#or whatever idk I don’t chew gum

[dmumt]

milf professor agreed to be my dissertation supervisor helppp

[polkadotzzzz]

sweat and sweet temptation!

synopsis: a city girl’s summer on a quiet farm leads to unexpected encounters, where boundaries blur and desires awaken. what begins as an escape soon becomes something she never imagined.

a/n: i have no words....just pure filth for you all :3 enjoy ladies

18+, mdni, farmer sevika, city girl reader, farm life, sevika weighs a lot, reader also sort of likes that, sevika has a big tummy that reader strokes :3, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, strap on, strap on sex, fat kink????, sweat, like a lot of it, mentions of food???????, body hair, size difference, basically, sevika is like 300 pounds n ur like....idk 90 lol

chapter I: heatstroke and honey

the sun hated you. that was the only logical conclusion.

it beat down like it had a vendetta, turning your thighs slick where they stuck to the cracked leather seat of your grandpa’s rustbucket pickup. the air reeked of gasoline and cut grass, your glittery pink nails tapping out an annoyed rhythm on your phone case as you refreshed instagram for the eighth time in five minutes.

nothing. no service. again.

you blew a bubble, slow and loud, letting it pop obnoxiously before snapping your gum back between your teeth. grandpa didn’t even flinch—he was too busy humming off-key to some ancient country song as the truck rattled down the dirt road.

you adjusted your crop top for the hundredth time, tugging it down over your stomach, which was not made for this heat. your tiny jean skirt bunched up every time the truck hit a bump, which was every five seconds.

“this place is literally the middle of nowhere,” you muttered, wiping a line of sweat from your temple. “like, how is this even legal? it’s giving human trafficking vibes.”

grandpa just chuckled. “you’ll get used to it, sweetheart. fresh air’ll do you good.”

you rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache. “fresh air smells like cow ass.”

“then you’re finally smellin’ somethin’ real,” he said, eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror. “we’ll hit the market before we head back to the house. your grandma wants that apple jam she likes.”

“you guys don’t have amazon or something?”

another chuckle. “not everything’s deliverable, sugar. some things you gotta earn.”

you sank back in the seat, crossing your arms and stewing in your own sweat and bitterness. a whole damn summer stuck here while your friends partied without you. no clubbing. no rooftop bars. no air conditioning.

just you, bugs the size of birds, and the backwoods hellscape your parents called a “character-building opportunity.”

────

the farmers market looked exactly how you imagined it—quaint, dusty, full of people who probably didn’t know what gluten was. tables lined the parking lot of a tiny church, shaded by canopies and umbrellas that did absolutely nothing to block the sun. people milled around carrying tote bags full of peaches and squash like that was a fun thing to do on a saturday.

you trudged after your grandpa, already annoyed, already over it. your platform sandals kicked up little clouds of dirt with every step, and you made sure your gum popped extra loud just for the looks you were getting.

he chatted with some old guy selling pickles while you scanned the rows of tables, bored out of your mind—until you saw her.

or maybe felt her first.

the heat got heavier in her direction. like it thickened around her.

she was leaned back in a folding chair behind a rough wooden table, arms crossed under her chest, flannel sleeves rolled up to her elbows. her thighs spread wide, dark jeans stretched tight around them, boots caked in dry mud. one boot rested on the edge of a wooden crate like she owned the ground under it. a worn ballcap shaded her face, but not enough to hide the way her jaw flexed when she chewed on a stalk of straw.

she had a dozen jars of homemade jam stacked in front of her—simple labels, no frills—but it wasn’t the jam people were staring at.

she smelled like sun and sweat and woodsmoke. like whatever hard work did to a person over years and years. her skin was brown and streaked with a fresh sheen of sweat, a few strands of dark, messy hair stuck to her neck under her hat. the muscles in her arms didn’t look like gym muscles. they looked earned. ropey, real, heavy.

your stomach did something stupid.

you blinked and realized you’d just been standing there, staring like a moron.

she raised her eyes to you, and the corner of her mouth curled.

“well,” she drawled. voice low and scratchy, like gravel on velvet. “ain’t you a sight.”

you snapped your gum and tilted your head, defaulting to brat mode. “a sight for sore eyes, i know.”

her smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. her gaze flicked down your body—your glittery eyeliner, your crop top, the stretch of thigh your skirt barely covered—and then back up again, lazy and hot as july.

“somethin’ like that.”

you flushed, hating how your skin betrayed you. you weren’t even sure if it was from the heat or the way she looked at you like she could snap you in half—and might enjoy doing it.

“grandpa,” you hissed as you turned away, tugging on his sleeve. “that’s the jam lady?”

he followed your gaze and chuckled again. “that’s sevika, yep. been bringin’ her jam home for years. best damn apples in the county.”

sevika stood, and it was like a barn wall moved. she was easily over six feet, wide as a fridge, and every inch of her looked like it could crush you without trying. she moved slow, unbothered, wiping her hands on a rag pulled from her back pocket.

“got that honey apple batch your wife likes,” she said to your grandpa. then, to you: “you helpin’ him carry stuff today, sweetheart, or just here to bless us with your sass?”

you scowled. “i’m here against my will, actually.”

“lucky us,” she muttered, sliding two jars into a bag.

you hated that your thighs clenched just a little when her fingers brushed the jar lids. rough hands. big hands. calloused, worn, strong.

she handed the bag over, her fingers brushing yours for a heartbeat too long. “careful now. that jam’s sweet enough to rot your teeth.”

you snapped your gum again. “good thing i have a perfect smile.”

her smile said she didn’t believe in perfection, but she might make an exception just to ruin you.

────

you didn’t speak the entire ride home.

not that you could, with the way your heart was still thumping dumb in your chest and your thighs were glued together under your skirt like your body was trying to keep a secret. you hated how easily that woman—sevika—had crawled under your skin. hated the way her eyes followed you like she’d already decided what kind of sounds she’d pull from your mouth if you gave her the chance.

the truck bounced over a pothole, jolting you hard enough that your bare thigh smacked the hot leather seat.

“ow! jesus,” you snapped, adjusting yourself again. “does this truck have any suspension?”

grandpa just chuckled like everything was hilarious. “gotta say, you handled yourself well back there.”

“what, at the barnyard bake sale?” you rolled your eyes, blowing another bubble. “i deserve an oscar.”

“i meant with sevika.”

you froze. “i didn’t do anything.”

“oh, she noticed you, alright. always does when she sees something pretty walk by.” he threw you a look. “don’t play dumb.”

“i’m not playing anything,” you mumbled, shifting again, crossing and uncrossing your legs. “she was just... gross. sweaty. big.”

he snorted. “didn’t stop you from gawkin’ like a deer in headlights.”

you glared out the window, watching fields roll by. she was gross. and huge. and smelled like hard work and heat and sweat. you could still feel the weight of her stare on your bare skin, could still hear that slow southern drawl winding around her words like honey. it was disgusting how your stomach flipped just remembering it.

“gross,” you muttered again. but your thighs squeezed together all the same.

────

the farmhouse your grandparents lived in was old, two stories with peeling white paint and a porch that creaked under every step. you’d barely had time to set down your suitcase before grandma started talking about chores and “helping out around here.” you weren’t even safe in the kitchen—every drawer had knives that looked like they’d killed someone.

and to top it off? the jam sat right there on the counter like a goddamn temptation. you glared at it for a solid five minutes while scrolling your phone and pretending you weren’t still thinking about rough hands and drawled-out pet names.

you popped another piece of gum and took a spoonful of the apple jam straight from the jar just to prove a point. it was good. disgustingly good. sweet and tart with just enough spice to burn the back of your tongue.

stupid hot farmer bitch knew what she was doing.

that night, lying on the twin bed in your upstairs room with a ceiling fan that did nothing but push the heat around, you did something you swore you wouldn’t.

you searched her name.

just “sevika southern jam farmer” into every social media app you had.

nothing. of course. no digital footprint, no selfies, not even a facebook page. she was the kind of woman who probably didn’t believe in passwords or smartphones.

you chewed your gum louder, annoyed and slightly turned on by that fact.

your fingers hovered over your phone keyboard again. search: local farmstands. search: homemade jam vendor. you even tried sevika sweaty arms hot milf.

nothing but tumblr results from 2012 and a pinterest board called “southern butch vibes.”

you threw the phone across the bed with a groan and flopped back into the pillow, pressing your thighs together again. you hated the way your body wouldn’t listen. hated how that damn smirk haunted your brain every time you closed your eyes.

the way she said sweetheart like she was tasting the word. like she wanted to see what else she could call you once she had you bent over her lap.

you turned over with a frustrated grunt.

and then, like a curse, you heard grandpa call from downstairs.

