#crush on nat

[urdeadpoet]

I FINISHED YELLOWJACKETS

me anytime nat was on the screen:

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Natalie makes an unexpected appearance in your life, again. Shocker.

wc: 16,550

warnings: violence/description of injury, mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of gun violence, mentions of substance use (alcohol and recreational drugs), emotional distress/trauma, smut(afab!reader), first-time mishaps

a/n: this is a long ass chapter. i had to sacrifice multiple teenage soccer players to some entity in the forest in order to publish this. shout out the wilderness (my girl) for proof-reading and helping me with everything <3

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

NEXT - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO [WIP]

It's been weeks since you last talked to Natalie. Sure, you've seen her around the halls at school, but she's made it a point not to even glance in your direction. You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt.

Time has moved by in a blur of early sunsets, biting wind, and the slow buildup of snow on the streets as New Jersey heads deeper into winter. You’ve managed to keep yourself busy—trying to spend time with the friends you had before Nat, reading whatever books you can get, pouring yourself deeper into your studies, and retreating into the pages of your sketchbook. 

Still, no amount of distractions has been enough to banish her from your mind completely. The absence that she leaves is louder than you thought it would be. 

For such a short time of knowing her, you feel like you've known her much longer; maybe that's half the problem. Every time your phone buzzes, some delusional part of your brain hopes it's her, even though you know better.

You’ve replayed that 'fight' in your head a hundred times, searching for the exact moment things went wrong, wondering what you could have said—or not said—to change the outcome. Should you have just let her kiss you despite the fact you were uncomfortable in that situation? Should you just not have said anything? Should you—

Your thoughts have been spiralling a lot recently.

The snowstorm that arrived earlier this week has only made things worse. You've been stuck at home for days with nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen to the endless bickering of your parents. It's enough to make you want to scream.

Outside, the snow continues to fall to the ground in large, fluffy snowflakes, blanketing the ground and trapping you in this suffocating stillness. You swear that if the roads don't get plowed soon, you're going to lose your mind.

You sit by your window, head resting on the cold glass. The roads are supposed to be clear come morning, which means you'll be back to school soon, but you find yourself dreading the return. 

You don't know if you could manage Natalie avoiding you for the rest of the term, let alone the rest of the school year. You've thought about texting her countless times. But what would you even say? Maybe apologize for how you acted that night—but what would you even say sorry for? For poking into her information? For being concerned about her? For wanting to get to know her?

Fuck.

She was the one who walked away from you, anyway. Why would—no, why should you be the one to reach out, right?

Fuck.

Even now, as you sit beside your window, you keep your phone in your hand with your fingers stuck hovering over her contact name. You can't even count the number of times you've done this song-and-dance since that day, but it always ends the same way—with you getting frustrated and throwing your phone onto your bed. 

Today is no different.

With a huff, you toss your phone onto your bed and cross your arms, petulantly clunking your head against the window pane. You should be over this, over her, by now, your brain uselessly provides. 

Before you can think deeper into this, your phone buzzes once. Whatever, it's probably just your mom saying dinner is ready. 

Then twice. 

Okay… little strange, but maybe she was just sending a follow-up message to clarify something?

Then your phone starts ringing. Your mom is persistent tonight, huh?

Yet, when you check your phone, it isn't your mom. No, this is much more unexpected. Natalie is calling you.

You can't help it when you just stare at the screen, slack-jawed, wondering why the hell she's calling you now, of all times, six in the evening on a Wednesday. In your shock, you accidentally let the call go to voicemail. Fortunately, she's calling you back right away. She is nothing if not persistent. 

Taking a few deep breaths, you answer the phone on the fourth ring, trying to keep your voice steady. "Hello?"

There are a few moments of nothing but static, and you're starting to wonder if this was her idea of a prank call, and then you hear a sharp exhale. "Hey," Natalie says, voice rough and strained. "Listen…" A shaky exhale leaves her lips, "I, uh, kinda need a favour, Princess."

You scoff immediately at that, ready to start listing off all the reasons that you don't owe her shit, that you deserve better than this, that you—

"Please," comes out from the speakers—barely audible, but there. "Please," she repeats, "and bring a first-aid kit, if you have one."

"Woah, woah, wait—" You start shaking your head in confusion despite the fact she can't see you. "First-aid kit? Nat? What the hell is going on? Are you okay? What the fu—"

"Princess," Nat snaps, though her voice is still shaky. "I'll explain later, I promise." You hear a grunt of exertion from the other end, "I just… need some help right now. I'm out front."

You run back to your window and see a beat-up Ford Ranger from the eighties idling on the street. "I, uh, I…" A shaky exhale parts from your lips, and you blink rapidly, "Okay, okay. I just… okay. First-aid kit. Out front. Okay. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be right there."

The line clicks off as you start throwing on whatever clothes you can find to face the weather outside. Admittedly, a hoodie and jeans aren't going to help keep you warm, but they'll do for now. Hopefully, she has heating in her truck.

Your parents barely acknowledge how you run downstairs and into the bathroom on the main floor, grabbing the kit from the wall before running back out and scrambling to throw on some shoes.

"You going somewhere?" Your dad asks from the couch, not bothering to look away from the TV screen, "In this weather?"

"Uhhhh…" You blink, trying to think of an excuse or reason why, "I just… going crazy inside the house. Gonna go visit… the… Monroe's! Yeah, I'll go visit the Monroe's." 

Your mom waves her hand idly at that, dismissing you. "Okay, sweetie. Say hi to Janet for me. Have fun, text us later."

Well. You suppose having parents who barely care is useful now and then.

A noncommittal nod and you're out the front door—immediately met with the bitter cold and fluffy snowflakes you've been avoiding for what feels like years. Fortunately, there isn't much wind, so it's not as bad as it could be.

You stumble your way through the snow that your father has (conveniently) forgotten to shovel after the last snowfall, grumbling to yourself as you try not to faceplant into a snowbank. By the time you reach Nat's truck, you swear your fingers feel like they're gonna fall off. Maybe you should have worn gloves. Whoops.

Throwing the passenger door open, you clamber inside the cab with a huff, eagerly soaking in the heated interior. "Oh, thank God. It was so cold out—" You turn to look at Nat and see her looking at you with a cut lip, bloody nose, bruised left eye, and a wince. "What the hell happened to you?" Comes out before you can stop it, those damn worries overriding any anger you had about her calling you up just for a 'favour.' 

"Tell you after I stop bleeding?" She offers with an attempted smile that looks more like a grimace.

A beat passes as you stare at her and try to assess her injuries (and how she got them) without touching her before Nat clears her throat awkwardly, "So, got that first-aid kit, or…?"

"Right." You blink a few times before snapping out of whatever haze you were in and fumble with the kit for a moment before popping it open and digging through its contents. "I, uh, have some antiseptic wipes and band-aids…" Sparing a glance back up at Nat to reassess her wounds, you frown to yourself. "Although I really don't know how much help a band-aid would be for what you have going on."

Nat snorts, which causes her to wince in discomfort, then raises her hands for you to see, "Yeah, but it might help with some of the cuts on my knuckles." 

Her knuckles aren't in a much better state than her face is, dark red and purple spots colour her usually pale skin. She has more than a few minor cuts decorating the tops of her hands, but the largest one—a throbbing cut on her right hand—creates a streak of dried blood that runs down her wrist and under the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"What the hell were you doing?" You ask, immediately moving to grab her right hand and inspect the injury. "Jesus Christ, Nat! You need to start—"

"Princess." Nat cuts you off, her face still contorted in barely concealed pain. "I will tell you whatever you wanna know after we deal with this shit, yeah?

With great reluctance, you stop your prodding and pull out some supplies from the kit—antiseptic wipes, band-aids, gauze, and some skin-safe tape. "This…" You sigh, "The antiseptic is gonna sting a little, probably."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Nat rolls her eyes—acting tougher than she actually feels—then proceeds to wince and let out a low hiss the second the wipe makes contact with a cut. "Fucking… shit…" But she doesn't pull away, letting you quietly clean her right hand of dried blood, allowing you to see how bad the cuts are.

As the excess blood is gradually removed, you begin to notice how vigorously Nat is shaking. When you glance up at her face, it almost looks like she's trying not to cry, but you can see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. If you didn't know better, you'd say something about it.

So, rather than speaking on it, you clear your throat and return your attention to cleaning her hand. "Uh… do you want me to clean up the blood that went under your jacket sleeve? It's just a little…" A nervous laugh spills from your throat, "I can't clean it off with your jacket in the way."

Nat blinks a few times in response, seemingly forgetting you were there in favour of not crying. "Oh, nah. It's fine. I don't have any injuries on my arms or whatever. Blood can be cleaned off later. More concerned about…" She grunts and flexes her hand, "I'm more concerned about the shit that's actually hurting."

"Is your face 'actually hurting' too, or just your hands?" You murmur, more to yourself than her, as you look back up at her face and the injuries that reside on it. "Because you've got some stuff up there I should probably clean, too."

A noncommittal groan leaves her lips, and it appears that's all the answer you're going to get to that question. You get the feeling that Nat isn't exactly the type to ask for help unless she really needs it, and although her face is most likely hurting as well, she isn't about to admit it.

When you get her hands cleaned up, it's more evident that her right side suffered the most. The left has some bruising and a few tiny knicks, but nothing that you'd need to put a bandage on. The right has considerably more damage—deep abrasions run across her knuckles; skin split in places where it had taken the brunt of whatever impact caused this. The largest cut is a wicked thing, stretching from her index finger to the base of her thumb, red and raw despite the dried blood you’d wiped away.

Bruises in varying shades of purple and green bloom along her knuckles and the back of her hand, stark against her pale skin. A faint swelling around her middle knuckle suggests she may have hit something—or someone—too hard, too many times. It’s the kind of injury that’s not just painful but one that will linger, a reminder of whatever fight she got herself into.

You sigh as you take a bandage from the first-aid kit, apply some gauze to the wound, and then wrap it to keep it in place. "You'll need to take care of this after I finish here; you realise that, right?" You already know she isn't going to properly take care of this cut after the two of you part, but at least you can say you tried. 

"Yeah, yeah." Nat grumbles, "I'll wash it and keep it real clean, just for you." 

A sharp huff leaves your lips at her statement, "You know, Nat, you really need to start taking better care of yourself." You grab a safety pin to keep the bandage wrap in place, "What would you have done if I didn't have a first-aid kit? Or wasn't here? Or didn't wanna speak to you?" Maybe you 'accidentally' stab Nat's already bruised hand with the safety pin as you put it in place, but she deserves it. Probably. "Like, seriously. What would you have—"

"Okay," Nat cuts you off, pulling her hand back the second the pin is set. "I get it. But I don't need the fucking lecture, yeah?" A tense beat passes before she speaks again, quieter this time. "But… I 'preciate it. You… being here for me, or whatever. After all the shit…" She sighs heavily, glancing down at the empty space in the bench seat between the two of you. "Thanks, or whatever."

You get the feeling that's the closest thing you'll get to an apology and let out a heavy sigh of your own. "Yeah, well…" A shrug, and you're glancing back up at her face. "Do you…" You clear your throat, "Do you, ah, want some help with the marks on your face?"

"Oh." Nat looks at you, "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."

Grabbing a fresh antiseptic wipe, you lean in and begin cleaning her face to the best of your abilities. As you lean closer, you first notice the cut on her lower lip—a thin but angry line, the skin split and swollen slightly at the edges. Dried blood clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth, and when you dab at it with the antiseptic wipe, she hisses and attempts to move her head away.

"Stop moving." You mumble out, grabbing her chin and forcing her to maintain the position her head is in, "It'll only be worse if you keep moving, Nat." 

Her nose isn't fairing much better, darkened with a deep bruise that spreads across her bridge and down to her left nostril. Dried blood is crusted just under where the bruise ends, staining the normally pale skin. From how her nose is swollen, you get the idea that it might be broken, but there's no way to tell.

Unless…

Still holding her chin with one hand, you take your other and pinch the bridge of her nose, to which Nat immediately tries to pull back from you with a sharp hiss of pain, but your grip on her is firm. And, fortunately, "I don't think your nose is broken." You murmur as you release her nose and return to assessing her injuries.

"You had to fucking grip it like that?" As you continue your work, Nat snarls—or attempts to, but she really isn't that scary right now.

"Sure did," is the only response you dignify her with, now turning your attention to her left eye. The aforementioned eye is a striking sight, the skin around it already shifting into shades of deep purple. It’s swollen, but she can still open it enough to glare at you when you press too hard with the wipes.

A faint scratch runs along her cheekbone, the depth similar to one of a paper cut, but appearing as though she just missed a greater injury. Another minor knick marks her jawline, the red line about the length of the switchblade you've seen her carry around.

You work carefully, trying not to flinch at the sight of her injuries, your hands steady even as your stomach churns. Nat, true to form, stays mostly silent, though her jaw tightens with every dab of antiseptic. The tension in the air is thick, but she doesn’t push you away for once.

When you finish cleaning her off (leaving a small mountain of antiseptic wipes in your wake), you sigh as you properly look at her. The usually infallible Natalie Scatorccio looking like a wounded puppy, and it genuinely makes your heart ache.

You close the first-aid kit before attempting to meet her eyes, but she's pointedly looking away from you. "Nat…" You sigh, "Would you please tell me what happened? Why you ended up looking like a side character from Fight Club?"

Nat hesitates, jaw tensing up again as she glances out the windshield. "I…" A deep sigh leaves her nose, and she clenches her left hand on the steering wheel. "Only if I can get us out of here. I… I don't wanna talk here. I feel fucking suffocated in this shitty ass town."

"The roads are terrible, Nat. Where the hell would we even go? And your truck isn't exactly—"

"I have a place." Nat cuts you off, "I have a place I can take us, and I can handle the roads. I can handle the drive. I just… fuck. I need to get out of this town for a little."

