a show-and-tell of how much she doesn't like this. Maybe, deep deep inside she wants someone to yank her open at the make-shift seams. But Nate doesn't have the guts nor the time. He's got a silver plate mouth.

❛ Born sexy yesterday. ❜ Does he now this trope? Maybe not. Feels like a little of her gets born each day. She shakes off amniotic fluid every morning after a swim.

He sways kind of like waves, too. He veers off the shore of her in a way that rubs her the wrong way and then tides back in with a sweet-as-pie smile. What? Does he expect her to think he's really that shy? That he can't possibly finger through other conversation starters. It can't all be on her.

❛ I'm going on a roadtrip. ❜ It's not what he's asked but it's what she can offer. ❛ I'm done with this place. Going to live off this car for a while. What do you think of that? Could you? ❜

[egojock]

he huffs a breathlessly deep laugh, endeared by joe's wandering attention and hands. their first meeting was rocky and unbelievably complicated in the way that only nate's life could be, but he's delusional enough to think that everything that's come after has been surprisingly easy. being around joe was easy, it felt akin to muscle memory, familiar despite the truth being they haven't known each other for that long and nate never thought he'd trust him as much as he does. "you were in special ed before you dropped out, huh," nate taunts, cocky pretense faltering as soon as joe attaches his mouth to a pebbled nipple as his breath hitches, mouth going dry with want. his breathing picks up, an encouraging palm sliding to the nape of joe's neck to thread into the cropped hairs there, looking down at him with an molten chocolate gaze. he's so frustrating, which is typical, but now he's riling nate in an atypical way. his face heats up, averting his gaze as a tongue prods at the inside of his cheek. "god, please don't be a fucking dick." it's a precursor to the inevitable begging that will occur if joe keeps teasing him like this. he breaks the seal of joe's mouth around him and lifts his shirt off entirely, back muscles flexing as he tosses it aside. nate's hand returns to those short hairs at joe's nape, tugging his head upwards so nate can kiss him breathless, siphon off whatever smokes left in his lungs. he's tenting the denim of his jeans, throbbing with need as he rolls his hips down to grind against the adjacent bulge in joe's lap, hissing at the rough friction when their mouths separate. "c'mon. or i'll decide for you," nate pleads, thumbing the fly of joe's jeans down to stroke the shape of his cock through more forgiving fabric, brows pinched and tongue sandwiched between his lips in concentration.

it probably says something about them both that after feeling like shit, they're that much easier to rouse, that much quicker to bend, and it shows. even with the windows tinted by nightfall, and their surroundings predictably empty, nate wouldn't do this up front. unlike joe, he has more to lose; more of a reputation to care about; a family to worry over. but with a curious lapful, and a set of words delivered like bait, joe's priorities reset — consequences tossed out the figurative window. selfish, he exhales, greedy hands surging forth to palm nate's ass over his jeans. their eyes meet, pupils partially blown. "huh?" joe wets his bottom lip, roaming blues dragging then to the part of nate's thighs, the ends of his top occasionally bunched to reveal slivers of hot skin. " — what i have in mind?" he's murmuring, half attentive when his left hand changes route, climbing instead up the enticing hem of nate's shirt. the fabric hooks between joe's thumb and forefinger, riding up higher — higher still. muscled ridges, a characteristic birthmark, a broad chest, moderately obscured. he isn't salivating, but he's close to it — embarrassing as that is. and in the midst of thought, joe leans in, tongue flattening over a pert nipple. his adjacent hand squeezes in tow, enthusiasm spiking when he sucks at the sensitive skin, teeth grazing it ever so slightly.