“up early tomorrow! sevika’s needin’ help harvestin’ for the market. you’re goin’ with me!”

you sat up straight, heart in your throat.

“no the hell i’m not!” you yelled back.

“yes the hell you are,” came the reply.

you stared at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily overhead.

you’d be on her farm. in her space. with her sweaty, powerful, infuriating body walking around like she owned the damn world.

you swallowed hard.

this summer was going to kill you.

and not softly.

────

chapter II: rotten apples, dirty hands

you woke up in a tangle of sheets, sweating through your tank top and cursing whoever decided this house didn’t need air conditioning. the sun was barely up, light filtering through gauzy curtains in gold and pink streaks, and you were already miserable.

and then you remembered.

the farm.

sevika.

your stomach did a dumb little flip, and you cursed again, dragging yourself out of bed and throwing open your suitcase. if she thought she’d see you in some dusty-ass overalls like a damn peasant, she had another thing coming.

you picked a skirt that barely covered your ass, bubblegum pink with white trim, and a matching crop top that clung to your tits like a prayer. your bra was optional, your makeup was glittery, and your bubblegum popped loud enough to echo through the hallway.

by the time you made it downstairs, grandpa just shook his head.

“she’s gonna throw you into the pig pen.”

you winked. “only if she wants a show.”

────

the drive to sevika’s farm was all bumpy dirt roads, the kind that made your thighs jiggle and your teeth rattle. when you pulled up, the barn loomed in the distance, big and red and sun-bleached. apple trees stretched behind it in neat little rows, heavy with fruit, their leaves whispering in the wind.

and there she was.

sevika stood near a rusted-out pickup, one arm hoisting a wooden crate up like it weighed nothing. her flannel was rolled to the elbows, thick forearms covered in dirt and sweat, a piece of straw tucked into the corner of her mouth. her skin gleamed under the sun, tanned and slick with heat, and her thighs strained against worn jeans as she set the box down with a grunt.

you nearly choked on your gum.

“morning,” grandpa called out, grabbing another crate from the back.

sevika looked up, and when her eyes landed on you?

a long pause.

a smirk.

“well, i’ll be,” she drawled. “you really brought the barbie doll.”

you snapped your gum loud, hands on your hips. “this barbie don’t do manual labor.”

sevika cocked her head. “you’re wearin’ about six inches of skirt and not a single inch of sense. you’ll do whatever i tell you to, sweetheart.”

your stomach dropped.

grandpa just laughed and waved her off. “she’s all yours.”

sevika wiped sweat from her brow and gave you a once-over so slow it made your skin prickle. “guess i’ll have to put her to work.”

“touch me and i sue.”

“touch you and you melt,” she shot back without missing a beat.

she handed you a basket. wooden, big, heavy. you glared at it like it had personally insulted you.

“you’re pickin’ apples today,” she said. “trees won’t bite. you might break a nail, though. tragic.”

you blew a bubble and stomped after her into the orchard, her boots crunching dry dirt, yours slipping in your platform sandals. you could already feel sweat dripping down the back of your neck.

“this is hell,” you muttered.

“nah,” sevika called over her shoulder, “hell would be me makin’ you shovel pig shit.”

you nearly turned around.

she laughed—a low, throaty rumble that made your thighs clench. she knew what she was doing. every slow stride, every roll of her thick shoulders, every casual spit of that straw between her lips was calculated.

the apples were big and ripe and high up in the trees, and your tiny little arms didn’t stand a chance. you stood on your tiptoes, straining, skirt riding higher and higher until—

“sweetheart.”

you jumped. sevika was behind you, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off her skin like a furnace. she reached past you, arm brushing your side, and plucked the apple down with ease.

“you’re gonna break that pretty back,” she murmured.

your breath hitched.

she smelled like woodsmoke, sweat, and something warm and deep—like summer and sin wrapped in one big brutal package.

“i don’t need your help,” you snapped.

“didn’t say you did. just enjoyin’ the view.”

you spun around, flustered, the apple forgotten in your hands. “pervert.”

sevika leaned in, one arm braced on the tree behind you, caging you in without touching. “you keep wearin’ skirts like that, and callin’ me names with your mouth all shiny from gloss? you’ll find out i ain’t a gentleman.”

you didn’t breathe. couldn’t.

she smiled slow. “get pickin’.”

────

by the time you were done, your legs were covered in dirt and your top stuck to your skin. the basket was half-full—because apples were heavy, thank you very much—and you were pretty sure you had sunburn forming along your shoulders.

sevika didn’t say a word when you came back wheezing, dragging the basket behind you.

just raised an eyebrow. “you call that work?”

you flipped her off and collapsed under a tree.

she walked over, leaned against the trunk beside you, and popped the cap on a beer. she didn’t offer you one. just drank, throat bobbing with every swallow, sweat still glistening down the side of her neck.

“you’re gonna die out here,” she said casually.

“not before i sue you for harassment.”

she turned her head. “tell the judge what? that i looked at you too long while you were bent over shakin’ your ass like it owed you money?”

you gasped.

she grinned.

you wanted to slap her. or kiss her. or both. at the same time.

“i hate you,” you hissed.

sevika drained the rest of her beer and tossed the bottle into a bin. then she crouched down beside you, her thighs spreading wide, elbows on her knees, gaze dropping to your mouth.

“no, darlin’,” she said, low and rough. “you want me. and you hate that you do.”

you swallowed hard. and for the first time since you got here, you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say.

────

chapter III: dirty hands, dirtier thoughts

you were still trying to catch your breath under that tree when sevika stood, stretched her massive arms over her head, and said, “time to clean up.”

you blinked. “don’t you have, like, a hose?”

she snorted. “a hose? what is this, summer camp?”

and then she walked off—toward the barn—sweat sticking her flannel to her back and those thick thighs moving like sin under denim. you scrambled up, brushing off dirt from places you didn’t know could get dirty.

inside the barn, it was worse. hotter. the air thick with hay dust, the scent of apples and animals, wood and sweat. sunlight streamed through the cracks in the slats, catching particles in golden rays. you hesitated at the door, suddenly aware of your sticky thighs and the way your glittered lip gloss felt too much.

sevika stood at the workbench near the far wall, back turned, tugging off her flannel.

and you… froze.

her broad, scarred shoulders gleamed under the light. her white ribbed tank top was soaked through, clinging to the thick slope of her back, the curve of her waist, the roll of soft stomach that peeked out every time she reached up. her bra strap peeked out from under one shoulder, twisted like she hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.

you swallowed hard.

then harder when she turned and caught you staring.

“you lost?” she asked, reaching for a rag and wiping the back of her neck.

you cleared your throat. “no. i just—wanted to see what kinda cleaning we were doing.”

she raised an eyebrow. “didn’t know watchin’ me get half-naked counted as chores.”

“maybe if i’m lucky,” you shot back.

and something shifted.

her mouth twitched into something feral. “you flirtin’ with me, sweetheart?”

you looked her dead in the eye. “what if i am?”

she dropped the rag. took one step forward. then another.

the barn suddenly felt very small.

her boots thudded across the floor, each step echoing until she stopped in front of you—towering, glistening, breathing slow and deep like she was measuring you up.

your back hit the barn door.

“don’t tease me, little girl,” she said low, voice rough as gravel. “i bite.”

you looked up at her, heart jackhammering in your chest. “i bruise easy.”

“good.”

her hand lifted—just two fingers—and she brushed a bit of hay from your shoulder, trailing down your bare arm slow enough to make goosebumps rise. her callouses scraped the soft skin of your inner elbow.

your breath hitched.

and then—

“SEVIKA!”

you jumped.

she sighed.

some old guy’s voice floated through the barn from outside. “we got a busted water line by the back fence!”

sevika didn’t look away from you. she just muttered, “cockblockin’ son of a bitch,” under her breath, then tilted her head.

“you stay here. don’t touch shit. you hear me?”

you nodded, too fast, still trying to breathe normal.

she leaned in, mouth near your ear. “i will finish what i started.”

then she was gone. just boots thudding away and a slammed barn door.

you stood there, flushed and buzzing, thighs pressed together and heart hammering. and god help you, you wanted more.

────

she drove you home that afternoon—your grandparents’ truck being “too old for these damn hills,” as grandpa said.

you climbed into the passenger seat of sevika’s dusty pickup, the leather seats hot against the backs of your thighs. she adjusted the mirrors, cracked the window, and peeled off down the dirt road with one hand on the wheel.

the other? resting right on your knee.

you froze.

her fingers were wide and rough, resting just heavy enough to make a point. she didn’t squeeze. didn’t tease. just let the weight of her hand stay there while the sun dipped low behind you both and the road hummed beneath the tires.