Maybe you're dumb for this, but you don't even hesitate when you say "okay."

"Thank you," Nat says quietly as she puts the car into gear and starts pulling away from your house—

"Wait!" You say, fumbling to put your seatbelt on, "You don't have your seatbelt on! And the roads are really bad, and you're already hurt—"

She cuts you off with a dismissive wave of her hand and a snort, "Jesus, alright, I'll put the fuckin' seatbelt on. Relax." And she does, making a display of putting on her seatbelt before continuing to leave your neighbourhood.

"Gonna be a long drive, Princess." Nat grunts, turning the volume up on whatever she was listening to before you sat down in the car with her. "Get comfortable."

It is a long drive.

And Nat doesn't talk the entire time. You try to prod for questions, but she always dismisses you with a grunt, wave of her hand, or just straight-up ignores you. Which, on its own, is very frustrating. But couple it with the last interaction you had with Nat before this? Oh, it is very frustrating.

So, by the time you get to your destination, you're about ready to blow a gasket with how frustrating this goddamn woman is.

"Are you gonna tell me what the hell happened to you yet?" As she parks her truck, you huff out, "Or are we just gonna sit here and get nowhere?" 

"You wanted to know what happened?" Nat takes her hand off the gearshift and faces you, one arm resting on the seat behind her while the other stays perched on the steering wheel. "Ask your questions. I'll fucking…" She exhales hard through her nose, "I'll answer them. Just…" Nat reaches across the car and opens the glovebox, taking out a flask. "I'm drinking."

Your mouth drops in shock as she opens the flask and greedily drinks whatever liquid is inside of it, making a face when she pulls away from the opening. "Shit, that burns. What the hell is in here?"

"Nat—you don't even know what you just drank?" You grab the flask from her, looking down into it as if you would be able to tell what is inside of it from vision alone. The liquid—which you can barely make out in the lack of light—appears to be dark brown and has a scent you don't recognize but smells like it is very strong.

She rolls her eyes and grabs the flask back from you, "Relax, it's probably just moonshine or some shit like that." A dismissive wave of her free hand and another swig from the flask before she caps it again, "You gonna ask your questions or just stare at me like I drank lighter fluid?" 

"You might as well have if we're being honest." A deep sigh parts from your lips as you settle back in your seat, "I just… okay. Why were you beat to shit? And… and why does it look like you also beat someone to shit?"

Nat runs her tongue over her teeth, leaning her head back against the seat with a groan. "Shit, where do I even start?" Her left hand tightens around the flask, and her knuckles go white momentarily before she loosens her grip.

"Maybe start with the fact someone went to use your face as a punching bag? You know, that seems like a good place to start."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Nat sits up straighter, tapping the flask against the steering wheel in thought. "You remember that guy Denny?"

Your jaw tenses at the name, and suddenly, you're back in that abandoned house all those weeks ago. "Yeah, uh… I remember." It's hard to forget, after all. Hard to forget when the name that carries the face is burned into your mind.

"He wasn't too happy with me today." She glances through the windshield, but you get the idea that she's not actually looking at anything but just into the night's darkness.

"Clearly," your voice drips with sarcasm, but the worry that you've attempted to mask with it is unmistakable. "What happened?"

Nat hesitates, still unable to meet your gaze or face you again. "I was supposed to have something for him—money. I, uh, I didn't. He got pissed. We argued. One of his guys tried to step in, and…" She shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "I didn't take it lying down. I did far too much of that growing up." A bitter smile crosses her face, but it looks more like a sneer than anything.

"You fought them?!" You sit up, face incredulous. "Nat! That guy runs with a crew! You're just one person, and you're already…" You gesture to her bruised features frantically.

"Yeah, I know." She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, "But I couldn't just… let them walk all over me. I know it wasn't my brightest moment, okay? I don't need the reminders, already got enough of those." Nat flexes her hand underneath the bandage, wincing slightly at the skin, pulling at the cut.

Your lips press into a thin line as your brow furrows, frustration and concern boiling over in waves. "And now what, Nat? What if they show up again? What then? Will you be safe or end up like this again?"

A sharp, humourless chuckle leaves her, "Safe? Oh, Princess. I haven't been safe a goddamn day in my life. I won't fucking be safe until I die, and even then? Who knows." She scoffs, hitting the steering wheel with her left hand in frustration, causing you to flinch slightly at the display of anger.

You swallow, shrinking back into your seat. "Is there no one to help you? I swear I remember them mentioning something about your 'old man'? Can he help?"

Nat scoffs ruefully, "My dad has been dead for years. Who do you think was kind enough to give me this debt?" She takes another swig from the flask, then scowls when she realises it's empty and tosses it onto the dash. "I'm the one left to pick up the fucking pieces."

A frown crosses your face at that, and you genuinely don't know how to respond for a long moment.

Eventually, when words come to you, you try offering something, however small it is. "I may not have the money to help, but… I'm here for you, Nat. I wanted to be weeks ago, but… I'm offering again now."

"You shouldn't have to be there for me." She says immediately, a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of someone caring for her. "You shouldn't be."

You shake your head, "But I want to be, you know? And… you can't make me not care. You're stuck with the knowledge that I do, in fact, care and want to help."

Despite herself, Nat lets a laugh part from her lips. It bubbles slowly, eventually spilling into a loud sound that you can't help but return. The small space of her car is filled with egregious laughter from both of you, ultimately resulting in tears beginning to prick at your eyes. 

When the laughter subsides, that turmoil that had bubbled between the two of you feels lessened to some extent, and you're grateful for the respite in the tension. 

"I've got a lot of baggage, you know?" Nat says quietly, almost like she doesn't even realise she's saying it out loud. "Dead dad who was a deadbeat, mom who spends her days passed out on the couch bitching that the guy that used to fucking beat her daily was actually a 'good guy.' Blames me for his death. Fuck, I blame me for his death. If I just fucking…" She cuts herself off and closes her eyes, jaw tensing once again. "It's fucked up, Princess. My entire life is just… fucked up. You don't need to get involved with it." 

"But I am already." You say quietly, fighting the urge to reach out and squeeze her hand in a show of support. "I mean… even without all the bullshit, I'm already involved in your life. We were…" You hesitate a beat before deciding you're already in too deep to care that much, "I think that we were friends, even if you don't. You… showed me your world, Nat, even if it was just fractions and slivers."

Nat's lip trembles, and it looks like she's holding back tears.

You get the feeling she's never had someone truly express their care as you did.

"I asked the questions I did that day because I wanted to know, Nat. I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know."

Her eyes close now, and she looks away from you properly, facing out the driver's door window. "Why?" She murmurs softly, voice breaking slightly. "Why? Why do you… fuck. Why do you give a shit?"

A scoff falls from your lips at that, "Seriously? Why do I care? Nat… you're a decent person, despite whatever the fuck you think. Like…" You try to think of an example, remembering when you and her went to that convenience store, "Like that time you stole that Buzz Ball for me! You only stole it because the clerk shortchanged you! Would you have just taken it if he didn't?"

A beat passes in silence before you hear a meek "no…" pass from Nat's lips, followed by a short sniffle.

Is… is Natalie Scatorccio crying? You didn't think that she could, but… well, you learn new things every day.

"I said all that shit to you after Denny left…" She trails off, vaguely wiping at her cheeks, "I don't deserve you."

"Maybe that's true." You smile softly despite the fact she can't see your face right now. "But I'm here anyways. And… I wanna know the shit. The stink. All of it, if you'll tell me."

Nat shakes her head, glancing at you for the first time since this conversation started. "It's a lot of 'stink,' Princess. There isn't much… fresh laundry scent in my life to talk about."

You shrug, "That's fine. I told you I wanted the stink, didn't I? Promise I got a strong nose."

The blonde sighs deeply, clearly battling with her words and debating whether she wants to tell you anything. She rolls her neck and leans back in her seat, a frown tugging at her features.

She finally speaks after a long moment of tense—slightly uncomfortable—silence. "The stink." She murmurs, glancing through the windshield again. "The stink is probably bad enough that it would fucking put a landfill to shame." The words come out harsh, and she takes a shaky breath before continuing. "Fine. You want the fucking trauma?" She glances back at you for a moment, and upon seeing that you genuinely seem to care, she deflates slightly and turns her head away again.

"My dad…" Her voice falters, and she swallows hard. "He wasn't a good guy. Mean as hell. Could make you feel small just by lookin' at you." Her fingers flex around the wheel, turning pale beneath the cacophony of bruises. Her gaze remains pointedly away from you as she speaks, and you get the feeling that if she were to look at you, she'd start crying. "He drank a lot. Sometimes other shit if he could get his hands on it." A rueful scoff, "That's probably where I got it from."

You don't interrupt, letting her get the words out, but a part of you almost aches to comfort her despite the hurt she's given you. She's had it worse, after all, hasn't she? What are some choice words on a single night when she's had the odds stacked against her her entire life?

"Wasn't just mean to me, though." She continues, voice quiet and bitter. "Mom usually got the worst of it. I was just the kid who was too scared to fight back. Until one day, I finally fucking tried to."

Her jaw tightens again, and she takes a shaky breath, a single tear falling from one of her eyes. "I was fourteen. He came home pissed—he always did, but I made the stupid fucking mistake of thinking I could have someone over while he was gone. It's not like I was even doing anything." Her upper lip twitches, a fragment of a sneer. "Just had a fucking friend over. I was painting his nails, and we were listening to music." A moment passes, and she swipes at the tear that fell before continuing. "Was yelling some shit. Mom came in to see what was going on, and he started hitting her." She runs her hand over her face, "I grabbed the shotgun we kept by the door. Didn't even think about it, you know? Just pointed it at him."

"Called my bluff. Went to pull the trigger, and I had the fucking safety on." A bitter laugh leaves her throat, bubbling as another tear falls. "Made a show of showing me how to turn the safety off. Called me and my mom fucking useless and left the trailer." Nat's laugh falters, and her expression shifts from a bitter smile to a vague frown, lower lip trembling in an effort not to cry. "I called out to him that he was the useless one. He turned around to say something and started walking back to me…" She shakes her head, hands trembling as she recalls the memory. "He tripped. Never turned the safety off. A shotgun-sized hole was in his head a second later."

A sharp inhale follows her statement, and you can see the bitter resentment that she's kept just beneath the surface since that moment. "Cops called it self-defense or some shit. Mom didn't see it that way and said I took away the only person who ever cared about her—started drinking more, smoking more, all that shit."

Denny came around a few months later, claiming my dad owed him. Took one look at me and decided that I'd be the one to repay that debt. God knows my mom couldn't give a shit."

The two of you sit in silence for a long minute after that. You don't dare speak; break the silence between you as Nat desperately tries to look like she isn't on the verge of a breakdown. 

"There," she finally utters once the silence becomes too much to bear, "that's the 'stink,' Princess. The fucking shit that got us where we are right now." She glances back at you again, and you can see the water in her eyes just begging to fall. "Still wanna stick around?"

You hesitate for a few seconds before giving her a slight nod, "I think I do, yeah."

"You're too good for this shit, you know that?" She murmurs, expression looking almost vulnerable. 

"Probably," you reply with a faint smile. "I'm here anyway. So… tough luck, Scatorccio."

For the first time tonight, a short but genuine laugh leaves Nat. "You… you really gotta stop pronouncing my last name like that. It's Scatorccio."

"Scatorccio?"

"No, Scatorccio."

"...Scatorccio?"

"No, Princess. Fucking…" She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces when she remembers that it's insanely tender right now. "Scat-or-she-o."

A beat, "I think I'll just call you Nat."

Nat laughs again, "Yeah, just call me Nat. That works, too."

"Is there… can I ask more questions?" You ask hesitantly, then immediately regret the words the second they leave your lips. She just told you what is arguably the most traumatizing event of her life, and you want to ask questions. Fucking hell.

"Yeah. Uh… ask away." Nat nods, "And don't give me that face. I promise you I can handle answering a few questions after that, Princess—I'm not made of sugar, not gonna melt."

You smile to yourself, "It isn't related to… well, it's kinda related to that, but it really isn't. Uhh… it's just questions about the… rumours?"

She sighs and rolls her neck, "Okay. Ask."

"Right, uhh…" You blink, partially surprised she's being so open with this, but… she did just tell you about her dad, so maybe she's just in a generous mood? "I guess I'll start with the biggest ones? Uh… like… you being a massive player?"

Nat frowns slightly, her tone bitter. "What are you asking? If I'm a 'slut'?"

"Woah, woah!" You immediately counter, throwing your hands up defensively, "I didn't mean it like that, Nat. I just wanted to know your side of the rumours, is all."

A heavy sigh leaves her, and she deflates momentarily, "Yeah, I think 'player' is a nice word for it, considering the other words people have used. But… I've only slept with three people. None of the experiences were great. I've made out with a lot of people at parties, but I've only actually been with three people properly."

"Okay… uh… when we went to the skatepark the first time, you told me about some of the shit that you've done. Was that everything? Or is your, uh, rap sheet longer?"

"Mm, mostly what I told you. The Mazda wasn't boosted on a dare, but Denny told me I needed to do it. I don't know how I didn't get caught." She sighs, glancing up at the roof of the truck as she tries to remember everything, "Let's see… shit that I actually got booked for, though? First thing that got me behind bars was disorderly conduct. It was right after my dad died and…" She gestures to nothing, "I was in a shit mood. Got a few nights. The thing that landed me in juvie for the summer was a second-degree robbery—you probably remember it; everyone does. Was when some guys robbed that convenience store, and only one was caught. It's public knowledge I was the one that was caught."

"I'm guessing it was Denny's idea? The robbery, I mean?" You prop one leg up on the bench seat and turn your body to face her, "I'm guessing most of the shit you've done was his idea, actually."