[egojock]

nate offers a remorseful and acknowledging smile, along with a shrug of his shoulders. chester is brash and loud, unapologetically flamboyant in all the ways a person he could possibly be, but doesn't rattle or stand down when challenged with nate's toxic brand of all-american masculinity. he can sense chester's prickling disdain for him a mile away, and it's not like nate doesn't understand it. "i know you probably hate me. and you're right, i did mean to offend you. hurt you? not exactly. i just .. wanted your attention," nate admits, the swell of his bottom lip tugged sheepishly between his teeth, not eager to clarify why that is. but chester seemed like the no-nonsense type, so he knows it's a matter of time before nate has to abhor doing -- showcasing any type of vulnerability. his gaze flits up to meet chester's opposing brown eyes, exhaling softly. "you kind of, uhm. scare the shit out of me. everything about you, and everything you stand for," nate tells him, sincere even though this was probably something chester could've figured himself. he's sure the opposite is true for chester, too. but he should know that nate is not all he pretends to be. his face flushes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. he doesn't know why he gives a fuck what chester thinks of him. it's not like it matters. "and i know ... you probably have these ideas about me, based on the way i act at school, or on the football field. you probably think i'm some homophobic shit-for-brains jock. nothing more to write home about. am i wrong?" nate's not going to make a case for himself, implore that there's anything more to him, not if chester's unwilling to hear it. "i might just surprise you." or disappoint you.

chester wears his skepticism on his sleeve, narrowed glances shifting from the questionable sympathy in nate's features to the heavy hand gripping his. it isn't entirely threatening, though it ought to be considering the conversation just prior — but it's delivered with a mumbled pleading, offered, despairing. and then the anchor leaves, unhooking from the bend of chester's wrist, and the pointed judgment softens — albeit only somewhat. men like nate scatter across all states. their confidence is beaten, ramshackled, the pressure of high octane masculinity compacting them into predictable molds. ie, they get upset with literally everyone. but these junk adjusting, axe scented, fritos over tostitos because dips are fucking gay types, tend to hunt together (the pack mentality is a nauseating disease), so chester gifts nate the smallest pinch of gracious doubt because of an unexpected solitude. it is his pitiful reaction that does it, his mumbling implications that stop chester from storming away. he doesn't lower the figurative walls immediately, but he does fold both arms across his chest in waiting. "i don't believe that for a second — that you didn't mean to hurt me, to be clear. but i'll hear you out." then because chester wants nate to know, full well, and with utmost certainty, that he is getting a second chance due to a bloated generosity. he isn't charmed, nor particularly sympathetic, just temporarily forgiving, and permanently curious. "what is it you have to say to me, huh?"

[egojock]

a look of disgust flickers over nate's face, flitting to the saliva covered straw and then back up to martin's mouth. it looked like the dog had gotten a hold of it. why nate's fine with mouth to mouth kissing but not whatever martin's trying to do is something that would take forever to articulate, so he merely shakes his head. "a nobody is someone who inflicts suffering on themselves by still using paper biodegradable straws even when the turtles are irrevocably fucked." his tone is as dry as his delivery, illustrating that he doesn't really care much either way and nate was merely trying to buy himself some time to filter his genuine answer. it was a broad question that nate didn't really know how to parse. "personally? i think a nobody is someone without a sense of discipline, who does whatever they want without thoughts of consequences or how their actions affect others." he's aware it sounds like he's describing himself — nate's not likely to disagree with that interpretation, either. sometimes you had to call a spade a spade. he gnaws at the swell of his bottom lip with a far-off look in his eyes, shaking his head dismissively. "you're not a nobody or even a fake somebody, martin. you've got real principles. you care about people." he doesn't know why, because nate thinks most people fucking suck and aren't worth caring about, but he thinks it's commendable that martin does.

❛ i always thought it would be better to be a fake somebody, than a real nobody. ❜ @egojock

martin crosses his legs, shoulders hunched over as he sips an ice cold lemonade. it isn't as sweet as he'd like; his mom does it best (although anna was good with lemonade too) but he'll take it in opposition of the summer heat. his arms aren't pink under the sun yet. he extends the drink out to nate, paper straw lightly chewed with habit. "what does a nobody look like?"