“you’re awful quiet,” she said after a few miles, eyes still on the road.

you wet your lips. “i'm getting felt up by a senior citizen.”

that earned a low, genuine laugh—deep in her chest, like she didn’t laugh often but you got it out of her anyway.

“careful, sweetheart,” she said, voice like whiskey. “keep talkin’ like that and you’re gonna end up sittin’ on more than my passenger seat.”

you squeezed your thighs shut. hard.

by the time she dropped you off, the sun had dipped behind the hills. fireflies were blinking in the tall grass, and your grandparents’ porch light flickered on.

she didn’t get out of the truck.

just leaned back in her seat, wrist draped over the wheel, eyes on you.

“you show up tomorrow,” she said, voice low.

you raised an eyebrow. “or what?”

sevika smiled slow. “or i come lookin’ for you.”

then she peeled off into the dark, tail lights glowing red like a warning.

────

chapter IV: no panties, no problem

you showed up to the farm the next morning just after sunrise, same as sevika told you. no ride this time—just your glittery pink sandals crunching down the gravel road, your phone tucked in your bra, and your skirt barely covering anything at all.

it was thinner than usual. shorter, too.

and underneath?

nothing.

not a stitch.

you’d looked yourself in the mirror that morning, chewed your gum slow, tilted your head, and said out loud: let her work for it.

by the time you reached the barn, the air already smelled like grass and sweat, and sevika was tossing hay bales like they weighed nothing. just her tank top today. stuck to her back. her thighs wide in those old jeans, boots caked in dirt. a smear of something dark ran down her arm, and her brow glistened.

she didn’t look up when you walked in.

“’bout time,” she muttered. “grab that ladder. you’re helpin’ me in the orchard.”

you blinked. “you trust me on a ladder?”

sevika looked at you then—real slow. her eyes flicked down your legs, to the hem of your skirt, then back up.

something dark sparked behind her smile.

“no,” she said. “but i’m willin’ to watch you fall.”

────

the orchard smelled like sunshine and ripening apples. birds chirped. bees buzzed.

and you?

you climbed a ladder while sevika held it steady at the bottom.

“reach up,” she called, voice lazy, “grab that one on the left.”

you stretched—knowing exactly what you were doing.

the skirt rose.

the breeze hit your bare skin.

and from down below?

sevika’s silence was louder than anything.

you plucked the apple. slowly. made sure to wiggle just enough on your way back down.

when your feet hit the grass, sevika handed you a basket without a word—but her jaw was tight. her fingers grazed yours. her gaze lingered a little too long.

“you do that on purpose?” she finally asked, wiping sweat off her neck.

you blinked up at her, all wide-eyed innocence. “do what?”

she didn’t answer.

just picked up her own basket, turned, and muttered, “keep climbin’, sweetheart.”

and so you did.

all morning.

bending, reaching, climbing—your skirt dancing high on your hips, the summer air licking every inch of exposed skin.

every time you came back down, sevika looked ten seconds closer to snapping.

and god, it made you feel powerful.

────

by the time the baskets were full, the sun was high, and your thighs were sticky from sweat and mischief.

sevika led you to the shed out back. it was small, wooden, and cooler than the orchard, shaded by big trees and full of old tools, empty crates, and the sharp smell of sawdust.

she cracked open a bottle of water and took a swig, then passed it to you. her fingers brushed your mouth when you drank.

you licked the rim when you handed it back.

her gaze dropped to your thighs.

“you got a death wish, city girl?” she murmured.

you took a step closer.

“maybe i just like dangerous things.”

and there it was—that flash in her eyes, like she was this close to grabbing your waist, pressing you against the wall, and seeing just how many times she could make you whimper her name.

but sevika didn’t move.

she just smirked, took another sip of water, and said, “ain’t no panties under that skirt, huh?”

your breath caught.

you said nothing.

didn’t have to.

sevika laughed, low and wicked.

“mm. thought so. you keep playin’ games, darlin’, one of these days i won’t stop myself.”

she turned and walked out—boots thudding, sweat glistening on her shoulders, leaving you alone in the shed with your own heartbeat pounding between your legs.

and not even a scrap of fabric to hide it.

────

chapter V: thunder rolls, a storm’s a-comin

the storm hit like a wall, just as sevika said it would earlier today.

"a storm's a-comin doll, you ever see rain before?"

the barn door slammed shut behind you, sealing in the humid, electric air. the world outside was darkening, but the inside of the barn was filled with that thick, musky scent of hay and dust. the kind of smell that wrapped around your skin like a secret.

you pulled your shirt away from your body, letting out a little huff of frustration. the rain was coming down in sheets now, the kind that soaked you in seconds. your skirt clung to your hips, and the damp fabric did nothing to cool the fire building in your chest.

“gonna be stuck here a while,” sevika’s voice rolled over you, low and steady.

you glanced up at her, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of her framed in the doorway, rain streaking down her face. her flannel shirt was already soaked through, sticking to her muscles, every curve and dip of her frame outlined perfectly. there was something about the way she moved, slow and controlled, as if she knew exactly what you were thinking.

and maybe she did.

you reached up to grab the ladder, feeling her eyes on you as you climbed. each step took you higher, showing off your bare legs and the way the skirt slipped up your thighs, inch by inch. you didn’t wear panties again—just the soft, damp fabric of your skirt brushing against your skin, knowing full well what it would do to her.

when you reached the top, you felt the weight of sevika’s presence below you. it was more than just her towering figure, more than her steady gaze—it was the way she filled the space around you, thick and undeniable.

“i told you,” she said softly, stepping up behind you, “you keep temptin’ me, and one of these days, i won’t be able to stop myself.”

her voice was rough, gravelly—like it always was when she was worked up. you could feel the heat coming off her as she climbed up the ladder behind you, each movement deliberate, controlled. her boots hit the rungs with a heavy thud, and you felt the vibration all the way up your spine.

you didn’t turn around. you didn’t need to. you already knew she was there, just a few inches behind you, close enough to feel her breath on your neck.

the top of the ladder creaked under her weight, and then she was there, standing beside you in the loft, the rain hammering against the roof above.

you pulled in a shaky breath, trying to keep your cool as sevika’s hands reached for the hay bales.

but she didn’t move right away. she lingered.

her fingers brushed against your arm, just enough to make your skin flare with heat. her touch was a promise, soft but firm. you shivered as her calloused fingertips traced along your wrist, and you dared to look at her. her eyes were darker now—heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. a storm all its own.

“you’re always gettin’ under my skin,” she growled, her voice a low rumble, “even when you ain’t tryin’.”

you swallowed, heart hammering in your chest. “i’m not trying. but you keep looking at me like that.”

sevika chuckled, low and slow. “like what?”

“like you wanna tear me apart,” you breathed out, feeling the heat radiating off her. the air around you felt thick, close, like every inch of space was charged with electricity.

she stepped closer.

one of her hands found your hip, big and firm, holding you in place. she leaned in, close enough to taste the rain on her skin. you could feel the way her chest pressed against yours—warm, strong, like a wall of muscle.

and then—finally—her lips found yours.

it was rough, desperate, the way a storm should feel. her kiss was hungry, deep, and you couldn’t fight back the way your body melted into hers, the soft groan that slipped from your throat.

sevika’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, her body heat searing you through your clothes. you could feel her everywhere—her strength, her roughness, her raw desire.

the rain outside pounded harder, but it didn’t matter. not when sevika was there, holding you in her arms, her lips tracing the line of your jaw, then down to your neck.

“you keep playin’ with fire, sweetheart,” she murmured, lips grazing your skin. “one of these days, you’re gonna get burned.”

you pulled her closer, your hands digging into the wet fabric of her shirt, feeling the muscles under her skin, the heat of her body pressing against yours.

“i’m counting on it,” you whispered back.

────

her lips were on your neck now—hot, dragging, greedy. she kissed like she was starving, like you were something she’d been aching for, something she shouldn’t touch but couldn’t help herself.

and gods, it worked.

you tilted your head back, giving her more. her teeth scraped your skin, just enough to leave a mark, just enough to make you gasp. and sevika growled at the sound of it. like it lit her up from the inside.

“that skirt,” she rasped, one hand tightening on your waist, “you wore it on purpose, didn’t you?”

you nodded, dizzy with heat. “yeah.”

her hand slipped lower, brushing down the back of your thigh—slow, deliberate. when she reached under your skirt and found nothing underneath, her breath hitched.

“well, fuck me,” she muttered. “you’re a goddamn menace.”

she gripped the back of your bare thigh, fingers sinking into your skin like she meant to leave bruises, and you whimpered, soft and spoiled, pressing yourself into her like you needed her to keep touching you.