Nat nods, "Yeah. Was one of his 'do this to help lower the debt' ideas. Fuckin' store had less than a hundred in the till, and none of the assholes knew how to crack the floor safe that they used for deposits. Fucking dumbasses." She spits, "I could have sold them out for less time. Knew that they'd make my life a living hell if I snitched, so I kept quiet."

You nod, digesting the information. "Right. And, uh, last one. The whole… 'druggie' thing."

She huffs and cuts you off before you can keep talking, "Yeah, that I shoot H and snort meth rocks? I don't." A beat, then her sardonic smile falters. "I didn't even start doing shit until late sophomore year. Denny and his gang move dope, and I've always had a hard time saying no. So, when it was offered…" She shrugs, "I did some lines. But it's not something I do often."

"How often do you do it, then?"

"More than some, less than others," she says sharply, clearly uninterested in continuing that line of questioning. "I can't afford to be addicted to it. I don't have the fucking cash to throw around."

"Right, right, yeah." You nod, quickly looking to soothe the nerve you've struck. "Can I, uh, ask why you let the rumours go around, then? I mean… if they're all so untrue, why let them fester?"

Nat shrugs, "People don't give a shit. They'll believe whatever they want to. Keeps the idiots I don't want around me at arm's length, anyway. If you're gonna believe whatever is told to you without finding out the truth yourself, then you don't deserve the truth."

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for leaning back in your seat and letting the weight of the conversation settle around you.

"Thanks for telling me," you finally say, breaking the silence. "All of it."

Nat looks at you, her expression softer now, almost... grateful. "Yeah. Thanks for listening, Princess."

The quiet stretches between you again, but this time it feels different. Not heavy or suffocating, but... peaceful. It's nice.

You think you could get used to sitting in silence with her.

You aren't sure how long you sit in silence with Nat. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, maybe several. You do know that the silence is comfortable, and you can tell she appreciates having someone she can just sit in silence with.

By the time the two of you return to your house, the snow has stopped falling, and the night has grown darker.

Nat's beat-up truck pulls to a stop in front of your house, and she puts it in park before turning to face you. "Y'know, Princess, I appreciate what you did. Helpin' me, and whatever." She grunts, "Y'didn't have to. So… thanks, I guess."

You hesitate to remove your seatbelt and realise that… you could invite Nat inside. I mean… nothing's stopping you. Your parents have for sure gone to bed by now or are too impartial to care, so you doubt they would even notice. And, after everything Nat just told you, you aren't quite sure if you want her to be alone tonight. Maybe you're a little too empathetic for your own good.

"Did you… wanna come inside?" You offer hesitantly, "You can… I mean… I could make us some hot chocolate? It's still really cold out, and…" A beat passes, and your voice quiets, "You don't have to go back to your trailer tonight if you don't want to."

Nat blinks at you, her brows knitting together like she's trying to decide whether the offer is a serious one or not. "You sure?" she asks after a long pause, voice hesitant. "Don't wanna, y'know… overstay or whatever."

"You aren't overstaying anything," you say quickly, then clear your throat, trying to act like you aren't overly enthusiastic at the idea of her coming inside your house. "I mean… it's just… you're already here. And, like I said, it's cold out."

Her lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile, but not the usual scowl you would find on her face, either. She takes a long look at her bruised hands gripping the wheel, flexing her fingers before nodding once. "Right. Alright. But no funny business, yeah? I'm not tryna—"

"I know!" you wave her off, pushing open the truck door and immediately heading towards your house before your nerves get the better of you. "Just… hurry up before I freeze to death standing out here, ‘kay?"

You hear Nat snort from behind you right before her truck door slams shut, and she quickly catches up with you, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she trudges up the snow-covered driveway.

The house is dark and quiet, save for the faint hum of the furnace kicking on. You discreetly toe off your shoes and dust the snow off your shoulders, glancing back to make sure Nat does the same. 

She hesitates momentarily, eyes flicking around the dimly lit space before finally removing her combat boots. She shrugs when you shoot her a curious look at her leather jacket not coming off. "I wear it everywhere. Take it off later." 

"Right," You murmur, turning your head towards the stairs. "C'mon. My room's upstairs."

The climb up your stairs feels like it takes ten minutes rather than ten seconds. Maybe it's because you're inviting Nat into your personal space, and that makes you nervous. Or maybe it's because you've never had someone who's kissed you in your bedroom before, which also makes you nervous.

Okay, maybe you're just nervous.

When you finally reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, gesturing for Nat to follow. "Make yourself comfortable," you say, a little trepidatiously. "I’ll, uh, grab that hot chocolate I mentioned. Be right back."

"Wait, wait—" Nat says, giving you a strained chuckle. "You're just… leaving me alone? In your room? I mean… I could, just…" She scoffs and gestures at your dresser, "I could just dig through all your shit or whatever."

You pause and look at her, confused. "I mean… it wasn't the first thing I thought of? The most you'll find anywhere is my sketchbook, and I've already shown it to you before," you shrug, "I really don't have that much to hide, Nat. I'm not that exciting of a person." A nervous sound escapes from your lips as you rub the back of your neck sheepishly. "I, uh, wasn't thinking about you doing anything like that until you mentioned it."

Nat blinks, likely shocked that you didn't immediately assume she was going to do something 'bad,' "No, I mean… yeah, no, I'm not gonna do anything. I wouldn't… I'm not gonna like… dig through your shit. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just…" She glances around your room before sitting on the very edge of your bed, clasping her hands in her lap and clearing her throat, "Yeah. My bad."

A moment's hesitation passes before you nod and take your leave from your bedroom, heading back downstairs to get the hot chocolate as planned. By the time you return with two steaming-hot mugs (with marshmallows for added comfort), Nat has made herself more comfortable on your bed, brows furrowed as she flips through your sketchbook.

"Hey," you say softly, setting the mugs down on your desk. "Find anything you like?"

She glances up at you, appearing slightly flustered that you caught her, but quickly schooling her expression to one of neutrality. "These are wicked." She returns her gaze back down to the page, tapping on a sketch you did of an old lady on a bus. "You're fucking talented."

Your cheeks flush, and you immediately begin to wave your hand dismissively. "It's nothing special—"

"Don't." Her voice is firm but not unkind. "I mean it. You're talented. Don't sell yourself short."

You sit on the opposite side of the bed from her, pulling your mug into your hands. "Thanks," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, never quite sure how to react to praise.

Neither of you speaks for a while, sipping on your drinks in comfortable silence as Nat thumbs through your sketchbook. For a moment, you're relieved that she didn't select the sketchbook you had spent the past month drawing her face into. That would have taken some awkward explaining. You aren't even sure what you would say to her. 'Yeah, I've just spent multiple days drawing you over the past few weeks because I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's totally normal, right?'

As you sip your hot drink again and try to ignore the thoughts, Nat finally speaks up. "You meant it earlier? About, uh, being there for me?"

You meet her gaze, startled at her sudden… vulnerability? is that what you would call this? "Of course I meant it," you say without hesitation. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

The blonde looks down at the mug in her hands, flexing her damaged fingers around it. "You're too good for this. For me."

"Well, too bad," you nudge her shoulder with your own and shoot her a goofy grin. "You're stuck with me. Sorry."

She huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the slightest flicker of something you can't quite name behind her eyes. You doubt she'd ever be the type to be truly open with her feelings, but you suppose this is enough for now.

"I didn't…" Nat's face falls slightly as she sets her mug down on the nightstand beside your bed, "That shit I said the last time we spoke. I didn't mean it. About me just… 'trying to see you naked,' for the record. I just…" Nat grunts and waves her hand away, not offering an apology, but you doubt you'll ever see one in your lifetime anyway. "I was talkin' about myself. Askin' why I was like that. Not you."

"Asking why… you… kissed me? Or reacted the way you did?" You ask hesitantly, not wanting to break the fragile peace you've created between the two of you.

Nat makes a face at that, leaning her head back against the wall with a sigh. "Both? Neither? I don't…" A frustrated huff of air leaves her nose, "I don't know. That's why I was asking—because I don't know why I'm like that–fucking… reckless."

You shake your head, "You say 'reckless' like it's a bad thing. If you weren't 'reckless,' we never would have become friends, you know?" You tentatively scoot a little closer to her, unsure if this is the time to provide a reassuring touch. "I mean… I never used to do half the things I do. What was it you said? That I live in a bubble?" A strained laugh parts from your lips as you rub the back of your neck, "I mean… you weren't really… wrong. I wasn't exactly the most adventurous person before I met you."

Her jaw clenches as the air settles after your statement, but she doesn't look angry. If anything, she seems almost contemplative. "Y're not… mad?"

A light-hearted scoff leaves your lips, and you playfully shove at Nat's shoulder. "Oh, I was mad. For a while." Your smile falters marginally as you consider how to word your following sentence properly, "But… I was more hurt than anything, Nat. I just… I didn't know what I did wrong."

"Did nothing wrong," Nat grunts almost immediately, "I was just… I was being a dumbass. 's weird having someone say that they 'worry about me' since no one has ever really given a fuck."

"And if I told you that I 'give a fuck'?" You ask softly, scooting closer again until your knee bumps into hers. "How would that make you feel?"

"Fuckin' weird," is Nat's immediate response, "I would—nah, I feel fuckin' weird knowing that someone gives a fuck. It's…" She makes a face, something between a scowl and a sneer, "strange." Nat finally turns to face you, her eyes hiding an emotion you can't decipher. "But it still means something," comes out in a whisper, and for a moment, you swear that emotion you can't decipher is vulnerability. 

"Does this mean something?" You gesture vaguely between the two of you, "Us? You being here?"

Nat hesitates, her gaze flicking between your face and the vague space in front of her, weighing her next words carefully. "I don't know," she admits, voice low and rough. "This… whatever this is… it's new. Feels weird."

"But not… bad, right? Like… a bad weird? But more like a good weird?" You ask cautiously, trying to keep your tone light, but you worry she can hear the trepidation in your voice.

Her lip twitches, and for a moment, you think she might brush it off with a joke or sarcasm. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. "No," she says quietly. "Not bad."

As the words settle, you both fall into momentary silence again, the atmosphere feeling heavy but not suffocating. You find yourself hyper-aware of the space between you, the way her knee is so close to yours it’s almost touching again.

"You're staring," Nat says suddenly, her lips quirking into a smirk that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Not that I blame you. Pretty hard to look away from this." She gestures vaguely to herself, trying to recapture her usual bravado.

You roll your eyes and can't help the small laugh that falls from your lips. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah, well…" She shrugs, her smirk fading into something softer. "You don't hang out with me for my stellar personality, Princess."

The words feel like a deflection, and you narrow your eyes slightly at it, refusing to give into that train of thought. "Well, guess what? I actually think I do."

Nat's eyes narrow slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You seriously think that? You don't just… hang around 'cause I drag you into shit?"

You have to hold back a laugh as you shake your head in disbelief. "No, Nat. I hang around you because I want to. Shocking, right?"

Her gaze flashes around the room before meeting yours again. "Yeah," comes out in a hoarse whisper, "I actually think it is."

The weight of her words settles between you, and neither of you speaks for a moment. You can tell she's wrestling with something, and you give her the space to figure it out. Eventually, she leans back, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as she looks at you more directly.

"Wasn't it you that said you don't have to understand everything or something like that?" You shrug, hesitating for another moment before leaning forward again. "Something about… bursting my bubble? Well… maybe it's my turn to burst your bubble, Nat. If you've been throwing me into your life for the past few months, maybe it's time I give you a little bit of insight into mine."

Her lip twitches, and she looks down, shaking her head slightly. "You make it sound so fucking easy," she mutters, her voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t quite place. "Like I can just…" She trails off, scowling slightly.

"Maybe it can be," you counter gently, reaching out on impulse to brush a stray strand of blonde hair from her face. The movement is soft and unexpected, making Nat freeze almost immediately. Her eyes snap to yours, sharp and shocked, and the air between you shifts to something more… tense. Not exactly a bad tense, per se, but tense nonetheless. 

Then, a moment passes, and Nat pulls back from your hand with a shocked and confused expression. "Woah, woah, what the hell are you doing?"

You blink rapidly, immediately dropping your hand to your lap. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I don't even know why I did that or what the hell came over me. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

She waves her hands to dismiss your thoughts and cut you off, her face shifting back into that unreadable expression. "Why did you… why the hell did you do that?"

"I…" Your voice trails off, and you look down at your bedsheets in shame. "I don't know. I've never… done that before. I guess it just… felt right. Or… I thought it felt right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I don't know why I—"

"Stop." Nat cuts you off, her sharp tone causing your eyes to flash to her face once again. "Just… stop for a second." She takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, then immediately winces again when she remembers it's still bruised and tender. "You…" A disbelieving laugh spills from her lips, one that bubbles slowly and dissolves into her next sentence, "After that shit I pulled, you seriously still want to do…" She gestures vaguely between the two of you, "Whatever the fuck we're doing?"

Your brows knit together in confusion—like you didn't just spend all night fussing over her injuries and learning about her upbringing. "I invited you into my house, Nat. I mean… you're…" A sigh leaves you, "You're here. I… yeah. I think I want to do 'whatever the fuck we're doing' if you still do."

The blonde looks at you in confusion, eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or indication that you don't want this. When she doesn't find any, her hand twitches in her lap, and she tentatively reaches forward, placing a hand on your knee. 

Neither of you speaks for a moment, the quiet atmosphere charged with something more—something that you don't think you've ever felt before. Her hand traces up your arm gently, as though she's mapping it, before coming to rest on the side of your neck.

You should say something. You should look away. You should do anything but what you’re about to do. But then she’s leaning in, and you’re not sure if you’re moving too or if it’s just her, but suddenly her lips are on yours, rough and urgent and so very Nat.