[egojock]

nate was a man of few words, and even fewer when he was around somebody new. hara was an unknown variable, and it took a lot for nate to relinquish control in any capacity. he shrugs his shoulders, an uncharacteristically sheepish and boyish look on his face. "i dunno, i was just .. wondering if you had a story. if you don't, then i guess you've gotta get creative, or we've got nothing to talk about," he muses, not intending to sound brusque. he's taken a blow to the head and now a minor scratch to his ego, but nate's not exactly surprised if he isn't making a whole lot of sense right now. hara's done him a service, extended him compassion and offered her a window of her time, but he's not going to bend her arm against her back to get to know him if that's not what she's interested in. the act would be a huge undertaking, anyhow. he feels flustered enough with just her unwavering gaze on him, so he can imagine he'll start sweating bullets even with the air conditioning on if they start digging into one another. "thanks for givin' me butterflies, anyhow. the painkillers too," nate says, sincere as he offers her a sweet smile. he's also not the best at reading social cues, so he's trying to gauge if this was the end of their little exchange and determine whether or not he should lick his wounds elsewhere. she should be flattered he's attempting to socialize at all, but he's not going to take it personally if the interest isn't reciprocated. ships in the night.

A 'fingering in the pie' kind of attempt. He calls a pry a pry. But of which pie exactly? Her fingers comb through the last string of dialogue to seek it out herself. But she's less fluent in subtleties, let alone so few. There's a lengthy pause. The music on the radio fills the space instead.

❛ What about me... what? ❜

Does she find kindness aimed at her suspicious? Undoubtedly. Niceties with their root-strings got her more ache than not. Trees talk differently. They fall and the whole community system of them hears it under dirt.

Does Nate have dirt under his fingers? Has he been clawing out or in?

That's not what he's asking. She's certain.

The summer heat has settled off her sponge-skin. She feels regulated in the air condition. Even where her knee bends does not feel the uncomfortable stick of sweat it had when they lingered inside. She takes another sip. Her gaze hasn't left him in awhile.

❛ I don't understand what you're asking. ❜ Honestly? Honestly. It works for her. Its always split things to some kind of open.

[egojock]

it would be easier, more comfortable to keep wading in the shallow waters of the kiddie pool, to stick to flirtation and surface level small talk. the ice echoes the tension. nate has constructed his mask well, the boyish bravado only crumbling under immense pressure -- because as practiced and sharp as he is, he can only pretend for so long before his wounded child comes out. his cruelty is not always calculated. that's the part that makes things complicated. if a monster is remorseful, promises to do better and learn from his mistakes, if a tree falls down and no one is around, does it really make a sound? his efforts to change don't amount to much when he gets pushed. soft brown eyes flit over her features, a weak self-effacing smile tugging at his lips. it's more like a grimace. it's the easy, obvious thing to say. "you don't give yourself enough credit," is nate's wooden reply, but he's sincere in his sentiment even if his delivery is lacking. "i've been through worse alone, i think. maybe that's why kindness feels suspicious," he muses, tiptoeing cautiously into deeper waters. for once, nate's not trying to make waves, but it equally unnerves him when things are too calm. a bridge over troubled water. always waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nate's not so detached he doesn't realize he's sometimes the shoe angrily hurled against the wall. "what about you? sorry. not trying to pry."

Hara watches him swallow a little of her down, knowingly, and calls it honey. Her tongue circles buccal cavity but the way her mouth tugs into a harsh beam can not be contained. Half a giggle slices out through the lick of a bottommost lip.

She takes the cup from him when he's done and sips down a little of him. Ice rings between them; her hand hovers there too.

She would prefer to linger in the flirtations, as delicate and airy as they are, to the slight tone shift of his questioning.

❛ Sucks to go through what you did alone. ❜

❛ If ❜ when ❛ I was in your position, I think you would have done the same. ❜ She lies a little here and there. Not well. Not in the body, inner or out. Orbiting too close to truth here is dangerous. Uncomfortable.

And then there's the truth that she doesn't think he would be doing the same. She's never had anyone in the aftermath.