“i thought about this,” you confessed, voice thin and shaky. “climbing up here with nothin’ on. knew you'd be watchin’.”

“oh, i was watchin’,” she murmured, dragging her mouth up to your ear. “and i knew you were beggin’ for it. you wanted me to see what a filthy little brat you are.”

you let out a soft moan at that, your thighs clenching around nothing.

sevika didn’t waste time. she shoved the crates aside with one hand, like they were nothing, clearing a space in the hay. then she lifted you—just picked you up like you weighed nothing—and laid you down on your back, hay scratching at your bare thighs, skirt bunched around your waist.

her eyes dragged down your body, and for a moment, she just looked.

rain pounded the roof like war drums, but all you could hear was your heartbeat in your throat and sevika’s slow exhale.

“you don’t even know what you’re askin’ for,” she said, climbing over you. “but i’ll show you.”

and when she got between your legs, when her calloused hand slid up your thigh and she found how wet you were—she cursed, low and filthy.

you grabbed at her shirt, trying to pull her closer, but she caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand.

“nuh-uh,” she said, voice dark and thick with heat. “you wanted a storm, baby? you got it. now lie back and take it.”

her fingers dragged through you—slow, slick, knowing. and when she dipped one inside you, thick and curling, you arched off the hay and let out a sound that echoed through the barn like sin.

sevika smirked, sweat and rain dripping from her jaw onto your chest.

“you’re gonna make such a mess, sugar. hope you’re ready to clean it up with that smart little mouth of yours.”

and then she added a second finger.

you’re already trembling by the time her fingers sink in deeper, your thighs spread wide in the hay, hips twitching with every slow thrust of her hand. her grip on your wrists doesn’t let up—not for a second. she keeps you pinned, helpless, her body looming over yours like thunder, heat pouring off her in waves.

the storm outside rages louder, but inside the barn, it’s just the two of you—sweat, slick, hay, and heat.

“look at you,” she mutters, voice thick like molasses, slow and sticky. “drippin’ all over my hand. all from a little touch.”

she curls her fingers inside you, and you gasp—back arching, toes curling in your muddy boots. her hand is so big, palm rough against the softness between your legs. her thumb presses down, slow, circling, and you bite your lip so hard it hurts.

“don’t do that,” she murmurs. “i wanna hear you. wanna hear that bratty little mouth beg.”

you do. you whimper. you whine. “please.”

“please what?”

“please don’t stop.”

that gets her. sevika groans low in her throat, hips grinding into the hay like it’s killing her not to fuck you raw right then and there.

“you’re dangerous,” she says, breathless, still working her fingers in and out of you with a rhythm that’s cruelly patient. “you don’t even know what the hell you’re doing to me, do you?”

you reach for her again, this time with a little desperation. and this time, she lets go of your wrists.

you grab fistfuls of her flannel, trying to pull her down to kiss you, but she leans just close enough to ghost her lips over yours without giving it up.

“oh, now you want my mouth?” she teases, voice rough. “what happened to all that sass, city girl? you were real mouthy this mornin’.”

“i’m—fuck—sorry,” you breathe.

she smirks. “that’s more like it.”

then she lowers her mouth to your chest, tongue hot and messy, licking a path down the valley between your breasts. she shoves your soaked shirt up, mouth closing around one nipple, her free hand still fucking into you slow and deep.

you cry out—your hands flying up to grip her shoulders. she moans into your skin, like the sound of you breaking apart turns her on more than anything.

“i could ruin you right here,” she growls. “make you come so hard your legs won’t work for a week. leave you fucked out and pantin’ in the hay.”

“then do it,” you whisper. “please, sev. i want it.”

that’s all it takes.

her thumb moves faster, circles tightening, her fingers pumping deeper—so much pressure, so much need building in your gut.

“come for me,” she growls. “be a good girl and soak my fuckin’ hand.”

you shatter. loud. breathless. soaking her fingers with a messy, shameful cry. she works you through it, slow and sweet, not stopping until your thighs twitch and your breath stutters.

she pulls her fingers out finally, slow, dripping, then brings them to her lips and sucks them clean—never breaking eye contact.

“taste like peaches,” she mutters. “knew you’d be sweet.”

you’re sprawled out, ruined, skirt hiked up and makeup smudged, hair stuck to your cheeks with sweat and rain.

and she leans over you, kisses the corner of your mouth real slow and dirty.

“tomorrow,” she says, breath hot. “we ain’t waitin’ for rain.”

────

chapter VI: orchard heat, the favor returned (pt.1)

it’s a scorcher the next day. humid, sticky, the kind of heat that clings to your skin and drips down your back before noon. the orchard’s alive with cicadas and the heavy scent of overripe apples hanging thick in the air. you’d barely gotten through your chores before your brain started melting. and all damn day, sevika’s been eyeing you like she knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about since the barn.

and she does.

by sundown, when the sky is streaked orange and pink, she pulls you into the shade of the biggest tree in the orchard. her hands are dirty, fingers stained from sap and soil, and she’s drenched in sweat—flannel wide open, tank underneath soaked through, clinging to the swell of her broad chest and the thick muscle along her arms.

her belly peeks out where the shirt rides up—soft, big, warm. you can't stop staring.

“you been thinkin’ about last night?” she asks, voice rough as gravel, leaning her weight against the tree, towering above you like temptation itself.

you nod, cheeks flushed, heart thudding in your chest.

“good,” she grins, cocking her head. “then get on your knees, city girl. show me that mouth ain’t just for talkin’.”

and you drop for her—knees hitting the dry grass, breath shallow as you look up at her.

she’s massive like this. towering. one foot planted between yours, the other braced against the tree root. thick thighs covered in dirt-caked jeans, belt buckle half undone, belly rising and falling as she pants in the heat. her body’s a lot—tall, broad, heavy with muscle and the kind of fat that comes from years of eating good and working hard. her stomach soft, her hips wide, her chest heaving.

and then you get a whiff of her—sweat and earth and something feral.

“don’t shave,” she mutters, watching your eyes trail down. “ain’t got the time or the patience.”

she ain’t lying. hair trails thick and dark from her navel downward, coarse curls already peeking out above her jeans. her pits are soaked, dark patches spreading beneath her arms, and when she lifts one to rest against the tree, it hits you full in the face—her. raw, real, musky.

and god, you want it.

you tug open her belt with trembling fingers, fumbling to get her jeans down. she doesn’t help—just watches you, chest rising, lips parted, a line of sweat trickling down her neck into her cleavage.

“fuck, look at you,” she mutters. “all glitter and gloss, on your knees like a good girl.”

her pants fall to mid-thigh, and you get your first full look at her.

she’s soaked. hair curling wild across her thick, meaty thighs, sweat glistening on her skin, the scent of her slick and heat making your head spin. her clit’s swollen, peeking from the hood, twitching with every pant.

you lean forward, tongue out, tentative.

she growls. “no teasing.”

so you dive in.

you lick her like you mean it—messy, wet, obscene. her taste is strong, earthy and musky, a little tangy from the sweat, and so fucking good. you moan against her, lips slick with her, your hands gripping her thighs just to hold yourself steady.

her body jerks when you suck, and she bites down a curse, hand flying to your head.

“you filthy little thing,” she pants, hips rocking forward. “lick it up. just like that.”

you bury your face deeper, licking from her dripping entrance all the way up to her clit, then wrap your lips around it and suck, tongue flicking rapid and tight. she groans, deep and hoarse, hips grinding hard against your face now.

she’s heavy—so heavy—you can feel her weight in every inch of your body. her thigh presses to your cheek, solid muscle and soft fat, pinning you there. her belly’s brushing your forehead, slick with sweat, her scent in your nose, mouth, everywhere.

your fingers dig into her ass, pulling her closer, and she hisses, grabbing a handful of your hair.

“shit—gonna come—don’t stop—”

you don’t. you can’t. you want her to come undone. you want to drown in her.

and then she breaks.

her thighs quake. her stomach tightens. she lets out a deep, shuddering moan that shakes through her whole body—and you keep sucking, keep licking until she jerks and swears and finally grabs your head with both hands, pulling you off her pussy with a wet pop.

“goddamn,” she mutters, breathless, sweat pouring down her face. “you tryin’ to kill me, sugar?”

you look up at her, your mouth glistening with her, eyes blown wide and dazed.

“just repaying the favor,” you whisper.

────

chapter VI: orchard heat, you earned it, now she's gonna take (pt.2)

your lips are still glistening, chin sticky with her, and sevika looks down at you with something dark in her eyes—like she’s barely hanging on, like she wants to ruin you and hold you at the same time.

she tucks herself back into those worn, low-slung jeans, knuckles dragging across her soaked belly, and you just sit there panting, thighs clenched, still on your knees in the grass.

you’re shaking, honestly. from the heat, from the taste of her, from the way her voice dips low when she finally speaks.