The kiss is overwhelming in every sense of the word. She's all desperation and aggression, and you can feel the built-up tension in her body as she leans into the kiss, as if it's something she needs and has needed since that night all those weeks ago. It takes you a second to catch up and understand what's happening, but you kiss her back this time despite the tachycardia causing your chest to feel tight. 

But then she's shifting, tongue gently probing—no, forcefully probing at your lips, trying to push past the seam of them. You feel her hands on your biceps, squeezing at them as she pulls herself closer to you, settling into your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck as she finally pushes past your lips, her tongue sliding against yours. You try your best to return the kiss, you really do, but it's obvious she has leagues more experience than you do in this department, but… Nat doesn't seem to care in the slightest about your lack of experience.

Your hands dangle uselessly at your sides, unsure what to do here. You've never had a girl—or anyone, really—sit in your lap. It's a little overwhelming, to say the least. Nat seems to notice this, and despite the fact you are returning the kiss, she pulls back to look down at you. "Hey… is this… okay?"

You immediately nod and clear your throat, "Yes. Uh, yes. It's okay. I just…" A nervous chuckle escapes from you, and you glance away in an attempt to hide the blush that's blossoming on your cheeks. "This is sort of new for me."

"New?" Nat asks, tilting her head slightly, like a dog who just heard a sound they weren't so sure about. "You… you've kissed before, yeah?"

A sound of uncertainty parts from your lips, "I mean… yeah, I've kissed. But I've never done anything like this before. The whole… making-out-in-my-bed-with-someone-I-really-like thing, I mean."

Nat mumbles out the words you just said, digesting them, and then her eyes fly open in realization. "Oh," she blinks, then shakes herself out of whatever daze she was in and gently grabs your chin to make you look at her again, "Hey, hey." She says softly, her hand moving from your chin to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, much like you did to her earlier. "No matter… no matter what anyone says, this," she gently rakes her fingers through your hair, "means something to me. Like… it—it really means something." A moment passes between the two of you before she speaks again, voice soft and gentle. "Especially with you."

You nod, a small smile twitching on your lips as you lean forward and kiss her again, the action slowing down significantly compared to how it was before you told her—in a roundabout way—that you were a virgin. She appears comfortable with letting you take the lead now, but provides small encouragements without forcing anything. 

Her lips curl into a soft smile against yours, and although your heart still feels as though it's beating a million miles a minute, your chest no longer feels as tight. While you learn how to kiss her properly, Nat moves her hand from your hair to your shoulder, then trails down your arm until her fingers intertwine with yours.

"You can touch me, you know," Nat mumbles, guiding your hands to her waist. "I'm not fragile, and I'm not gonna bite… unless you ask, of course." She grins to herself when your hands find purchase on her waist, just under her leather jacket but over the fabric of her thin tee. Even with the cloth barrier, you can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating through it. "Yeah, like that. Don't be afraid."

Deciding to be bold for once in your life, you move your lips to her jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her pale skin, and Nat rewards you with a shaky sigh. "God, yeah. Like that. A natural, really." 

She rolls her head back, giving you access to her neck. Who are you to deny such an invitation? You brush your lips lower, tracing over her pulse point. "No marks—" Nat says as she discards her leather jacket, tossing it precariously onto your floor. "No marks, please," she reiterates once her jacket is ditched.

You nod against her neck, tracing your mouth across her delicate skin—the same skin you've imagined brushing your lips again for much longer than you'd ever care to admit. "Fuck, you're a fast learner," Nat says with a breathless laugh, her hands running back up your arms to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them softly in a wordless display of encouragement. 

Spurred on by her words and touch, you let your hands slide up from her waist, fingers splaying over the fabric of her shirt. The outline of her ribcage shifts slightly beneath your touch as she takes a deep breath, the movement providing the incentive you need to continue. Your lips trail further down her neck, skimming over the hollow of her throat, her scent—something faintly musky with a hint of cigarette smoke—filling your senses.

Your hands hover, momentarily unsure of your actions before you finally gather the courage to slide them under the hem of her shirt. The feel of her skin beneath your fingertips—a mix of soft warmth and a few unexpected ridges of faint scars—makes your breath hitch. 

Nat notices your immediate hesitation because, of course, she does, and one of her hands runs back up to tangle in your hair. "You're good," she breathes out, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. "You're doing fine. I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, yeah?"

With her reassurance, your eyes wander along with your hands. Your gaze drops to the curve of her chest, hidden beneath the fabric of her shirt but still ample enough that you can make out the swell of her breasts. Your hands, eager to feel that region your eyes have wandered to, continue to drift up her torso, her skin warm and shifting slightly under your touch.

When your thumbs graze the underside of her breasts, both of you let out a quivering breath. "Yeah," Nat breathes out, "like that, babe. Keep���keep going…"

Babe, you think, that's a new pet name. One I could get used to.

Despite your sudden burst in confidence, this lingering hesitation rests on the back of your mind—I have no idea what I'm doing. You glance back up at her face trepidatiously, and you're sure your expression is a combination of bashful and nervous. "I, uh…"

"Hey," Nat whispers, "we don't have to do this if you don't want to. Seriously, it's okay." Her voice is reassuring—gentle in spite of her rough exterior, and it soothes you in a way that you weren't quite expecting. 

"No, I, uh, I want to. I just…" You fumble with your words, trying to find the proper ones to describe how you're currently feeling. "I want to. I just… I don't know how this is supposed to go."

A warm—almost affectionate—chuckle leaves Nat's lips, and her fingers gently rake through your hair. "It's not a test, Princess. There's no 'supposed to,' yeah? Just do what feels right." A beat, "I'll help you out."

She pulls back from you slightly, and you almost whine at the loss of the feeling of her fingers in your hair, but then she's—

Oh.

Oh.

Natalie Scatorccio—the object of your fascination for an uncomfortable amount of time—reaches down to the hem of her shirt and pulls it off over her head, tossing it in the general direction that she threw her leather jacket.

"Just do what feels good," she repeats in a breathless tone of voice as she returns her hands to your shoulders, one of them moving up to cup the side of your neck. 

You find yourself instinctively leaning into her touch as your eyes fall to her freshly revealed skin, slightly flushed in the dim lighting of your room. You can't exactly make out the fine details of it all, but you don't need to see. You just need to feel.

Even with that thought in mind, your hands linger in their position, which earns a soft huff from the girl currently seated in your lap. "Princess," she grabs your wrists and moves your hands up a little higher so that your palm is placed loosely over the fabric of her red bra, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "Just feel, yeah? Stop overthinking it. This isn't…" A scoff leaves her lips, and she gives your wrists a reassuring squeeze. "Not a test or some bullshit. Feel."

So, 'feel' you do.

Your hands tentatively squeeze her breasts, mouth drying in sheer awe of what is currently transpiring, and you meet her gaze again.

"Fuck," you murmur, then lean forward to capture her lips with your own.

Nat immediately returns the kiss, releasing your wrists in favour of moving her arms to rest on your shoulders and wrap around your neck. You lead, but it's impossible to miss how she shifts slightly in your lap and presses herself closer to you with a small sound you could almost call a whine.

Your hands and mouth slowly get bolder as the kiss continues, and between your palm kneading the soft flesh of her chest and your tongue sliding against hers, you feel a familiar warmth begin to pool in your lower gut. The sensation causes you to buck your hips up into hers, earning a gasp from Nat in turn.

"Oh," Nat pulls back slightly, using her hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving back in to continue the kiss. "Yeah, I think we're a little too dressed for that."

Before you can protest it, Nat is pulling off of your lap to remove her pants, and as you sit and watch her nimble fingers pop the button of her jeans out, it occurs to you that you are also overdressed.

A moment's hesitation passes before you begin discarding your clothing, trusting the room's dim lighting to keep your nervousness hidden from her gaze. Your shirt comes first, followed quickly by your pants, attempting to kick them off as fast as possible, causing them to get caught at your ankles, which earns a soft laugh from Nat as she watches you struggle.

"Here," she says, approaching the bed again and helping discard your jeans properly, tossing them in the general direction her clothes went.

Your breath catches in your throat when Nat returns to your lap, her bare thighs coming to rest against yours as she straddles you again. Feeling the warmth of her naked skin against yours for the first time causes your brain to short-circuit for a moment, and all the confidence you've acquired over the past ten minutes immediately goes out the window at this new sensation.

Nat senses your lack of action immediately and huffs out a laugh at your awestruck expression. "Jesus, babe. Just… do what you were doing when I had my clothes on, yeah? Touch me the same. It's just without barriers this time." She grabs your hands and places them on her waist once more before wrapping her arms around your neck, "Remember, no overthinking things."

You nod slightly, swallowing down your nerves at this new situation as you map out the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Every touch earns a quiet hum of approval from her, a sound that stokes the warmth already pooling in your gut.

"Mm, yeah, keep going." Nat hums in agreeance with your actions, tilting her head to recapture your lips in a kiss. Although she's the one initiating the kiss this time, she takes it considerably slower than the first time she kissed you tonight but doesn't fail to provide the occasional teasing nip to your lower lip.

One of her hands shifts to cup your face, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss further while her other tangles itself in your hair. You feel the texture of the bandage you applied to Nat's hand earlier brush against your skin as her thumb gently caresses your cheekbone. As one of your hands idly traces its way up a scar, you don't even realise that it's snaking around to the clasp of her bra until you feel it underneath your fingertips and pause in uncertainty. 

Nat pulls back enough to meet your eyes, her hands never leaving the place they've found themselves. "You're good, she whispers gently. "I want you to take it off, would have stopped you by now if I didn't, yeah?"

With another nod, you begin fumbling with the clasp of her bra with one hand. Quickly realising you're out of your depths, an apology is mumbled to her as your other hand moves to join the one currently struggling in its task of undoing the hooks. Your apparent lack of experience in taking off someone's bra earns a low laugh from Nat, but it's hardly cruel—rather, laughing with you instead of at you.

When you successfully separate the bra clasps, Nat lets the fabric fall from her breasts, and she tosses it carelessly on the floor before placing her hands on your shoulders and giving you a look you could only describe as pure, unbridled lust. The sight of her nude tits causes your breath to stutter briefly, leaving you frozen for a few seconds too long.

The blonde leans in, her breath tickling your ear in an effort to break your stupor. "Touch me," she murmurs, "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like. Promise."

Your hands move of their own accord, sliding around to her front and grazing over the skin as you explore her curves with reverence. Every movement earns a reaction—a soft sigh, a sharp inhale, or a quiet hum that makes your confidence grow with each passing second.

When you tweak a nipple between your thumb and forefinger, you can visibly see your confidence doubling at the reaction Nat gives you—a sharp gasp that leaves her mouth as her head tilts back, hips grinding down against yours once more.

"Keep—keep going, yeah, keep doing that. Don't be—fuck—don't be afraid to touch me. Promise you I want it…" Nat breathes out as her hips roll languidly, her hands having a difficult time deciding where they should rest on your body, eventually just deciding to grip your hair and pull your face close to her chest.

There is no resistance you offer as she guides your head, and despite your previous hesitations, you run your tongue across the nipple that you don't currently have in your hand.

Fuck, your daydreams don't compare to the actual sensation of her skin beneath your tongue, of her nipples pebbling underneath your eager touch.

For a moment, you don't think anything could ever compare to this feeling of Natalie in your lap, your hands on her skin, and her nipple between your lips. 

That is, of course, until she gives you a gentle shove backwards onto the mattress. Her nipple releases from your mouth with a soft popping sound as your back hits the bed. And, okay, maybe this vision of her on top of you is also a really good feeling.

Nat sighs, grinding down unabashedly into you while her hands grip your shoulders for some leverage. Her eyes fall closed as her jaw becomes slack, and her hips press needily down into yours. "Fuck," she hisses, "Jesus Christ, we're doing this."

The words don't sound shocked or surprised, just… want and the slightest hint of desperation; both sounds you aren't exactly used to hearing from one of the most vilified people in school. In the time you've gotten to know her, she's never even come close to expressing any of those emotions around you. That being said, it's a sound you like and crave to hear repeated over and over and over again from her lips.

"Y-yeah," you agree after a long moment, just watching her move atop you, "we are. We, uh, we are doing this."

A breathless laugh comes from the woman on top of you as she continues to move her body, "I need to know who you're trying to convince. Me, or you?" She slides her unbandaged hand from your shoulder to your jaw, running her thumb over your lower lip. "God, you're gorgeous," she murmurs, hips slowing for a moment as the words leave her. 

She appears to consider saying something else briefly, but that consideration is gone just as quickly as it appeared, opting to speak with actions instead of words. The hand that is still on your shoulder runs down your torso, stopping right over your sternum and in between the valley of your breasts. No words leave her as she lets her eyes drift up lazily to meet yours in the soft, lunar glow.

You know what she's asking without words, anyway. She wants to touch you. She wants you to remove your bra. She wants you. Despite knowing these things, you still find yourself feeling insecure about removing the final barriers between the two of you. If anyone were to ask you, you'd tell them that the girl straddling your thighs is a work of art—a masterwork crafted on a canvas that had been beaten down by thousands of small events over the years, but a masterwork nonetheless. A voice tells you that you pale in comparison to her, but you know now, partially thanks to Nat, that you can't keep living life by letting fear control you.

So, you hesitate for a few seconds as you think about all the possible scenarios and outcomes of her seeing your uncovered breasts, then you think fuck it and sit up slightly to remove your bra and toss it onto the growing pile of clothes on your floor. 

When you lay flat again, you don't meet her gaze. You can't help it; you know your face is burning at the reveal of your skin, but Nat doesn't seem to be nearly as off-put as you are. 

