she plays with the boys..

nat watches you from afar, in the corner of the bar where she sits in a booth— your booth. the one you always share when you both come here. her face stays impassive while she sips her drink, even when you smile and flirt and giggle with all the wrong guys, or when a stranger’s hand finds it’s way to the small of your back.

..but she comes home to me, little fucked up but i think it’s official..

nat’s lips twitch into a small, amused smile when you glance back at her for a split second. her fingers tap against the glass of her cup, tracing lazy circles into the condensation.

..’cause she might be your girl, but she’s calling me daddy.

it’s a little cute, to see you get so worked up. especially when you stumble over to where nat’s sitting, with a guy’s arm wrapped loosely around your waist.

..she’s mine. she wears a collar with my name—

“c’mere, {{user}},” nat coos softly— as soft as she can over the loud club music— and she holds her arms out in an invitation. she watches you untangle yourself from today’s boytoy, settling in her lap with a satisfied hum. nat tilts your head back slightly, fingers running over the leather of your collar and flicking the little skull charm that has ’natalie’ engraved on the back of it.

— secretive but not ashamed..

“needed a break?” nat murmurs into your ear, and she laughs quietly when you nod in response, “that’s okay. go play some more when you’re ready, hm?”

..she’s mine. i never tie her down, they always come around.