“you’re a fuckin’ mess,” she says. “c’mere.”

you barely get your legs under you before she grabs you—thick arms wrapping around your waist like you weigh nothin’, like she was built for it. and she was. that body? meant for holding, for breaking girls like you open. you squeak as she hauls you up off the ground, then throws you down in the grass under the apple tree like a sack of flour—wind knocked out of you, skirt flying up, thighs parted.

“gonna show you what a real woman feels like,” she mutters, crawling over you, and god, she’s big.

all heat and weight and hair, flannel falling off her shoulder, tank pulled low and stretched tight over her huge tits. her belly presses to yours, soft and heavy, and her thighs bracket you, muscles flexing as she shifts to pin you flat.

you writhe, hands reaching up to grab her shoulders, but she catches your wrists easily in one big, calloused hand and pins them above your head.

“mm-mm. you made me come,” she growls, mouth brushing your ear. “now i get to take my time.”

and take her time she does.

she licks a line down your throat, sweaty and slow. bites your collarbone. sinks her teeth into the soft flesh of your breast through your little pink tank top until you gasp and arch beneath her.

her other hand—big, blunt-fingered and rough from farm work—skims down your body and shoves your skirt up.

no panties. you came prepared.

sevika growls.

“little tease,” she hisses, dragging a filthy finger down your bare slit. “wanted me to see this pussy first chance i got?”

you nod, breath hitching.

“use it, baby,” you whisper. “i want it.”

and she does.

she’s got two fingers in you before you can even moan, thick and unrelenting, fucking you open like she owns it. she presses her full body weight down—soft belly pushing into your ribs, thighs caging you in, her arm flexing beside your head—and it’s too much, the heat, the sweat, the feel of her hair dragging along your bare skin.

her scent is everywhere—feral, musky, unshowered and wild—and it drives you crazy.

“gonna stretch you out,” she pants, her lips right at your neck. “make this spoiled little body feel it.”

you moan so loud it echoes off the trees.

she adds a third finger, and your hips buck up hard, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“f-fuck, sev—”

“you’re gonna take it,” she growls, grinding the heel of her palm against your clit as her fingers curl deep. “gonna take all of me.”

and you do.

you take it until your legs are trembling, until your voice is gone, until you’re sobbing against her chest, your hands fisted in her soaked flannel, begging for more, for everything.

she makes you come three times under that tree before she finally lets you go.

and when she pulls back—big body rising from you like a storm breaking—she leans down, wipes your face with the hem of your own tank top, and kisses you with the kind of messy, possessive hunger that says, you’re mine now.

────

chapter VII: ride it, cowgirl, you brought this on yourself.

you’re already up in the loft when she walks in.

the sunlight filters through the cracks in the wood, casting golden stripes across the hay bales, across you. legs swinging where you’re perched, dress hitched up scandalously, phone dangling from your fingers, gum snapping between your teeth. you don’t even look up when you hear her boots on the stairs.

but you feel her.

all six-foot-four and three hundred pounds of her. the loft creaks beneath her weight as she climbs, slow and deliberate. like she knows you’re waiting. like she’s in no damn rush.

you finally glance over, and there she is.

sweaty as hell already, just from loading crates below. flannel tied around her waist, white tank soaked through across her tits and stomach. her arms look even bigger in this light—roped with muscle, tan skin gleaming, thick veins bulging from effort. she’s breathing heavy. hair a mess. and she’s staring right at you.

you suck your gum back between your teeth and tilt your head.

“need help with somethin’, farmer?”

her nostrils flare.

“you’re not wearin’ a damn thing under that dress, are you?” she asks, voice low and wrecked.

you smile. swing your leg again. “you tell me.”

she’s on you in seconds.

slams your phone down onto the hay. grabs you by the hips and drags you forward so your legs fall open, that thin dress riding up. her breath stutters.

“jesus fuckin’ christ,” she growls. “look at you. drippin’ already, huh?”

you nod, biting your lip. “all for you.”

she doesn’t even bother teasing this time.

sevika shoves you back onto the hay, kneels between your legs—her big thighs spread wide, heavy body blocking out the sun—and runs her tongue from your knee to your thigh, tasting the sweat and sweetness clinging to your skin.

you writhe.

“you knew what you were doin’,” she murmurs, voice like thunder. “climbin’ up here with that pussy bare and ready.”

“i wanted you to come find me,” you whisper, fingers already fisting in the hay.

and god, she does more than that.

she climbs up onto you, settles her full weight over your smaller body, presses her hot, hairy thighs around your hips and grabs your wrists to pin them above your head again.

“you’re gonna ride me today,” she growls. “earn it.”

and baby, you do.

she lies back in the hay, chest heaving, that tank top riding up to show her belly, soft and full and sweat-damp. she pulls her jeans down just enough to free her strap, and it’s huge, thick and curved and strapped to those broad, scarred hips.

you crawl over her like a girl possessed.

straddle that big farmer’s lap, hands on her belly, her tits, her face—kissing her filthy, mouthing at her jaw while you grind down. her hands grip your hips like vise clamps, guiding you, slow at first.

then rough.

you bounce on her, crying out, drenched and desperate. her strap hits deep, her stomach slaps against yours, the hay sticks to your back and thighs. her big hands never stop moving—grabbing your tits, spanking your ass, pulling your dress down so she can suck marks into your chest while you ride her like she owns the whole damn county.

and she does. and now? she owns you.

“fuck, baby,” sevika groans, sweat dripping off her chin. “you ride me so good.”

you’re panting. “t-tell me i’m your girl—tell me this pussy’s yours—”

she slaps your ass, hard enough to echo in the barn.

“you’re mine,” she growls. “this pussy’s mine. you hear me?”

you scream when you come, full-body shaking, collapsing against her slick chest while she holds you, heavy arm across your back.

and when you finally roll off her and catch your breath, she tucks a piece of straw behind your ear, grinning like a goddamn devil.

“you wanna sleep out here tonight, sugar?” she asks, smirking. “or should i carry you back to the house?”

you bite your lip, cheeks flushed.

“…hay’s fine.”

────

chapter VIII: breakfast of champions, you like waking up here now.

no more rolling your eyes. no more groaning about roosters or dusty boots or early mornings. not when they mean her.

you’re out of bed faster than ever. a quick splash of water on your face, dress yanked over your head, a slap of clear gloss. no panties again—habit now. you like how it makes you feel all day. loose. bare. ready.

she notices, every time.

the walk to her place is still long—dirt crunching under your sandals, sun already warming your skin—but you like it. like the ache in your thighs from yesterday’s riding, the faint sting of hay scratches on your back. little reminders.

she’s already up, of course. has been for hours. the tractor’s silent now, barn doors open, the smell of breakfast hitting you before you even see her.

inside?

a massive wooden table and an even bigger plate of pancakes.

towering. twelve, at least—stacked high, drowning in syrup, melting butter dripping down the sides like something sinful. there’s bacon too. eggs. a glass of milk. and right across from it: a little pink plate with two pancakes, already cut into neat quarters, a few raspberries on the side.

she doesn’t say a word when you walk in—just eyes you up and down real slow, her big hand sliding her chair back as she leans back in it.

“come sit,” sevika grunts, nodding to the chair next to hers. “figured you’d be hungry after yesterday.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you trying to fatten me up or something?”

she smirks. god, that smirk.

“nah. just feedin’ my girl right.”

my girl.

it makes your knees feel weak.

you sit beside her. her knee brushes yours under the table, thick and warm and firm like everything else about her. and then she tears into her food.

jesus.

fork in one hand, a slab of butter in the other. she eats like she’s starving—cleans up five pancakes before you’ve barely touched your second. syrup clings to her fingers. her jaw flexes with every bite. she’s loud, too. chews. groans. washes it all down with a swig of milk that dribbles down her chin and into the thatch of hair on her chest where her tank top gapes open.

she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“somethin’ wrong with yours?” she asks, glancing at your still-full plate.

you blink, cheeks hot. “n-no. i just—how the hell are you still eating?”

she laughs—booming, belly-shaking.