"Jesus Christ." Her hands move over your breasts, delicately running over the sensitive skin prickled with goosebumps. "You have no idea…" She starts moving her hips at the same speed she was previously moving them at, a soft moan falling from her lips as she kneads your breasts in an exploratory fashion. "No fucking idea…"

Nat never finishes that sentence, much more concerned with moving her hips against yours and feeling the soft swell of your tits beneath her calloused hands. Her touch is exploratory, as though she doesn't have much experience with the actions she's currently taking. Regardless, she seems to be enjoying the learning process.

Deciding that you should also take this opportunity to learn, you start to trace your hands up her legs, your fingers skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs. There's a contrast between the firmness of her muscles and the softness of her skin. Your movements are tentative initially, but Nat's low hum of approval encourages your boldness. 

You let your hands wander higher, brushing over the curve of her hips and pausing at the waistband of her panties. For the umpteenth time tonight, you hesitate to go further and continue to shed clothing. Nat notices and leans her forehead down to press against yours, stilling the movements in her hips fully. 

"It's okay," she breathes, her lips ghosting over yours. "I want this just as much as you do."

"I just need to know if I'm doing this right. I don't… I don't know what I'm doing, Nat."

A low chuckle leaves her as her hands run up your torso to rest on your jaw. "We'll go slow. It's okay, I'll guide you." She shifts her weight slightly, pressing a kiss to your lips that feels somewhat different from the others—less urgent, more intentional.

You let yourself relax into the kiss as her body starts to move against yours once more. Her hands slide down your torso, encouraging you to move your hips against hers. Without even thinking about it, you bend one of your legs at the knee and earn a soft hiss from Nat, who shifts subconsciously to straddle your thigh. 

"Fuck yeah," she breathes out as one of her hands splays across your stomach, "shit, you feel good." 

Your fingers toy with the edge of her waistband, and you pause one last time to get confirmation. Nat nods, lips curling into an encouraging smile. Slowly, you begin to tug them down her hips, Nat shifting slightly to help, laughing softly when you fumble.

"They're just panties, Princess. First your jeans, now my underwear?" She hums and clicks her tongue teasingly, "I'm beginning to think clothes just aren't your forte. Maybe it's a good thing we're out of them, yeah?"

You groan, cheeks burning as you finally manage to toss them into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. "You're impossible," you mutter, but the humour helps ease your nerves more than you'd care to admit.

When Nat settles against you once more, you gasp softly at the new feeling you're greeted with—her wetness coming in direct contact with your skin. The feeling of slick skin is accompanied by a small, rough patch of hair between her thighs, the dual combinations causing a buzzing sensation to rake up your body.

"Doing fine," Nat reiterates, leaning down to brush her lips over yours again. "We'll take it slow, yeah? Just do what feels right. If something goes wrong…" Her lips twitch in barely concealed amusement. "We can figure it out, or whatever."

"You make it sound like we're assembling IKEA furniture," you deadpan, but the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

"Some assembly required," she quips back, closing the distance and kissing you again. As she does, she takes your hands and guides them to her thighs. "Start here. Touch me. I'll tell you if something feels off."

You nod hesitantly, swallowing down the nervousness in your throat. Your hands gently squeeze and massage the firm muscles of her thighs, trying to map out what details you can't make out in the dim lighting of your room. When your fingers skim over the curve of her hips—now without the barrier of cloth separating your hands from her skin—she lets out a soft hum and places her hands on your shoulders.

Your hands gain confidence as they explore the curve of her hips reverently, tracing the smooth lines of her body. Nat's breath hitches slightly at your touch, and her fingers dig into your shoulders—not to stop you, but to confirm that she is a fan of the actions you're taking.

When your fingers finally dip between her thighs, Nat inhales sharply, her body shuddering at the contact. "Yeah," she breathes out, her voice dropping lower, "just like that."

Encouraged, you press your fingers through the short tangle of hair and into her slick heat, your breath stuttering at the feeling of her wetness, exploring her slowly but with growing confidence. Nat's hips shift forward slightly, chasing your fingers. The sound she makes—a quiet, almost needy hum—sends a strange buzzing sensation up your spine that causes your fingers to slide deeper into her folds.

"Fuck," she breathes out as one of your fingers teases her slit, "you're—oh, God—doing good. Just… just like that."

Your confidence peaks when you brush a sensitive bundle of nerves with your palm, located at the apex of her thighs. When you press your hand harder against it, Nat's hips jerk subconsciously, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. 

"Shit," she laughs breathlessly, "fast learner, huh?"

You grin at her, feeling like you're finally getting the hang of things. "I had a good teacher; what can I say?"

One of Nat's hands drifts from your shoulder down to the wrist of the hand you currently have situated between her thighs, and she attempts to guide your touch with deliberate movements. "Here," she murmurs, "try this." She positions your fingers just right, showing you the pace and pressure she likes, her eyes fluttering shut as you get the hang of it.

"Yeah, babe…" She whispers, speaking more to herself than you at this point. "Fuck, that's it. That's good. Keep… yeah, keep doing that…"

You continue to follow her guidance until she decides you've gotten the hang of it and moves her hand back up your arm. "Mm," you watch her head loll back, exposing the pale expanse of her throat, and she removes her other arm from your shoulder to—

Oh, Jesus fucking Christ—

Nat runs her hand up her torso, starting on the flat of her stomach before trailing up between her breasts and over her sternum. When she reaches her neck, her slender fingers wrap around her throat gently, and she makes a low humming sound as her hips press into your hand.

Your hand stutters for a moment—only because your brain stutters as you watch her touch herself, which might be your new favourite sight—but you quickly resume your movements, desperate to continue to see her in this heavenly light. 

In your overwhelming need to see her explore her own skin while seated on your lap, you press your fingers in a little too hard, pushing past her entrance and into the damp heat that awaits you. Nat initially seems to approve of this action, letting out a hum that sounds like the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Encouraged by this, you press your index finger into her deeper… until your uncut nails accidentally scratch against her inner walls.

With no warning, Nat immediately hisses and snaps her hand down to grab your wrist, tugging it back slightly. "Fuck, Princess. Warn a girl before you stick something sharp inside of her, yeah?" The words are intended to be teasing, a playful banter to ease your nerves… but they do the exact opposite.

Too desperate and too inexperienced, it seems.

Your eyes widen in equal parts shock and embarrassment, promptly backpedalling and losing all of that confidence you've just gained. "Sh—fuck, Nat. I'm… fuck. I'm so fucking sorry. I don't… I didn't…"

"Woah, woah—" Nat shakes her head immediately, releasing your wrist in favour of taking your face between both of her hands, warm skin and rough bandage against cheeks burning in shame. "Babe, no. It's okay, alright? It's just… a learning curve or whatever. You aren't gonna be a fucking… Sex God your first time, yeah? It's okay, seriously, dude. Relax. I'm fine."

Even with her reassurance, you hesitate again, not wanting to hurt her. To remedy this, Nat leans down to kiss you softly before pulling back slightly to speak. "Let's… try something else then. Change of pace."

When she climbs off your lap, you have to fight the urge to whimper at the loss of her warmth against your skin. 

But then she's lying down on your bed, looking like the picture of lust and sin. 

"Natalie…?" You find yourself asking hesitantly, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can look at her. "What's… what's going on? Why are you… I thought we…"

She rolls her eyes and snorts, "What we are doing is still having sex, yeah? We're just gonna… try switching gears. Come here."

Then, she's spreading her legs for you. And, yeah. You really can't see her in this lighting, but you don't need to. Just the vague image of her (and the mental ones your brain has started providing you with) is more than enough, seeing be damned.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and your brain feels fuzzy as you sit yourself between her parted legs. "Fuck, Nat…" Your touch is slightly more hesitant than it was earlier—mainly because you're worried about hurting her again—but you place your hands on her ankles and slowly but deliberately run them up her long, lithe legs. 

"Mm, yeah, that's the plan." Nat grins at you, her voice carrying a teasing lilt as her eyes follow your movements as you change your position to lay prone. 

From your new angle, you're looking up at Nat once more, but it feels ten times as intimate as it did compared to when she was seated on your lap. From here, you get a front-row seat to a meal like none you've ever encountered: something wet, warm, and deliciously wanton.

She reaches down and pushes some hair out of your face as you wrap your arms around her thighs, squeezing the firm muscles as your breath brushes across her center. 

"Don't jump right into it, yeah? Explore, or whatever." Her free hand waves dismissively as if attempting to ease your worries. "Something about the journey, and not the destination."

You squirm slightly but give her a soft nod in acknowledgement. "Right, right… don't just… dive into it."

Nat hums in acknowledgment of your statement, parting her legs a little further on your behalf. "'xactly, Princess. You're getting it."

Your mouth feels overwhelmingly dry, and in an effort to shake the nerves from your system again, you decide to begin pressing open-mouthed kisses to the inside of her right thigh. You start near the crook of her knee and gradually work your way up her leg and closer to the warm heat that rests at the apex. 

When you reach the point where her leg transitions to her pelvis, you quickly switch to her other thigh and repeat the same ministrations you gave her right thigh. For the record, Nat seems to be equally frustrated and increasingly aroused at how you've begun to take your time with her. But, when her hand tugs on your hair subconsciously, you can't help the small, giddy laugh that spills from your mouth.

"You were the one that told me I shouldn't be jumping right into things, Natalie." 

Although you can't make out the movement of her eyes in the dark of your room, you swear you can hear her rolling them through the irked exhale she lets out at the teasing comment. "Jesus, when did you become such a tease?"

You grin at that, nipping at her thigh like she did your lip when the two of you were kissing earlier. "When I was told to be one, princess."

Nat tugs on your hair again at the bite and subsequent comment, "Don't call me 'princess,' that's your title."

"Oh, my bad, Your Grace."

The scoff that falls from her is less harsh than it is humourous, and she gives your hair a soothing pet to ease the assumed sting from the tug. "You are forgiven, my liege," she says with a terrible English accent that would cause even a tenured dialect coach to have a heart attack. 

A thought vaguely occurs to you as your breath ghosts over her again; you know she told you not to leave marks, but you can't help the part of you that wants to suck a dark mark into her thighs.

Nat seemingly catches the thought in the way you hesitate, and she hums softly. "You can leave one. You know how to leave a hickey, yeah?"

You roll your eyes at the comment, huffing softly. "Yes, Natalie. I'm not that inexperienced. I know how to leave a hickey. It has to do with the blood vessels under the skin bursting when—"

"Mmm," she cuts you off, "didn't ask for the science behind it, babe. Just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

Before you can talk yourself out of doing it, you press your lips to the pale skin of her left thigh and take it into your mouth, lathing over it with your tongue and earning an approving moan from Nat at the action. 

When you break the suction, you get slightly upset that you can't immediately see if the mark will take; you suppose that will have to be something you revisit come the morning. 

Well, provided she actually stays the night. 

But… that's a thought for future you to worry about. Right now? Well, right now, you have Natalie Scatorccio lying on your bed with your head between her thighs. You can worry about the logistics later.

You pull back slightly to catch your breath, your lips brushing her skin as you speak. "How's that for a start?"

Nat chuckles, though the sound is breathless and ragged, something which you would like to think is a testament to how much you're affecting her. "Mm, yeah, not bad. Got some ways to go yet, but… I think with practice… we could get there." Her hand stays tangled in your hair, not pulling, just resting there, grounding herself—or maybe grounding you. It's hard to tell, and honestly, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the way she arches slightly beneath your touch when your mouth trails closer to her center. Her breath catches, and you feel her thighs tense beneath your palms. That's all the encouragement you need.

"You say 'we could get there' like you fully intend on doing this again…" You muse as your breath ghosts over her center, wetness visible even in the penumbra. 

Following her earlier advice, you take your time, pressing gentle, deliberate kisses against the tender skin before finally letting your tongue dart out to explore. The taste of her slick is warm, slightly salty, and wholly intoxicating. You quickly decide this is something you could never get tired of, no matter how long you live.

Natalie's reaction is immediate and gratifying—a sharp intake of breath, her hips bucking slightly against your mouth as her fingers tighten in your hair fractionally. "Fuck, babe," she murmurs, her voice strained and dripping with lust. "That's… yeah, that's it. Just like that." 

Spurred on by her praise, your hands tighten around her thighs, and you tug her closer to your waiting mouth as you close your eyes and delve deeply into her glistening arousal. Sure, you aren't quite sure what you're doing, but… you took Anatomy and Physiology last semester. So you… kinda understand the basics. 

You're nothing if not eager to make up for your previous mistakes, which shows in how you bury your nose into the neatly trimmed hair on her pelvis. The movements start slow, almost exploratory, careful not to overwhelm either of you at the moment. You let your tongue flick lightly against her folds, testing her reactions and taking mental notes of the little sounds she makes. Each gasp, quiet moan, or whispered "yeah, right there" is a roadmap guiding you, and you find yourself following it with renewed eagerness.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more, but this time, it's less teasing and more… like she's trying to urge you to continue what you're doing. Her thighs tremble slightly against your hold, and you feel a surge of pride at the realization that you're the one making her feel like this.

You hum softly against her, the vibration earning a sharp intake of breath and a broken curse from Natalie. The sound is enough to have you digging your nails into her thighs, your own excitement building despite the fact you're the one pleasuring her, and not the other way around. So, you repeat the action to draw the sound again. And again. And again.

As you get more comfortable, your movements become bolder, and your grip grows firmer. You flatten your tongue against her and drag it upward, savouring the way she shudders beneath you. Your lips close around a tiny nub at the top, sucking on it gently and feeling her body jolt in response.

"Oh, fuck—" Nat's voice cracks slightly, and her hips jerk up, thighs instinctively closing in around your head for a moment before she forces herself to relax. "Shit, sorry. Didn't mean to—"

You shake your head immediately at her apologies, the motion causing you to brush against her in a way that has her letting out a delicious groan. "I like it," you murmur between movements, squeezing her thighs once in a show of approval. "Means I'm doing something right." A beat, "...right?"