( it's far easier to be nice than not )

[egojock]

nate grins despite himself, enjoying their little game of push and pull. he didn't mind headgames, a bit of riling before a fuck, because he could remain somewhat obscured and not too vulnerable too soon. he's prickly when it comes to being humiliated and has an ego the size of texas, but even he can admit her jabs are creative and amusing. "not too far off the money. i'm just trying not to go for the low-hanging fruit. you'll change your mind about wanting to fuck me, and you seem like the type of girl who'd want me to mean to you during it, so," he explains with a cocky little shrug of his shoulders, dimples deepening. if that assumption is wrong, he'd rather hear about it now than later. nate was an athlete, so he never really worried about not performing well when it came to physical prowess, but there was a psychological component to sex that was near impossible for him to shy away from. even when he was trying to keep things casual, he struggled. but if she couldn't keep her wisecracks to herself, he'd punish her in the exact way she wants. an irritated tongue prods at the inside of his cheek when she says something about his father, unknowingly trampling over a landmine. he shakes his head, a menacing grin on his lips as he trails after her to the motel room. "keep fuckin' talking, and see what happens," nate warns, letting her use her imagination about what the punishment would be. he has a few ideas already. a dark gaze roams over her deceptively sweet features, flitting down to her lips and then back up with a breathy chuckle. "i like that you dress like a slut. i'd like it less if you were my girlfriend, though. i'm the sadistic, uh, possessive type," nate confesses, crowding her against the doorframe and sliding his palms around her thighs, squeezing the muscle suggestively. "y'gonna use the room key, or do you want me to fuck you against this door?" wandering hands slide a little higher to snag at the waistband of her panties, tugging them down the expanse of pale thighs.

ㅤㅤbeing the centre of attention was nothing new for sasha. her style made her stand out, and whilst she didn't necessarily seek approval, she did like having people's eyes on her. but she liked having nate's on her more — even if he did run his mouth. " fuck you, man. at least have the balls to not be so fucking vague about it. you're just pissed 'cause my assumptions were right. " her voice was bitter yet smut nonetheless, taking another drag before embers fly when she tossed the half burnt-out cigarette on the ground to snuff out with black heels.

ㅤㅤannoyance doesn't disappear but it definitely lessened at his sudden forwardness. where had that been when he'd made his snide remarks? not that she didn't deserve them. like he said — she was a brat. " well, fuck... i dunno if you can fuck me that hard... " she quipped, smug smile having returned the second his hand was resting at her waist. " i've been told i'm real bratty... " crooked whites toy at full and glossy lips, shifting slightly on her feet as the warmth between her thighs stirred as the cold night air nipped at her bruised and ample ass. she liked this game. sasha had almost forgotten how fun it was to be chased after by someone who wasn't paying. and the fact that he was a walking-talking wet dream definitely had her ego swelling.

ㅤㅤno one ever asked what she liked. she wasn't paid to enjoy it. but she enjoyed this — enjoyed him. " no room of your own? daddy really did cut you off, huh. " near-black eyes twinkle with excitement as she stepped away from him, not bothering to take him by the hand. she knew he'd follow. " you're lucky i don't charge. " she walked like a woman with a purpose, and that purpose was to get fucked — her hips naturally swaying as she didn't care to pull her skirt back down. sasha's room wasn't far; she was staying in the one furthest from the steps, room number 666. well, it looked more like 669 because the third number had a screw loose. she came to a halt before opening the door, her back pressed against it as she gazed up at him, reaching out to toy with the string of his hoodie. " well, what do you like, nate? and why is it me? "

[egojock]

nate beams in response, unabashed of his conceited patriotism. "yeah. best country in the world. we've got soft power and hard power. meanwhile, your royally inbred days are numbered." he didn't really understand the historical or political differences between ireland and english, but unbeknownst to nate, this too, was an american mindset. even with their difference in nationality, it's not like they had much in common aside from that. joe wasn't a jock, probably not even middle-class, and so nate imagines his father wouldn't be too happy to know that they were friends. thank fuck the days of trying to do the impossible, winning his father's approval, were over.

the walk over to the pharmacy is brisk, habitually turning his head to make sure joe was at least a few paces behind him before carrying on. he nudges the door open with an elbow, bell jingling to alert the cashiers of their entry. knowing joe's previous sticky-fingered incidents, nate's a bit wary, but meanders through the aisles glued to his side anyhow. a dark gaze flits over to joe's face, lips parting in mild surprise before shaking his head dismissively. "nothing too bad, yeah. my phone taken away. inquiries and accusations about the people i'm letting influence my life. a lecture or two." it's only gotten physical a few times, to the point where it was hardly worth mentioning to anyone, least of all to joe. they weren't the touchy-feely type, just touchy. "need anything else while we're here? i'll buy."