“big girl’s gotta keep her strength up,” she says, leaning in, eyes dragging down your body. “especially when you’re keepin’ her busy all night.”

you look down at your plate to hide the flush crawling up your throat.

you never thought you’d like being around animals, sweating in the heat, or walking through dirt barefoot. but now? you like the work. you like sevika. like her attention, her food, the way she always has something for you—cold lemonade, extra sunscreen, a clean flannel when you get dirty.

you love when her giant shadow falls over you while you’re watering tomatoes. when she lifts bales of hay like they weigh nothing. when she leans over your shoulder to show you how to hold the rake properly and you can feel every inch of her warm, wide chest brush against your back.

she treats you like you matter.

and even though you're still spoiled, still pouty sometimes—you’re starting to understand the language of sweat and sunburns and syrup-covered mornings.

you reach across the table and steal a strip of bacon off her plate.

she raises a brow. “you bold now, huh?”

you smirk back. “feedin’ your girl right, remember?”

she grins. leans in close. her flannel still smells like hay and hard work.

“damn right i am.”

────

by noon, the sun’s brutal. your thighs are sticking to the porch swing, your gloss long gone, and your hair’s tied up in a messy knot with a rubber band you found in one of her junk drawers, your hair tie- thin and pink had snapped somewhere between lifting hay and picking apples. sevika ruffles every time she walks past.

“c’mon, apple pie,” she calls from the kitchen. “lunch is ready.”

odd nickname. perhaps it was because you were so sweet. you hoped so.

you step inside and stop short.

the whole table’s covered.

you blink. “are we feeding the entire county?”

she shrugs, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “nah. just you and me.”

just you and me.

you swallow hard.

there’s fried chicken—crispy, golden, still steaming. mashed potatoes drowning in gravy. sweet corn cut fresh off the cob. fluffy biscuits, a bowl of honey butter. collard greens. mac n’ cheese so thick and creamy you can see the strings of cheese clinging to the spoon. iced tea in big mason jars. and, of course, a slice of pecan pie sitting off to the side like dessert’s already decided.

sevika moves around the kitchen like it’s nothing—big, broad back to you as she grabs a fork. the floor creaks under her. every time she turns, her stomach brushes the counter, and it makes something flutter deep in your belly.

you sit down, still staring. “you really cook all this?”

“mhm.” she flops into the chair beside you, makes it groan under her weight. “told you i like feedin’ my girl.”

then she goes to town. watching her eat is… something else.

she doesn’t hold back. doesn’t care if the gravy drips down her chin or if her fingers are shiny with grease.

her bites are huge.

you watch her demolish two legs of chicken before you even finish scooping potatoes. she eats like she works—big, bold, messy.

you shouldn’t like it. you shouldn’t. but your thighs are pressed tight together under the table, lips slightly parted as you watch her chew and swallow. watch the way her throat moves. the sound of her low grunt when she reaches for more.

it's filthy. you're not even eating anymore. just sitting there, heat pooling under your skirt, watching her devour food like she hasn’t eaten in a week.

“i like feedin’ you,” sevika says around a bite, mouth still full, voice thick with pleasure. “like seein’ you lick your fingers. makes me think about what else you’d lick.”

you nearly knock over your tea.

she grins, eyes gleaming.

you clear your throat, try to grab a biscuit, your hands shaky. you dunk it in your mashed potatoes just like she taught you and bite.

“somethin’ on your lip,” she says suddenly.

you glance up. she’s watching you close, still chewing, but she reaches out—big hand cupping your jaw with fingers rough and warm.

she smears her thumb across the corner of your mouth. and then, slow as molasses, she presses that same thumb against your bottom lip.

“go on,” she murmurs. “clean it off.”

you don’t even hesitate.you wrap your lips around her thumb, sucking gently.

your tongue slides over the pad of it, tasting salt and gravy and something darker underneath. her breath hitches.

you feel her twitch next to you.

“jesus,” she mutters.

you pull off with a pop and lick your lips.

“don’t want your sauce to go to waste,” you say sweetly.

she stares at you like she might break the damn table. there’s gravy still on her chest, her neck glistening with sweat. you imagine licking it clean. imagine her pressing you down into the mashed potatoes, holding you there with a greasy, syrup-slick hand around your throat.you shift in your seat, thighs rubbing together.

“you full yet?” she asks, voice low.

you nod. “yeah.”

but your eyes stay on her plate—still piled high—and your voice goes a little breathless as you add, “but i wanna watch you finish.”

she leans back, sets her fork down.

“well,” sevika says, slow and dark, “i got a lot more in me, sweetheart.” you bite your lip. and you believe her.

────

you don't even realize you're doing it. just sitting there like a dumb little doll in your tiny skirt and tank top, watching her finish off a second helping of biscuits and gravy with a low groan in her throat, her belly pushing up against the edge of the table like it’s part of the feast.

she leans back with a deep sigh, rubbing at her stomach under the hem of her stretched-out shirt.

"you really put it away, huh,” you tease, even though your breath’s shallow. you’re still clenching your thighs like it’ll help the ache growing worse by the second.

she just smirks. “gotta keep all this up somehow.” her hand drops to her soft middle with a lazy pat, thick fingers spreading over her curve like she knows exactly what it does to you. “you starin’, sugar?”

you bite your lip. “maybe,”

you whisper.

sevika pushes her chair back with a low creak. then she spreads her legs wide and taps her thick thigh.

“well, c’mere and sit in my lap if you wanna stare that bad.

your mouth goes dry. you hesitate for a split second—but then you're moving. slowly. purposefully. sliding into her lap, your thighs pressing down against the heat of hers, her bulk under you so solid and wide that you feel tiny and delicate by comparison.

she wraps one heavy arm around your waist. the other? it slides right up the back of your skirt. no panties. her breath hitches. you feel her freeze for a second. then: a low, broken chuckle. “well, well,” she murmurs. “came ready to get your ass felt up, huh?”

you nod, lips parted, your chest rising fast against hers. “i figured i’d be climbin’ ladders later,” you breathe. “didn’t wanna deal with anything... in the way.”

she groans, head tipping back.“you’re gonna kill me.” she grabs two handfuls of your ass, palms big enough to nearly cover it all, and starts kneading, rough and slow. her fingers dig in, calloused and demanding.

you rock into her touch without meaning to, little gasps slipping from your mouth as she explores everything you gave her.

“y’really got no shame, huh,” she mutters into your neck, lips dragging over your skin. “teasin’ me all morning in that little skirt, swayin’ those hips like you don’t know what they do to me.”

“i know,” you whisper. “i like what it does to you.”

she groans again—louder this time. her stomach grumbles under you. “fuck, you wanna help me digest, sweetheart? i got all this food sittin’ heavy in me and nowhere to put this energy.”

“use me,” you say, breathless.

“use me how you want.”

her arms tighten around you.then she stands up. with you in her arms like you weigh nothing. like her aching, overstuffed belly isn’t a thing at all as she lifts you and sets you down right on the edge of the kitchen counter, pushing your legs open with her knee.

“i’m gonna ruin you,” she growls, voice low, rough, full of hunger. “ruin you right here with gravy still on my chin and syrup on my shirt.”

you gasp. wrap your arms around her neck. “please.”

you wouldn't be walking tonight.

────

chapter IX: under the steam, you liked her shower

the farmhouse creaked in the heat of the evening, cicadas humming outside like a lullaby made of sweat and dust. the sky was bruised purple and gold, and the air clung to your skin like syrup. after a full day mending fences, hauling hay, and baking under the southern sun, you were sun-tired and aching in the bones. but you weren’t alone—sevika was right beside you, sweat dripping from the tip of her nose, her broad shoulders rolling with each step.

dinner had been heavy. comforting. a mountain of spaghetti slathered in thick, garlicky sauce, with an entire loaf of buttery bread to match. you sat across from her, your plate half-eaten, while she went back for thirds. her fork twirled with effortless hunger, sauce smearing her lip as she groaned low, chewing with lazy satisfaction. her belly, full and warm, stretched the hem of her tank top. you couldn’t stop watching the way her body moved—like she was built for excess, for indulgence, and proud of it.

after the last bite, sevika leaned back in her chair with a loud, satisfied sigh and gave you a lazy look.

"you smell like a cow’s ass," she drawled, lifting her chin. "c’mon. shower time."

you didn't resist when she tugged you by the wrist, guiding you to the tiny bathroom just off the kitchen. the shower wasn’t meant for two—but that didn’t stop her. steam billowed the moment the water hit the tile, and sevika began stripping right there in front of you, with no ceremony. her flannel, soaked with sweat, hit the floor with a wet thud, followed by her tank and jeans.

she was huge. bigger than life. hair curled around her thighs and belly, glistening in the soft amber of the flickering light bulb overhead. her body bore every sign of a life earned by muscle and survival: stretch marks, a gut heavy with comfort, calloused feet, broad hips, thick thighs, arms like tree trunks.

you swallowed hard, unsure if it was the heat or the sight of her that made your knees weak.