Your voice comes out slightly unsure, although you try to disguise it with a sarcastic lilt. Nat, whether she picks up on this or not, doesn't comment on your unsure tone.

"Yeah, babe," she breathes out, her voice shaky. "Doing good, yeah? Try not to let it go to your head, though."

You laugh softly, the sound muffled against her skin, and press on, letting yourself get lost in her. Her taste, her scent, the way her fingers tangle in your hair… it's an all-consuming feeling. Those nerves you were feeling earlier? Gone. Replaced by a confidence that builds with every encouragement whispered from her lips.

At some point, your lips move from her clit to her entrance, and you run a stripe up it with your tongue. You debate using your fingers for a moment but decide against it once you remember what happened when you tried that initially. So, instead, you use your tongue to feel the inside of her.

You nuzzle her outer lips apart with your mouth and nose—which brushes against her clit—and press your tongue inside her, exploring her canal, which feels… strangely like the roof of your mouth. Your tongue isn't very long, so you don't stay for long, but you make a mental note to return to this at a later date. Ideally, when you've cut your nails.

When your lips move back up to her clit, your tongue flicks at it, and you experiment in strokes—a flat tongue, pointing and swirling it, attaching your lips to it, and catalogue every sound or reaction she makes in your mind for… future purposes. You decide the reactions that you like the best come from when you're effectively slurping on it. The messier, the better.

So, you get messy. Natalie's thighs wrap around your head, her ankles locking behind it as she tugs on your hair, a loud groan falling from her lips when you tug her even closer to you—if that was even possible—and get messy.

Your saliva runs down her already slick genitals, mingling with her juices as they coat your lower face and give you a headrush like nothing ever has before. This feels better than the first time you got drunk on your friend Alex's mom's wine for their sixteenth birthday. Hell, this feels better than the little buzz you got from smoking a joint with Nat at the skatepark. This is a feeling you want to experience as many times as possible in your life, you've decided. 

Nat's breathing begins to quicken, and you can feel the way her thigh muscles tense around your head, the way the grip on your hair grows more insistent, and… oh, shit, she's getting close. Your movements double down, your grip on her thighs nearing the point of bruising, and you do whatever you can to bring her closer to that blissful release.

"Babe—fuck, I'm gonna—" Natalie gasps, voice breaking completely as her hips back against you and her head trashes against your pillows. Her thighs effectively cut off all sound at this point, but you don't care about the lack of hearing in the slightest—the movements she's making are more than enough to tell you what you need to know. So, your ministrations don't let up—not until she's crying out and a sudden rush of wetness begins to coat your already slick face.

When her body relaxes from the orgasm that raked her, so does the grip on your head and hair. A soft murmur leaves her lips, something that sounds suspiciously like your name. You press a few kisses to her now-overly sensitive skin before pulling back to look at her.

Natalie is sprawled out on your bed, her chest heaving and a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips when her eyes open to meet yours. Her hair is a mess, her face is just as fucked up as it was when you were patching her wounds up in her truck, and she's never looked more sinful.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself again as the adrenaline starts to fade. "Was… that… okay?" you ask quietly, voice tentative as you sit back on your haunches. 

She lifts her head to look at you, propping herself up on her elbows. "Babe," her smirk softens into a gentle smile. "That was better than okay. You sure you haven't done this before?"

You shake your head, blushing furiously. "Uhh… no? It was, uh, my first time…"

Nat's smirk reappears, and she moves to sit up and pulls you back toward her, "mm, well, you could have fooled me. You're a natural."

Her lips find yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected, given how utterly debauched she looks, and it leaves you feeling dazed and fuzzy in the best way possible. Maybe, you think as her arms wrap around you, this leaning curve isn't so bad.

At some point during this kiss, Nat starts encouraging you to lay where she was, and your positions are flipped. She's the one seated between your thighs now. The change in position leaves you a little overwhelmed, and you find yourself breaking the kiss out of nervousness. 

"Nat, uh, you, uh, don't have to… 'return the favour,' or whatever. I don't—"

She laughs. It's hardly cruel, but it's obvious she finds your nerves endearing. "Princess—babe—I wouldn't do something I didn't want to. Although my face is a little fucked up," she starts, using the word 'little' very loosely, "I can still use it. And I fully intend to 'return the favour, or whatever.'"

Her gaze softens slightly when she still sees your hesitation, and she gently brushes a strand of hair that got stuck to your forehead behind your ear. "You okay?"

"Yeah," you whisper, voice barely audible. So, you clear your throat and try again. "Yeah, uh, I'm good. Just… nervous."

"That's okay." Her hands gently massage your thighs, "I'll take care of you, yeah? Stop me if it gets too much. I won't be, like, offended, or whatever." She waves a dismissive hand before pressing kisses to your lower stomach.

Her words and actions settle over you, and you find yourself nodding despite the nervous fluttering in your gut. You trust her—for better or worse—and that's enough to keep you from spiralling for now.

Nat, far more sure in her actions than you were, hooks her fingers in the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down your legs and pressing kisses along the skin as she goes. Her touch is slow and careful, almost reverent, and it genuinely makes you feel safe. It's a weird feeling, sure, to feel safe around Natalie Scatorccio, of all people, but you wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

Her breath ghosts over you, and you can't help the soft gasp that escapes as she starts pressing kisses up your inner thighs, then immediately running her tongue flat against your center. 

"Natalie—" you gasp, hands finding purchase in her hair. She hums in response, the sound vibrating against you and making you arch into her touch. When your thighs move to close in around her head, she growls—a sensation that feels as delicious as the hum did—and holds them to the bed.

She doesn't stop until you're trembling, breathing harshly, and your voice becomes a broken mix of gasps and whimpers. When you finally come undone, it's with her name on your lips, your body going taut before collapsing against the mattress. By far, it's a significantly better orgasm than anyone you've ever had on your own. Either you haven't been doing something right, Natalie just knows what she's doing, or it's just better with a partner. Whatever the reason, you feel good.

Nat presses a few soft kisses to your thighs as you come down from that high, her touch gentle and soothing. She climbs back up beside you, her grin equally smug and affectionate as she brushes your hair away from your face.

"So? You good, Princess?" she asks, her voice soft but teasing. 

You nod, though your words come out a little garbled from the intensity of it. "Good. Yeah. Good. Just… uh… yeah. Good."

She laughs gently, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Good."

After a moment of stillness, she pushes herself off the bed, scanning the room before grabbing a random shirt off the floor. "Hope you didn't plan on wearing this shirt anytime soon." She uses it to gently clean you up, murmuring some soft reassurances as you try to squirm away from the overstimulation. Once you're taken care of (and, surprisingly, with much more care than you thought was possible from Natalie Scatorccio), she tosses the shirt aside and grabs a cup from your nightstand with some water in it, offering it to you.

"Drink," she says simply, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. Once you drink, she finishes the water, murmuring something about 'stale-ass nightstand water,' then settles back beside you.

Once she settles down, her head finds its way to your chest like it's been there a million times before, and she sighs softly as her arm drapes over your waist. Her head tucks itself under your chin, and she kisses your neck softly before yanking the duvet up around both of you. 

This, you decide, is something you could get used to.

a/n: remember when i said it's all downhill from here? <3 also I would apologize for the foreplay being as long as it was but I'm really not sorry. teehee (also lowkey i wrote half of this late at night... if u see spelling errors... pls tell me ajhgbauyhdghbuyag)

tag: @we1rdth0ughts @theprismyyy

[alicentflorent]

“The surviving Yellowjackets are literally the worst people”

They had to get involved in ritualistic murder and cannibalism to survive out there so of course the survivors would be the most brutal, morally corrupt of the bunch. Being a good person and sticking to some moral code wasn’t going to help anyone survive the wilderness and the insanity that came with it. Hope this helps.

[borgialucrezia]

NATALIE DORMER as Victoria in CASANOVA  (2005) ✧ Directed by Lasse Hallström

[betterbetty]

I don’t know guys I think there is a lot of potential in one-sided Mistynat on Nat’s side. Like super duper unlikely, but if we just open our eyes a bit more…

[koifly]

More rambles + ninakate hcs

i'm literally between going on hiatus for three months minimum and posting so much art and au lore 'til y'all can't see it anymore LMAO

I haven't been into creepypasta a lot up until this week (thanking sucker and their vn with my whole being rn) so um yeah.

I'm still trying to figure out how tf I'm supposed to post and structure James backstory and my general au snippets...I keep forgetting that yall really don't know much about James and I keep posting these cryptic ahh art posts of him....ahem ahem sorry...

Anyways, I'm really into NinaKate rn. Like, even more than before, they're so cute bro. Also, Clocky....clockwork...Natalie...my shayla.....i love her so much, and I have to confess that I had a little Clockwork hater phase back in the day, somewhere in 2017-2018 (i'll give you three guesses why.) but it gladly didn't last long. Back to NinaKate- I'm on a doodling spree with them, I feel like a feral animal, gnawing at NinaKate content. I feel a LOT like SOME other NinaKate fan rn (ahem ahem...totally not staring directly at a certain ginger...ahem..) so yeah expect some content on the weekends:3

Kate being Nina's queer awakening...Nina being Kate's dream girl....hello...them being happy...them being complicated...going onto autumn beach dates just to talk and hang out....Nina being overly protective over Kate to the point where she'd regularly yell at Toby if he had to handle her a bit rougher during her 'chaser' episodes because otherwise he'd get really damn hurt......Kate always being really gentle with Nina...does anyone hear me bro....please...

[honeycrispjamz]

precrash mistynat, 1992-1996

[axinite25]

I already know Lunch by Billie Eilish is gonna be used on so many Yellowjackets edits (as it should)

[otrtbs]

dating is so hard bc wdym neither of us knows how to drive like … if i’m a passenger seat princess and you’re a passenger seat princess then who’s driving the car ???????

[apolaskiart]

oh so lady strahdanya did not just get sister-zoned, she got ELDER sister-zoned. To the people in this courtroom, I would like to argue that maybe she DID deserve to conquer Barovia.

Also I'll be typing it here, but my favorite characters are honestly Clayton "I don't care, your roll is now *insert low number*" Azran and Kana "I GOT A NATURAL 20" Soyokaze.

[aquila1nz]

I've been struggling a bit watching Double Parked

It's embarrassment comedy, so I always want to hide my face while watching.

The writing isn't always tight enough.

The characters ended last season in a bad place, and have been struggling to reconnect while caring for newborns.

But this scene, where Danielle Cormack dances with Madeleine Sami and Antonia Prebble, and that allows Nat and Steph to reconnect while Edie lets herself out the door being all "my work here is done"? That was perfect, no notes. They could have done much worse things with the storyline and instead we got this. Made my day.

[27spoons]

CRUSH | ACT TWO: IF YOU'RE TOO SHY (LET ME KNOW)

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Two weeks since the night at the party, you find yourself at Natalie's side, again. Nothing ever seems to go wrong when you're together.

wc: 5970

warnings: mentions of drug usage, threatening behaviour, mentions of violence (nothing actually depicted), lowkey some spiraling thoughts towards the end

a/n: i have angst in my pants! sorry this took so long lmao I'm a chronic procrastinator

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - ACT TWO: RIBS

NEXT - ACT TWO: SMOKE SIGNALS

"We're gonna get stabbed." Are the first words out of your mouth when you turn down a very… unbecoming street.

"We are not gonna get stabbed." Nat snorts, flicking out her switchblade, "If anyone is doing the stabbing, it'll be me." She makes some stabbing motions for effect, her grin wide and goofy at the sound of your laughter.

You two have been hanging out more frequently since that night at the party, and it's been easier than expected. You aren't sure if she feels bad for flirting so aggressively, feels bad for ignoring you the entire party, or something else entirely, but it's been nice getting to know Nat.

"You know, that is not as comforting as you think it would be." You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth tug upward in a small smile. "Because nothing says 'safe' like my friend waving a knife around while we walk down a sketchy street."

"Friend?" She echoes, raising an eyebrow and twirling the blade once before closing it with a satisfying click. "That what we're calling this now?"

A scoff leaves your mouth in an attempt to hide the blush that's appeared on your cheeks, "Well, I don't know. What else would I call it?"

She shrugs, shoving the knife back into her pocket. "I dunno. Just feels weird to hear someone like you call me a friend."

"Someone like me?"

Nat shoots you a look, "See, I know you're smart. So why you're playing dumb…" She trails off, and you roll your eyes. "Whatever. Here we are, anyways." 

A beat passes before curiosity gets the best of you as you walk past the third building with boards in the windows, "Speaking of… where is here?"

She nods towards a gap in the chainlink fence that looks like it's been cut open with bolt cutters, "Just trust me, Princess."

You aren't sure when you started trusting her. Maybe it was that night she walked you home, and you had an epiphany. Maybe it was the Monday after the party when she showed up at your locker with a cup of hot coffee and acted like it was no big deal. Maybe it was when she started texting you memes at ungodly hours of the night with dumb captions. Or, maybe… it's simply been building over the course of the two weeks since that party.

Whenever it started, you're grateful that it did. Your friends have started telling you that you've been more confident recently, and your parents have noticed that you've been coming home later after school than usual and on days that you'd usually come straight home. They haven't asked why, but even if they did, you'd probably just tell them you've been spending it in the library. 

Well… you're pretty far from the library right now, aren't you?

"Hey," Nat cuts off your train of thought, "You're being quiet. Thinking about me?" She teases, bumping your shoulder before moving the chainlink to the side.

"Thinking about how you still haven't told me where we're going," you shoot back, hoping it's enough to convince her that you were not, in fact, thinking about her.

"Why would I tell you when you can just see?" She shoots you a wide grin, "We're almost there. C'mon."