joe flips him off, the nail of it dark with dried blood and dirt. " — fuck off! yer just too far up yer own ass to try. thas' real american of ya." his pointed index lifts in replacement, jabbing accusatory and taunting and playful in the air. the squabbling continues even as nate keeps him company, takes to his side without prompt, and it's easier to manage when neither of them bring up the growing familiarity. they're pretty good at that — at letting the implicating actions simmer, slip in and out without laser focus. if asked, joe wouldn't call himself ashamed of their exchanges, nor embarrassed of them, but he feels threatened when nate meets his eye, when he says something charged and warm. it's different when they're fucking, easier when there are several points of contact, two handfuls of youthful distractions; and harder when they're in public, elbows barely brushing, conversing over nothing. the neighbourhood's quiet, suburban and empty. joe wets his bottom lip, skirts his gaze over then when there's a lull. "...what happens 'nyway, if yer not home by six, huh? — yer grounded or somethin'? get yer phone taken from ya?"

[egojock]

his gaze, as expected, flits to the generous sight of her tits almost threatening to spill out of her top, then back up to her shapely mouth. nate shakes his head dismissively with a smirk, privately pleased he'd managed to get her hackles raised when he was taking shots in the dark. "nothing. but if you're gonna make smart-mouthed assumptions about my life, it's only fair i get to return the heat, right? go toe to toe with you?" nate's tempted to go for the low hanging fruit, assume she has a plethora of daddy issues to end up in this line of work. seems stupid, petty and cruel to voice them. nate was capable of that, but there was a time and place. was there any wonder his dad had been so taken with her? guess not. an irritated tongue prods at the inside of his cheek when she casually blows smoke in his face, patience waning thin. "yeah. i was thinking about fucking the brat out of you," he returns, inky black gaze heating up as an audacious palm settles at the dip of her waist, squeezing slightly. the touch traverses downwards, flipping up her skirt to grope the globe of a pale asscheek, once again staring at her lips. "show me back to your room? and tell me what you like." nate's assuming she has one rented already, especially since she'd said something about escaping from 'someone.' he was past the point of caring whether or not it was already occupied, he'd lay a motherfucker out if it meant having sasha all to himself.

ㅤㅤsasha had encountered all different kinds of men in her line of work. she’d been doing it for over a decade now, which made her stomach churn to think about, but what really is the passing of a few years to a girl who had been dead inside for even longer? she’d met, and fucked, a dozen nate’s. at least that’s what she’d thought. until he talked, and she finds herself wishing that the other nate’s had been this nate. elbows rest against the rusty railing, purposely emphasising the ample cleavage of her breasts as they threatened to burst out of the tight bikini top she’d turned into an outfit with the help of her black harness and a tiny skirt decored with a compilation of chunky belts. she’d dress that way even if it wasn’t for her job. she wanted men like him to notice her for free, after all. 

ㅤㅤ" and what the fuck is that s’posed to mean? ”  dark brows are furrowed as she stared up at him defensively, her annoyance towards him almost outweighing her attraction. almost. characteristically dishevelled locks blow in the night air’s breeze, head tilting a tad as he closed in on her; annoyance starting to pale as his handsomeness becomes more apparent with the increasing proximity, cigarette hanging limply between her fingers as she exhaled in his face whilst he spoke.  “ between girlfriends. ”  she echoed, amusement evident in her tone as crooked whites toyed with her lower lip when he reached out, a breath getting caught in the back of her throat. inky orbs followed his fingers, swallowing thickly as her head tilted enough to watch as the leather crashed against her skin, making her cleavage bounce as skin rippled under the force. she didn’t remember him being this fun the first time they’d met.  “ depends. ”  she straightened up, pressing into his touch, if he dared to do it again. she wanted him to do it again, at least…  “ what are you doing later? ”