"get in," she said simply.

you obeyed, stepping into the cramped stall, water cascading down your back. before you could even shiver, she joined you. her belly pressed into your chest, pushing you against the cool tile wall with a gentle but unyielding force. you squeaked, hands bracing behind you, but sevika only grinned.

"don’t act like you don’t like it," she whispered, hot against your ear.

your hands, trembling, reached for the soap. you lathered your palms and, slowly, hesitantly, began to glide them across her stomach.

it was soft. warm. massive. you couldn’t even span it with both hands, just ran your fingers along the swell, over the curves of her waist, under the underside where her gut met her thighs. she exhaled sharply, pleased.

"mmm. that’s it. wash me proper."

her belly pinned you in place, slick with suds, your cheeks flushed crimson. she ground into you, slow and teasing, letting you feel all of her—every heavy inch. you bit your lip to keep from moaning.

"you like cleanin’ me, sugar?" she teased, eyes glinting. "you gettin’ off on it?"

you were. you couldn’t lie. the heat, the weight, her voice—it was all too much. your hands roamed lower, tracing the crease where belly met thigh, lathering the soft, hairy skin with reverence.

sevika’s hand found the back of your neck and pulled you forward, pressing your face against the curve of her side.

"bet you never had a woman like me before, huh? bet you thought you’d spend your summer sippin’ lattes, not buried under three hundred pounds of real farm girl."

your whimper was all the answer she needed.

steam swirled around you both as the water pounded down, a soundtrack to the quiet moans and heavy breathing. you stayed there, rubbing her down slowly, like you were memorizing her through every drop of soap and every inch of skin. she let you, head tilted back, enjoying the worship.

and when she kissed you—deep and lazy, tasting of garlic and sweat and something sweeter—you clung to her, letting the rest of the world fall away.

because here, under the steam, with your hands on her belly and her weight keeping you warm, you felt like you finally belonged.

────

you wake up tangled in sevika’s sheets, her body heavy and warm behind you, one thick arm draped over your waist like it belongs there. the scent of her—earthy, musky, a little sweet like hay and sweat—clings to your skin. your thighs ache in a way that makes you blush just thinking about it.

downstairs, the smell of food wafts up—bacon, eggs, and something buttery. you throw on one of her shirts, oversized and smelling like her, and pad barefoot to the kitchen.

she's already at the stove, shirtless under her flannel, her broad back glistening with a sheen of sweat, her messy hair tied back. she’s humming, and when she turns, there’s that crooked grin.

“mornin’, sugar.”

you mumble back a greeting, cheeks flushed as you sit at the table. she sets down a plate in front of you—three eggs, half a slab of bacon, toast glistening with butter. then she drops hers down. her plate? double yours. stacked high like a feast. she eats like a damn bear, but somehow it just makes her hotter.

"didn't think you'd be up after last night," she says with a knowing smirk, taking a huge bite of toast. "you looked like you were about to melt in that shower."

you avert your eyes, flustered. “you didn’t help.”

she laughs low and rumbly. “didn’t hear you complainin’ while your hands were all over me.”

she reaches across the table and brushes your thigh under the table with her calloused fingers. you squirm. she’s already working on her second plate, and watching her eat, the way she devours everything with zero shame, makes your stomach twist with something that isn’t just hunger.

“you keep starin’ like that, and i’m gonna think you want me to have you for dessert too.

you take a shaky breath as you watch her continue to eat—watch the way she licks butter from her fingers, the way her thick throat bobs with every swallow. your thighs press together under the table, heart thudding. you feel ridiculous, sitting there with a fork in your hand and dirty thoughts in your head before 9 a.m.

but you want to give something back. you want to do something for her.

when she gets up to rinse her plate, you follow quietly, watching her broad back flex with every movement. she's humming, content and casual. she doesn't notice your steps until your hands are sliding under her flannel, fingertips grazing the slope of her belly, soft and solid and warm.

she stiffens, just a bit. “what’re you up to, darlin’?”

“i wanna make you feel good,” you murmur, voice smaller than you intend it to be. you press a kiss between her shoulder blades. “let me take care of you for once.”

she huffs a low breath, but doesn’t stop you. “you sure?”

you nod, pressing tighter to her back, her belly pushing you back a little just from how big she is. she smells like soap, sweat, and woodsmoke, and you sink into it.

you guide her to the chair and she lets you—sprawled out, thick thighs spread, flannel half open. her belly is round and soft in the early light, rising and falling with each breath. her chest heaves under the wife-pleaser still clinging to her, soaked through in places.

you kneel.

your fingers are trembling as you run them over her thick thighs, over stretch marks and coarse hair, across the curve of her belly. she groans softly as you press your lips to it, kiss the softness like it’s sacred.

“you don’t gotta—”

“i want to,” you interrupt, nuzzling into her warmth.

she’s still for a long moment. then she tips her head back and lets you have your way, your hands and lips worshipping her like it’s all you’ve ever wanted to do.

you trail your fingers over her soft skin, your heart racing as you kneel before her. the sheer size of her overwhelms you in the best way—the way she towers over you, the way she fills the space. your lips follow the curve of her belly, pressing gentle kisses, feeling the heat of her skin, the slight rise and fall of her breath.

sevika watches you, eyes heavy with something darker, something approving. her hands settle on the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as you take your time, savoring every inch of her. there’s a soft, contented rumble in her chest, a sound that makes your pulse race.

when you nudge her thick thighs apart, your gaze flicks up to meet hers. her eyes are hooded, lips parted just enough to show the edge of a smile.

“don’t stop, sugar,” she murmurs, voice low and rough.

you lean in, planting your lips on the softest, most tender part of her—just below her navel. you kiss her, slow, gentle, then work your way down with your lips trailing over the curve of her belly. your fingers follow, brushing against the coarse hair on her skin, feeling the heat that radiates from her body.

her fingers tighten in your hair, urging you closer, deeper. she guides you, but you don’t need any help—this is what you’ve wanted. to be this close to her, to touch her like she’s everything you need.

her breath catches when you move lower, your hands and lips exploring the space between her thighs. you kiss the inner curve of her leg, feeling her pulse, the heat from her skin making you dizzy. her body tenses slightly, but it’s a good tension, the kind she can’t hide.

“you’re so damn beautiful,” you whisper, just above her skin, the words leaving a mark in the air.

sevika’s hand moves from your hair to your shoulder, pushing you back slightly, her lips forming a teasing grin.

“you’ve got a way with words, sweetheart,” she says, voice thick with desire. she pulls you up, her grip firm and possessive, and she holds you close, breath against your ear. “you wanna do more for me, huh?”

you nod before you can stop yourself, eager to show her how much you’re willing to give, how much you need to give.

her lips crash into yours, hungry, but it’s not just about the kiss. it’s everything—the way she holds you, the weight of her body pressing you into the wall, the scent of her filling your lungs, the roughness of her hands as they slide over your skin.

“then take it,” she growls against your lips.

her hands move like she’s been waiting for you to ask—lifting your shirt over your head, her fingers sliding over your curves with ease. her body presses against you, chest to chest, and you feel her weight, her warmth, her strength. you can’t stop the shiver that runs through you, the way your pulse quickens, the way your whole body reacts to her.

you reach up, tracing her jawline, feeling the rough stubble there, the heat of her skin, the undeniable pull between you.

“sevika,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion, “you’re everything i never knew i needed.”

her hand lands softly on the back of your neck, holding you in place as she pulls you back into a kiss, harder this time. it’s not gentle, but it’s not cruel—it’s need. you feel her press her full weight against you, and it’s overwhelming in the best way.

she pulls away just enough to look down at you, eyes smoldering, a wicked grin pulling at her lips. “you think you’re the only one who can give? wait ‘til i’m done with you.”

────

chapter X: don’t wanna leave, picking apples has become a daily routine for you

it happens during dinner. just a regular tuesday night. your grandparents' dining room table creaks under the weight of roasted chicken, string beans, thick cornbread dripping with butter—half of it made from sevika’s produce, her apples, her jams. you’ve been the one cooking more lately. helping out. staying in. laughing with them.

you almost forgot what day it was.

until your grandpa clears his throat, eyes soft but firm, and says—

“so,” he starts, slow, “just wanted to ask if you’ve started packin’ yet.”

you pause mid-bite.

“packing?”

“well, it’s almost september, sweetheart.” your grandma’s voice is warm, gentle. “figured you’d be headin’ back soon.”

back.

back to the city.

back to your apartment and rooftop parties and mall food courts and too-short attention spans.

your fork clinks against your plate. you blink, staring at the table, suddenly unable to swallow.

“oh,” you say.