You make a noise of disagreement as you move through the hole, Nat following close behind you. 

"I'm really hoping this isn't all part of a long scheme to murder me." 

"Oh, trust me." The blonde chuckles as she starts walking down the makeshift path that's begun to form in the ground, "If I wanted to kill you, I would've done it that night we went to the skatepark. Or the night I walked you home. Or any of the occasions I've had you alone. Spending more time with you is a terrible way to draw attention to myself, Princess." She turns her head to look at you, "You've been around me often enough—have you not learned anything?" Nat clicks her tongue and turns her head back.

"No. I don't pay attention to your delinquent activities, Natalie." You grin, taking a few quick strides to catch up with her.

"Oh, yeah?" She shoots a smirk at you that has you almost tripping over a rock, "Well. We're just gonna have to start spending more time together then, Princess."

Natalie doesn’t wait for you to respond. She strides ahead, her boots crunching against the gravel path as if she knows you’ll follow. And you do—because, of course, you do.

You sigh (although it's more of a huff, really) at her comment and continue to trail slightly behind her. "We already spend far too much time together." A beat of silence and a low laugh from Nat prompts you to keep talking, “Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going, or is this another one of those ‘just trust me’ things?”

The blonde shoots you an infuriating grin over her shoulder, continuing those long strides. “It’s always ‘just trust me,’ Princess. Keeps you on your toes.” She turns around to face you, walking backwards. "Plus, surprises are fun, yeah?"

A huff escapes your lips at that comment, "First of all, you're gonna walk backwards into a tree. Second off, I hate surprises." You cross your arms defiantly, "I thought you knew this by now."

"If you hate surprises, you sure keep picking the wrong person to hang out with." She sidesteps a tree behind her without even thinking about it—like she's taken this path enough to know it like the back of her hand, and she probably has. "Because I am just full of surprises. Shit, you still got a bunch more just… waiting to be uncovered. Like Pandora's Box!"

"...isn't Pandora's Box mostly bad things?"

Nat nods in agreement to your statement, that dumb grin reappearing on her face. "Yep. Released evil into the world, or something." A dismissive wave of her hand, "But it's the curiosity that kills. And we both know you are very curious, Princess." 

You huff, glancing away briefly in an attempt to hide the blush that burns up your neck at the tone she uses, "I don't—" Another huff, "Whatever. What's your point, Natalie?"

She shrugs, spinning back around to keep walking, "Nothin', nothin'. Just wondering how bad it's killing you right now to not know where we're going."

The scoff that leaves your lips is far too forced to escape the notice of the girl walking in front of you, and you can almost imagine the grin on her face as you reply, "Not that much." 

Nice. You sound like a whiny child. Good on you, really showing her.

"Sure, sure," Nat says, pushing some overgrown bush out of her path. "C'mon. Almost there. Promise."

You follow her through the bush, almost getting smacked in the face with a branch when you lose your attention for half a second, but successfully make it out unscathed, and you find yourself standing in front of what looks like an abandoned house. The white paint has long since peeled away, revealing weathered and rotted wood underneath. With the way the windows are bordered up, door hangs half-open in the wind, and roof looks half-caved in, you're starting to wonder if you were right about the whole 'her murdering you' thing.

"I can't remember if my tetanus shot is up to date…" You murmur as you carefully step over a broken bottle, a far contrast to how Nat is walking right now, all confidence and swagger. You'd be lying if you said you didn't envy the air of it that she seems to carry with her at all times.

Nat laughs lowly at the comment, shaking her head as she approaches the front steps to the house, "Never gotten one, and I've been fine so far." She briefly glances at you and gestures to the steps, "Watch your footing. It's rotting. Step on the spots that look dry."

You cringe at the comment about the steps rotting and watch carefully which parts she presses on. "I'm starting to think you have a thing for sketchy places." 

"Yeah, well." She shrugs and stops the front door from clattering against the frame, "They’re quieter than most places, y’know? No one bothers you out here.”

"That's because no one wants to come out here."

"Exactly." As you carefully walk up the stairs, she grins at you, "You're getting it, Princess. Pick the places people don't want to come, and you won't be bothered." 

Despite the steps protesting with every step you take, you make it to the top without falling through a rotten wooden plank. Nat gestures for you to enter first, which makes you hesitate for a few seconds, but you ultimately enter before she does.

The interior is… not terrible, surprisingly. Sure, it's abandoned and worn down, but it doesn't smell like death, and the grattifi on the walls gives the place some weird charm.

Nat drops her bag on the ground and stretches, cracking her neck. "Welcome to the 'Not-A-Crack-Den' Crack Den."

You stare blankly at her, blinking a few times. "The… 'Not-A-Crack-Den' Crack Den." You parrot, nodding slightly. "Right. That is… very reassuring, Nat. Thanks so much."

She grins at you as a particularly satisfying crack from her lower back sounds, "What can I say? I pick good names for things." A beat passes before she glances around, gesturing toward a few crates pushed up against a wall with peeling paint, "C'mon, sit. Promise you won't get stabbed by a shard of broken glass or whatever." With a grunt, she hoists herself onto one of the crates, nodding towards one pushed against an adjacent wall.

With great trepidation, you drop your backpack onto the crate before moving to sit on it, glancing down at the dirty floor before meeting her gaze again. "So…" You trail off, waiting for her to tell you why she brought you here.

"So…?" Nat repeats back, glancing at you with a curious expression as she pulls out her pack of smokes, tapping it on her wrist a few times before opening it up. "You gonna finish that thought, or just waiting for me to speak?"

A huff leaves your lips as you cross your arms, "No, well, yes, but—" You groan and rest your head against the wall behind you, "I just… why show me this place?"

Nat scowls to herself at your comment, clearly taking some form of offense to it. "What? Don't want me showing you my hangout spots anymore? Because I don't have to. We can go back to sitting around the school or the skatepark."

"No, no, wait, that wasn't what I meant. I just meant that—" You cut yourself off with a sigh, clearly just as terrible with words as she is. "Like… why this spot in particular? Just… uh… curious. Is all. Sorry. I didn't mean to…" You let yourself trail off again and rub a hand over the back of your neck in frustration at yourself and lack of proper communication skills. 

Cigarette smoke fills the room around you as Nat puffs on the end of a Marlboro Red, a sigh leaving her lips at your words. "No, I…" She scowls again, but this time more to herself than you. "I just wanted to bring you to another one of my spots, is all." She feigns nonchalance, but you can almost physically see the underlying sincerity behind her words.

"Oh." You say quietly, not quite sure how to respond to that.

The silence blooms between the two of you for a moment as Nat pulls drag after drag from her smoke, clearly also unsure where to go from here. 

Eventually, it's clear Nat can't take the silence anymore, and she speaks again with a low grumble, "Don't you have… like… your sketchbook or whatever?" She grunts and stubs the smoke out on the crate before flicking the butt to the ground. "You can, like, draw some inspiration from this place or whatever."

That, surprisingly… isn't the worst idea.

So, you unzip your backpack, pull out a pencil alongside your sketchbook and flip open to a fresh page. An unsure sigh leaves your lips as you glance around the decrepit house, a slight frown tugging at the corner of your lips. "I mean… it's definitely… atmospheric? I guess?"

A scoff parts from Nat's lips as she crosses her arms and leans back against the wall, "Atmospheric?" She chews on the word for a moment, "So… fancy art school talk for 'kinda shitty,' yeah?"

Your frown deepens for a moment before you realise she's just fucking with you, and you roll your eyes as a smile finds its way onto your lips. "No, I mean it. It's… abandoned, but not… forgotten?" You muse, tapping your pencil on the page, "Like there's still some life left in it."

"Shit, Princess." She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest, "Didn't take you for a poet, too."

"Shut up." You mumble, glancing down to the page as you start sketching the first thing that comes to mind: Nat.

By now, she's pulled out another cigarette (because, of course, she has). She's idly smoking it as her attention shifts between her phone and you, seemingly just enjoying being in your presence without worrying about ulterior motives.

The first thing you sketch is how she holds it between her fingers, loosely but firmly enough that it won't slip from her them—an interesting juxtaposition, you think. Something about it feels similar to her character, in a way. Regardless, you choose not to linger too long on the thought. 

With the general shape of her hand done—slightly soft but still with visible definition—you start focusing on the finer details. The way her nails are cut so short you can't see the white tips on the ends of them. The slight boniness she has on the knuckles of her fingers. The rings she wears—mismatched with different shapes and colours. The prominent bones of her ring and middle fingers that appear when her hand flexes as she returns the butt of the cigarette between her parted lips. 

This brings you to the next thing you draw—how her lips wrap around the end. Soft and full but chapped. You imagine she's the type to lose every chapstick she's ever had.

You get so lost in this daze of sketching her features, the features that a part of you wishes you could learn more intimately, that you barely even notice Nat hopping off of her crate and walking up towards you, leaning forward to look at your page.

"Whatcha drawing?" She asks, peering over your shoulder to get a better look.

Her sudden appearance shocks you slightly, and you can't help it when you jump and almost send your pencil flying across the room. "Oh, uh!" shit. "I was just, uh, drawing, uh, the—"

"Ho-ly shit. This is wicked." She grins toothily, taking a long glance at the page that you fail to hide from her gaze, "I think you were drawing me, Princess." She points to the small sketch of the cigarette between her lips, "You even got the teeth right. Nice to see you aren't just turning me into a Barbie." Nat slaps your shoulder with her hand as she properly looks at your work once you stop attempting to hide it. "It's good. Real good." Her voice lowers to something more genuine and soft, mirroring the way her expression shifts. "It's, uh, nice. Seriously."

Your face heats up at the compliments, quickly turning your attention away from her. "You're only saying that because you don't know anything about art."

Nat hums, considering that. "Maybe. But I know what I like." She taps the page with her index finger, "And I like this."

A mumble leaves your lips, something that sounds like a meek 'thanks,' but it's quickly becoming clear that the smoker isn't done yet. "I don't show people my spots, you know? Most of the time, they either ruin it or just… don't get it."

A beat passes before you glance back up at her, "I… you think I get it, then?"

She meets your gaze, her expression shifting into something you can't quite place, and leans in slightly. "I think you get a lot of things about me that other people don't."

You swear time pauses, but that could very well just be your heart ceasing its beating, but the moment is gone all too quickly when you hear the creaking of wood and hushed chatters of… what sounds like a group of men.

"Fuck." Nat hisses, immediately pulling back and darting her eyes towards the door, "I didn't fucking think we'd have company right now. Shit."

You shake your head in confusion, "Wait, wait, company? Other people come here, then? Should I be—" Your words are cut off abruptly when a trio of men step into the house one by one. 

The first one, evidently the leader, sports a battered leather jacket and stone-washed jeans. His dark unkempt hair frames a crooked scar that stretches from the corner of his left eye to the bridge of his nose.

A low laugh spills from his lips when his steely eyes land on Nat, and the grin that splits his features is nothing short of feral. "Oh, shit! Scatorccio! Was wondering when we'd see you again."

Nat scowls at him, one of her hands reaching to rest on the handle of her pocket knife by habit. "Denny." She spits, "I was wondering when you'd end up dead. Shame it hasn't happened yet." The venom that drips from her words makes you shrink into yourself, genuinely surprised to hear her speaking with such a tone when she's been mostly calm with you.

The man, Denny, laughs again and scratches his chin as he speaks, "Yeah, bet you'd like that. Would be real convenient for you." 

He's about to keep speaking when one of his goons—a shorter man who honestly looks twelve—nudges him and points to you, sitting idly on your crate, sketchbook clenched tightly in fear.

"Oh, shit." Denny takes a step in your direction, and Nat's hand tightens around the handle of her blade, but she makes no effort to step in his way. "When did you start hanging around the…" He gestures vaguely to you and your form, "Loser type?"

A laugh spills from his lips, immediately echoed by the two men standing in his shadow, and this time, Nat does step forward. "Who the fuck I hang out with is none of your business, Denny." Her eyes flash to the man who nudged him, "At least I pick the ones that don't act like they need to fucking live in my shadow, Jackson."

Jackson, you assume, scowls at Nat but doesn't bite back with a comment of his own. 

Denny’s grin falters ever so slightly, a shadow passing over his features as his eyes dart toward Nat. "Careful, Scatorccio. Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable running your mouth, yeah? Might get you into trouble."

Nat scowls at him again, "I don't give a shit where my mouth gets me, Dennis. I've spent more than a few nights behind bars. I'll do it again."

The man chuckles, but it’s colder now, devoid of humour. "Right, right. That's real cute, Scatorccio. But we both know I'm not talking about being in a prison cell. What's it been now, huh? A month? Two?" He tsks and shakes his head, "I'm keeping track. Are you?"

You see the way Nat tightens her jaw at the comment, "I don't owe you shit." 

Denny—Dennis?—lets out another cruel laugh, "See, that's the funny thing about debts, yeah?" He takes a step towards her and, by extension, you. "They don't just… handle themselves. And your old man… well, I don't see him handling them anymore. Not that he ever really did, anyway." He spits on the ground as he looks towards you, nodding his head in your direction. "Say, your little friend here know about daddy's little tab? Or you keepin' that piece of information to yourself?"

"This isn't about her." She says immediately, "Leave her out of it. This is about us."

"Mm, no." He shakes his head, "I think you got things mixed up here. You brought her here, so now she's involved. You know we like to come 'round here. You seriously telling me it's such a shock we did?" He scoffs and crosses his arms, "But hey, I’m a reasonable guy. You hand over what you owe—or come up with a reason for me to walk out of here without making a mess—and maybe we won’t have to get anyone else involved."

Nat stands her ground, but the way her fingers curl tighter around the knife’s handle tells you just how thin the ice is beneath her. You catch her glancing at you out of the corner of her eye, and the faintest trace of panic flickers across her face.

