˙ . ꒷ 🪼 . 𖦹˙— codependent
ミ☆ pairing: nate jacobs x gn!reader
ミ☆ wc: 1.2k
ミ☆ tags: established relationship, kissing, implied smut, not fluff but not angst either idk
ミ☆ cw: manipulation, gaslighting, lovebombing, narcissism, emotional abuse, nate highkey has bpd, stalking if you squint, toxic and unhealthy relationship, nate jacobs is not a good person
nate liked you codependent.
when he learned you didn't have your license, he got excited. it was easier to keep tabs on you knowing you needed his permission to go anywhere. he wouldn't say no, of course. at least not outright.
"can you drop me off at ethan's?"
the name was unfamiliar, but the jealousy churning in his gut wasn't. like always, he feigned nonchalance. "ethan?"
"yeah, from drama class," your explanation didn't help your case, "we're gonna go skating."
"at the rink?" he scoffed, laughing at the idea. you danced like a newborn deer; nate couldn't imagine how ridiculous you'd look trying to disco down.
you bristled at his tone, which pissed him off. nate thought the language of bodies was the easiest to understand; yours spoke up even when you didn't. he could practically see the muscles contracting underneath your skin. you didn't too much care for his game of twenty questions.
"nah, just the skate park," your eyes failed to meet his.
this wasn't the first time you spoke of it, nor the first time you went, but nate hated the skatepark all the same. he imagined some half rotting urban structure, since taken over by the parasites you hang around, stinking of weed and other men. what if you fell onto a heroin needle or something? he already convinced himself that you didn't need to go.
the boy slotted in behind you while you turned to grab your things. wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulled you closer. nate ducked his head down to place a delicate kiss along your neck.
"i wish i knew you had plans," he murmured against your skin, "thought we could do something together tonight."
"oh, i'm sorry."
that was another thing he liked about you, how you were always so quick to apologize, and how you'd do so without any real reason. less than two months since you got together and he already had you trained. finding his reflection in the mirror propped up near your bed, he took a moment to appreciate himself, lips moving downward.
the boy bit into your shoulder, "c'mon babe, ditch your friends just this once for me? i'll make it worth your while."
"okay."
nate also liked that you didn't have a job. your availability to him was probably the most important aspect of your relationship. he needed to be able to call you at five o’clock to scream in your face, then reappear by your window at two in the morning with a halfhearted apology, looking for a quick fuck. that's what you're there for, afterall. worst case scenario, you say no and he hits up an ex.
nate: sry abt earlier.
nate: yk how jealous i get
nate: can i come over?
read at 2:29 a.m.
nate: don’t be a bitch
nate: omw.
he was already sitting outside your house when he sent the last message, but the boy waited an extra five minutes to give you peace of mind. nate tried to imagine what you were doing all that time. were you putting clothes on? taking clothes off? a part of him hoped you at least cared enough to put on that orange chapstick he liked; it made you taste so good.
entering your house anytime after dark was a stealth mission pulled straight from a spy movie. your dad had alarms on both the front and back doors in addition to those on the ground windows; those routes were out of the question. he tried the doggy door once and only once. god, his ribs hurt from the memory alone.
it soon became ritual for him to approach your fenced in backyard where the privacy wall met the house’s gutter. he’d climbed the precariously stacked junk you had left there just for him until he was eye level with your window. he’d tap once, twice, thrice. if you were in a particularly prudish mood, he would give up and just start banging on the pane until you answered.
when the curtain pulled back and was replaced by the sweet image of your face, a smile graced his lips. he won. to clarify, he always did, but the feeling swelled in his chest with equal fervor. the sound of your window sliding up was all the welcome he needed. nate loved your attention, positive or negative. in fact, he preferred pissing you off. he liked the way your nose scrunched up in anger.
you snapped at him groggily, “what are you doing here?”
“i told you,” he reminded, “to apologize.”
eventually, you helped him inside. your room was small, though maybe it was just that he was big. he pretended to grow accustomed to a space he remembered quite vividly, watching as you kept your distance with crossed arms. there was a twelve step process to making you feel better but he couldn't get past step one.
“well?” you glared expectantly.
nate took three lazy, sauntering steps in your direction, pausing to stand in front of you. he looked down at your form with faux sincerity, grabbing your shoulders as if the gesture somehow made him seem more genuine.
he threaded a hand through your hair, “you know i didn't mean it, baby.”
you pulled back just barely, not committing to a full rejection. the hand at his side clenched and unclenched. nate had to resist the urge to slam your head into the wall. since when was he this fucked up?
“i can be so mean,” at least that part was true, “you know i’m just looking out for you. i don't want anything bad to happen to you.”
okay, maybe he was a little paranoid, but he had good reason to be. if anyone else thought about you the same way he did—carnally, unapologetically, angrily—nate had all the reasons in the world to be worried.
you wouldn't look at him, but the gesture was unlike the acquiescent avoidance he’d grown accustomed to. it was defiant, actually, how you'd focus on anything but him. the very short amount of patience he came here with was dwindling faster by the second. nate analyzed a week’s worth of interactions with you in one micro instant, trying to discern what he could say to fix this.
rephrase: what he could say to get in your pants.
in a very rare show of submission—not that he'd submit to anyone, again, he just wanted your body—nate slowly knelt on the ground before you. he would not beg, he would never beg, but why would he when his big brown eyes did all the begging for him?
“i’m sorry,” he finally forced out.
your attention was captured exactly as he hoped it would be. nate was nothing without his audience. you looked down at him, now. your presence wasn't domineering, nor was it empathetic. the soft twisting of your features made it seem like you pitied him for the effort he put into getting his dick wet.
you sighed, “you're forgiven, for now.”
that caveat followed every time you accepted one of his miserable apologies, he noticed. maybe you wanted to leave room to take it back later. that made sense, considering you always brought up old shit during arguments. maybe you were promising to live in the present. nate didn't know or care, not when you had finally pulled your top off.
as he explored the soft expanse of your skin, nate came to the conclusion he liked you codependent. it made you needy and whiney and so hot his dick hurt. he also realized it was getting increasingly difficult to get an erection without looking at you, but that was a problem better solved when he's watching porn at home. none of that mattered now, because sinking into the white hot heat of your insides made him forget damn near everything, including himself.
honestly, now that he's thinking about it, he loved being codependent with you.
tysm for reading
—˙𖦹 . 🪼 ꒷ . ˙