Which, in turn, makes you panic. Not that you weren't already, but it becomes far more visible on your features now. 

"You should leave." Nat mumbles to you, nodding her head to a rear door, "You shouldn't have to be involved in my shit."

Seeing Nat's head move, Denny nudges the remaining unnamed man who came in with him, and the guy heads towards the rear exit. "Nah. We're here, and we're gonna work somethin' out. Ain't that right, boys?" The two men nod their heads, and the one that looks like a literal child cracks his knuckles, and although it really isn't that menacing, it scares you all the same.

"So," Denny speaks after a moment, clearing his throat as his grin returns, "what's happening, Scatorccio? 'cus I doubt you got the cash on you to pay this off right now."

Nat fidgets, eyes darting between you and him nervously. "I told you I was working on it." She mumbles under her breath, which earns her a cruel laugh from Denny.

"Yeah, and you've had two months to work on it, sweetheart." The pet name comes out as an insult, and the unnamed man snorts at the use of it. "And, honestly? I'm done fucking waiting for you to pay up. I'm a reasonable man, Natalie, but even I have my fucking limits."

The blonde swallows nervously, knowing damn well she's outnumbered and you are far from a fighter, so she removes her hand from the handle of her blade and tentatively approaches Denny, speaking low enough that you can only make out a handful of words, most of which are swears.

It's a solid two minutes of them talking, and you trying not to actively have a panic attack with the way the other two men are looking at you before Denny claps his hands and steps back from Nat.

"I expect you to be there, Scatorccio. If you aren't?" He clicks his tongue, "I think that I'll be paying the trailer a visit next time. Maybe say hi to Vera, yeah?"

Nat doesn't say anything back to that as the men filter out of the house, but it's more than clear that she's shaken from the encounter. 

She doesn't face you again for thirty seconds after they leave, and she can't meet your eyes when she does. You see her jaw set uncomfortably tense, and her eyes flicker from point to point, but never to yours.

"Nat…" You trail off, not even noticing that you've clenched your notebook so tight that the page has started to rip, "Who… who were those guys? What… debt?"

"It's none of your business." She snaps immediately, eyes meeting yours now, "You weren't supposed to see or hear any of that. Just wrong place at the wrong time."

"But I have seen it." You murmur, glancing away from her and down to the ripped page, "I just… I don't know what it means—"

"And you won't." She cuts you off, "Because this point of conversation won't ever be brought up again, yeah? A one-time thing."

You frown and stand up from the crate, still clenching the book tightly. "It didn't seem like a one-time thing—"

"Drop it." Nat says, her jaw tightening.

"But I can't." You shoot back before you can stop the words spilling from your lips. You take a shaky breath, and everything you just witnessed is sinking in. "I can’t just pretend I didn’t see that, Nat. They… they threatened you. Your mom.” Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through. “And I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I care about you, okay? I can’t just let it go."

She laughs, cruel and sardonic. "Care about me? You don't fucking know me. You don't know shit. All you think you know is what you've pieced together from a few hangouts and some rumours. That's it."

“That’s not fair,” you counter, your voice rising slightly. “you don’t let anyone know you, Nat! You hide behind all this—this bullshit bravado and sarcasm because you think it’s easier than letting someone in.”

"Yeah?" Nat sneers, her voice cutting through the stale air surrounding you, "Well, maybe it is. Maybe it's easier to keep people like you at arm's length so I don't have to deal with… shit like this." She gestures between you, movements sharp and erratic, "You don't want to be a part of this world, Princess," The pet name rolls off her tongue in a way that makes you cringe and recoil into yourself, the once gentle name being used as something far more cruel, "so stop trying to be."

"You don't get to decide that for me!" You finally snap, stepping towards her in frustration as you throw your sketchbook down onto the crate you were sitting on, "I'm standing right here, Nat! I'm not going anywhere. And, yeah. Maybe I don't know everything about you. But I want to!"

Her breath catches slightly at your words, and for a brief moment, the mask she wears slips. But it’s back just as quickly, replaced with a hardened expression as she hisses, “You’re wasting your time.”

"Maybe." You murmur, taking another tentative step towards her, "But I don't think you get to decide that for me."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Nat doesn't move, eyes boring into yours, and for a long moment, you worry she's going to say something scalding or just leave; the distance between the two irreparable. 

But, then, she's moving, crossing the short distance between the two of you in a single stride. Her hands grip your arms, both firm and uncertain, and before you can process what’s happening, her lips crash against yours.

You have no idea what's happening if you're being honest. Sure, you've had a few kisses before, but they have been like this. This passionate and intense, this filled with emotion. 

Nat kisses you with an urgency you've come to expect from her, and she doesn't half-ass anything; it's all or nothing, and this is no different. 

At least, at first. 

Then, she realises that you aren't kissing her in return, and she releases her hold on you, stumbling back a few steps and swiping at her mouth. 

Silence blossoms again as you stand there and stare at her, lips still tingling from the sudden crash of hers against yours, and you stare at her with your jaw slack. You aren't sure if you're even breathing at this point. Everything feels like it's balancing on a knife edge, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Fuck!” She hisses under her breath, raking her hands through her hair. “Why the fuck did I—God, why are you like this?”

You blink and shake your head a few times, still in shock, but now even more so. "Wait, wait, hold on, what?" Finally, when you get your head back on, you only get more confused. "Why am I like this?" You snap at her, expression shifting from surprised to hurt. “Why are you like this, Natalie? One second, you’re—” You cut yourself off, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re impossible!”

Her laugh is sharp and humourless. “Me? I’m impossible?” She takes a step forward, frustration etched into every line of her face. “So what’s the point of you coming out with me if you’re just gonna be a fucking uptight bitch about everything, huh?”

"Wasn't it you that told me I needed to live a little, Natalie?!" You yell back, equally as frustrated. "And wasn't it you that said I should learn to say no?! God, why are you being like this?!"

She scoffs, "Has it occurred to you that maybe I would like you better if you just fuckin' took your clothes off, Princess? Huh?" She takes a step forward, "Even you aren't thick enough to see that I've been flirting with you for weeks."

That stings in a way you weren't expecting it to. You take a momentary step back, face contorting, "Fuck you, Scatorccio." You hiss at her, taking a step forward again and jabbing a finger into her chest, "Has it occurred to you that maybe I would like you better if you actually opened up about shit? Huh? Even you aren't thick enough to see, I've been trying to get you to open up for weeks!" You say, throwing her own words back at her.

"Listen, Princess," She sneers, jabbing her finger in your chest, "I'm just tryna fuck. Maybe you should get that through your fucking skull." But, even as she says it, and as much as the words sting, there's a waver in her voice as she says it like she doesn't really mean it but doesn't know what to say in this situation.

"Well, I'm not. And if that's all you want, then you have the wrong fucking person." You cross your arms defiantly, "You should have known that from the start, burnout."

Natalie's lip twitches in displeasure, but she seems to hesitate before saying whatever she is going to and instead opts to scoff and take a step back. "Whatever, nerd. Have fun with your fucking calculus textbooks and your neat little bubble." Then, she turns around and stalks off, slinging her backpack over her shoulder before burying her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket.

And then she’s gone, turning on her heel and stalking off into the shadows, leaving you standing there, raw and reeling, wondering how the hell it all went so wrong so fast.

You glance around the decrepit house, the air feeling much colder than when Nat was with you. The building no longer feels like there's life left in it—but rather, devoid of it. Empty and barren, mirroring the way you feel right now. You hate the place your thoughts take you to—the dark void that plagues you from time to time.

You look back down at your sketchbook, pages half torn and splayed wildly across the top of the crate you formerly used as a chair, and a shaky, weary sigh leaves you.

Gingerly, trying to stop the shaking in your hands, you slowly pack up your belongings, actively avoiding the way you etched her likeness into your book (and mind) as you do. Every move you make echoes in the space; the ruffling of pages and closing of your backpack zipper might as well sound like a plane taking off. 

You hadn't even spent that long with her today. You two had plans; she said after this that the two of you would go to that diner on fifth that serves breakfast all day. Maybe eat some shitty pancakes and get a milk-stache from a milkshake. 

But… the longer you think about it, did she even want that? Did she truly just… want one thing? Did she just see you as a body to use to pass the time with? A fleeting attraction that would fade once she got her fill? Playing the long game, just to see if it changes how the sex is?

Was that all she wanted?

The wooden steps protest under your weight as you leave the house, the wind picking up and pushing the door shut behind you—almost like a metaphor for something you'd rather not think about right now.

Gravel crunches beneath your feet as you step off the rotting porch, the cool evening air biting at your exposed skin. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, wishing it could shield you from the ache settling deep in your chest.

Your feet carry you, almost on autopilot, down that same path that Nat had taken you through earlier, but it doesn't feel nearly the same. What was once exciting, thrilling, something out of your comfort zone… now just feels like a harsh reminder of what transpired between you. Empty and desolate. 

Fuck. When did you become so… tragic?

The streets are quiet. It’s almost eerie, the way the world seems to hum with an indifference that mirrors the hollow ache inside you. Your mind keeps replaying her words, the venom in them, the hurt you saw behind her eyes that she so desperately tried to mask with anger.

Why did it feel like she was pushing you away the second it felt like there would be any form of struggle within your relationship?

Better to hurt than be hurt, you suppose.

You stop under the dim glow of a streetlamp, your breath visible in the cool air. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, startling you from the train of thought you were stuck in. You fish it out, half expecting it to be her, even though you know better. It’s just a notification about some school assignment being due soon—something that feels insanely trivial right now.

Shoving your phone back into your pocket, you continue to let your brain send you down a path of thoughts you really shouldn't be letting it take you down. When she had leaned in earlier, voice uncharacteristically soft, telling you that you understood her in a way that others didn't… for a moment, you believed that maybe this could be something more.

But now? Now, you aren't quite sure what to believe.

You let your feet guide you down streets that are both familiar and foreign, not even registering the houses or buildings you walk past. 

Maybe this is who she is, you think. Chaotic, unpredictable, and closed off. And perhaps you can't change that, no matter how much you want to.

Maybe you don't want to. You just want to know why she is the way she is. An insight into the brain of Natalie Scatorccio. Something that people would likely pay to see.

Maybe… maybe she's just scared. Like you, but confronting her fear differently. 

When you finally reach your door, you linger on the porch, staring at the peeling paint on the frame and letting the silence stretch. The sound of the Monroe kids across the street playing basketball, the dog tied to the post a few houses down barking, and the wind shaking the leaves in the trees fill your ears and give you some clarity in this strange situation.

By the time you finally crack the front door to your house open, your mother is cooking something over the stove while idly bickering with your father as he leans against the countertop, neither of them noticing your entrance.

You'll eat your food and try to sleep, but realistically, you'll just stare at your ceiling and replay every aspect of your interaction with Nat for hours, and sleep will never come.

Fucking Natalie Scatorccio.

Fuck Natalie Scatorccio.

Fuck Natalie Scatorccio and the way you still fucking care about her.

Fuck.

a/n: man, when i said this chapter would be hard to write, next chapter... oof. next chapter is gonna be heavy in so many different aspects. you will both hate and love me, if you don't already. <3333333333

[imavikingo]

Headcanon that isn’t particularly mine nor particularly a headcanon really:

Most of the characters having a crush on Captain America at some point, but when they get to know Steve Rogers…

They have a bigger and more real crush on him.

Because he is actually funny? And not only nice but good and not the embodiment of “virtue”? He curses and gets angry, is sassy and a lil shit.

A great artist too, like damn.

He isn’t what they thought Captain America was supposed to be, because that persona doesn’t really exist, he’s just a really good guy with a lot of issues too, like any other normal person, but at the same time really caring and understanding guy who is loyal to a fault.

(He isn’t the judgmental man from the 40’s they thought he was. He isn’t only nice because thats what he is supposed to be. He isn’t just propaganda personified).

Most of them would love to have known Steve when he was a tiny ball of anger who punched bullies, even when he was the only one losing every single time.

He’s just really charming and they don’t understand how he’s still fighting and wanting to make the world a better place when he already lost everything, more than once.

And that makes them want to better themselves too.

Of course Steve doesn’t see this and doesn’t understand why everyone wants to talk to him or wants to listen to him outside of missions. He’s just a guy from the forties that’s is too overwhelmed to process everything all at once.

[ohboy-herewegoagain]

working on the sampo compilation post i mentioned a little while ago but. there is such a tragic lack of sampo and black swan being reluctant homies in fan content. Most of her story quest is them having to put up with Sparkle's bullshit (affectionate) together.

[ilovesnat]

ngl i always fall for my ex crush's compliments and physical touch😭😭 we have the same love language, and we just casually give it to each other, i've moved on already since late march or early april, but idk, idk if my feelings are coming back or i just love the way she treats me. she'd literally give me random back hugs, or tuck my hair in my ears, she'd even hold my hands when we cross the street together, literally any form of physical touch she gives me is 🫶. and when we presented our musical play, she literally flooded me with her compliments like "our [name of my character] is sooo pretty!" "you're voice is so good, you brought the presentation up" and when we were having talks with our other friends, she was bragging me with them, in a good way tho, like she'd say "she got the highest score, she's so smart" and my other friend would be silly and say her boy crush is smart too, then my ex crush would say "does he have straight a's too?". ANDDDD our outro for the play had a twist, like me and my ex crush would do a simple monologue after singing, it was supposed to be her only but she asked the director if it's okay that she wants me to join her, likeee why me, but i like it so why not? she had a video of us in the outro and even put it in her story in ig😭😭 i wouldn't want my feelings for her to come back again because it's for the better, but as this thing go on, i will just appreciate our bonding, and enjoy it while it last because school is almost done and i'm not sure if she's gonna be my classmate again next school year:)

[warningsine]

I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you.