“we’ve got a buyer lined up,” your grandpa adds. “for the farm. upstate couple. quiet folks. we’ve been thinking it’s time. you know, slow things down.”

you nod.

it’s the polite thing to do.

but your ears are ringing.

you can barely taste the chicken anymore. you can’t hear the rest of the conversation over the blood rushing in your head. and all you can think is—i'm not ready. i don’t want to leave.

because she’s still here.

because sevika’s muddy boots are probably kicked off at her door right now, her flannel peeled off and tossed somewhere near the sink, and you don’t want to be anywhere else. not when she looks at you like you’re worth slowing down for. not when her touch makes you feel real for the first time in your life.

that night, you don’t sleep.

you sneak out around midnight. walk down the dirt path barefoot, skirt too thin, arms folded tight. the moonlight slices through the trees and your breath catches when you see the soft yellow glow in sevika’s window, the way it always is when she’s still up late reading or fixing something in the barn.

you don’t knock.

you just open the screen door and step inside. her eyes meet yours from across the room.

“hey,” she says softly, brow furrowed. “what’s wrong?”

you stand there trembling, throat tight, eyes stinging.

“i don’t wanna go,” you whisper.

sevika rises slowly, big frame stretching in the lamplight, shirt riding up her belly. she crosses to you in three strides and pulls you into her arms, warm and solid and smelling like hay, tobacco, and something that feels like home.

“you don’t have to,” she murmurs into your hair.

“but i do,” you say, voice breaking. “they’re selling. my grandparents. it’s—it’s done.”

she stiffens.

and then she holds you tighter. like she’s scared too. like she doesn’t know how to ask the question forming behind her teeth.

you pull back just enough to look up at her.

“i wanna stay,” you say, “with you.”

"then stay" she says.

you don’t give sevika a straight answer that night.

just curl against her chest and let her hold you until the morning breaks, until the light cuts through the curtains and reality settles like dust on your skin. she never asks again—not out loud. she doesn’t need to.

the next few days, you scramble.

you beg your grandparents, half-hearted at first, then desperate.

“can’t we stay a little longer?”

“i think i finally found a rhythm here…”

“wouldn’t it be better to wait until next spring?”

“i could help out more—run the market table, maybe even work the orchard…”

they exchange looks. that kind of knowing glance that says more than words ever could.

“sweetheart,” your grandma says gently one morning over breakfast, “you hated this place when you got here.”

you swallow hard. “i was wrong.”

“about what?”

you hesitate. “everything.”

but the papers have been signed. the new owners are sending movers. boxes are stacking up near the front door. your grandma starts handing out mason jars of sevika’s jam like going-away gifts. you don’t pack your things. you just… shut your door and lie there in bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, dozens of unread messages from city friends pinging at the top.

“where the fuck are you”

“you better be back for halloween or i’m slapping you”

“babe i just got us tickets to the rooftop dj set next month get ur glitter ass BACK”

they don’t know you anymore.

not really.

you don’t even know yourself anymore, except when you’re barefoot in the fields or in sevika’s pickup truck with your thighs sticking to the seat and her calloused hand brushing your knee. you know yourself when you're sitting on her lap while she tells you the difference between a john deere and a massey ferguson, or when you're pressed against her chest in the barn with straw in your hair and your panties balled up in your fist.

you know yourself best when you’re with her.

and that self isn’t ready to leave.

but your time’s up.

the night before your departure, you walk the edge of sevika’s orchard, the moon hanging low and gold over the fields. you can hear the wind pushing through the tall corn, the crickets loud in the dark.

you find her at the barn, shirtless, her heavy body slick with sweat from loading up the last bales for the season. she doesn’t say anything when she sees you.

you just stand there, arms crossed tight against the chill, eyes burning.

“i’m leaving tomorrow.”

a nod. slow. she sets the last bale down with a grunt.

“i know.”

“i asked them to stay.”

“i figured.”

“they said no.”

silence.

you take a step forward, then another.

“i didn’t think i’d care this much,” you admit.

sevika’s breath catches in her throat. her eyes flick down to your lips, your hands, the hem of your hoodie—hers, you stole it last week and never gave it back.

you close the distance, chest tight, voice a whisper now.

“i don’t want to go back to that life. i wanna stay out here. with the dirt, the sweat, the heavy things. with you.”

still, she doesn’t move.

but her jaw tenses. her hands ball into fists. she’s scared too—you can see it in the way her mouth softens, her eyes refuse to meet yours.

“then stay,” she rasps.

“i can’t.”

you both fall quiet.

somewhere in the dark, an owl hoots.

and all at once, you realize—this isn’t a love story with an easy ending.

it’s real.

it’s hard. and messy. and full of aching gaps.

but god, you want her.

you want this.

you take her hand. it’s big and rough and warm. you press your mouth to her knuckles, eyes stinging.

“i’ll come back,” you promise. “i don’t care how long it takes.”

she just pulls you in. lets your head fall against her chest again. and for the rest of the night, she holds you like she’s afraid if she lets go, you’ll disappear forever.

────

epilogue: the cold city, her warm skin

the city felt like a cage, even as you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

college was a whirlwind of classes and late nights, lectures and new faces, but your mind was always half a world away — back in that small southern town, beneath the endless stretches of apple trees, where sweat and earth mixed in the air like an intoxicating perfume.

you kept the letters you sent to sevika tucked away in your drawer, ink smudged from hurried notes and trembling hands.

each one was a whisper, a confession, a thread reaching across the miles, carrying pieces of your heart home.

"dear sevika," you wrote one night, after a particularly hard day of exams,

"the city is loud and empty without you. the buildings are tall but cold, and i miss the warmth of your skin, the way your laughter fills the room like sunlight through the barn windows. when i close my eyes, i can still taste the syrup on your pancakes, feel the weight of your body pressed against mine, steady and safe. i’m counting the days until i can come back to you, to the farm, to the sweat, to the apples, and to us."

she wrote back too, her words like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat you could feel through the paper.

she told you about the crops, the changing seasons, the stubborn weeds she battled and the slow, steady growth of her orchard.

she described how the sun baked the fields golden and how the smell of fresh-turned earth stayed on her skin after a long day’s work.

her letters smelled faintly of hay and sweat, and that was the sweetest scent of all.

time moved in strange ways — slow and fast, filled with longing and hope — until finally, the day came when you stood on that cracked farm road again, suitcase in hand, heart pounding louder than you thought possible.

the farmhouse stood there, the porch light flickering as twilight settled, and then you saw her.

sevika. still massive and powerful, every inch of her telling stories of earth and strength.

her flannel hung loose around her broad shoulders, stained with dirt and sweat, her belly soft and full beneath the fabric, her calloused hands tucked into the pockets of her worn jeans.

her hair was streaked with silver now, but those dark eyes — fierce, tender, unyielding — held all the fire you remembered.

“you’re back,” she said, voice low and rough, a smile tugging at her lips.

you dropped your bags, your breath catching.

“you’re home.”

you fell into each other like the earth embraces rain — thirsty, desperate, full of life.

she pulled you close, her hands warm and steady on your back, and you traced the curve of her belly with your fingers, marveling at how much she had grown, how much she had held onto, how much she held you now.

you kissed under the fading sky, the world shrinking to just you two, to the soft rhythm of your hearts beating in time.

days melted into nights and back again.

you worked the farm side by side, learning the language of the land, her teaching you how to listen to the trees and the soil.

mornings began with giant stacks of pancakes dripping with syrup, her laughter booming through the kitchen, her hands steady as she poured coffee and wiped syrup from your lips.

afternoons were spent tangled in the grass, sun-warmed and sweaty, her body a fortress around you, her breath hot against your neck.

the nights were yours alone.

she was heavy and strong, the weight of her body grounding you, her hair wild around your face, her scent raw and alive.

you worshipped each other — every curve, every scar, every calloused palm and soft whisper.

her hair grew wild, her skin kissed by the sun and sweat and time, and you loved every inch of her, every secret the earth had carved into her.

your parents called less and less, their voices tinged with disappointment when they heard you weren’t coming back to the city.

they disowned you, made it clear the farm and sevika weren’t the life they wanted for you.

but you didn’t care.

here, beneath the apple trees and the wide open sky, you were free.

here, you were loved.

one afternoon, as the sun dipped low and the orchard smelled of ripe fruit and rain to come, sevika pulled you close.

“you stay,” she said, her voice soft but sure.

“this is where you belong.”

and you smiled, because you knew it was true.

you were home.

────

epilogue, (pt.2): the honeysuckle heat of home.

your days began to blur together in the most beautiful way.

you woke each morning wrapped in the weight of her — limbs slung over you like anchors, her breath warm against your neck, her belly brushing your spine as she shifted, groaning softly in her sleep.

you’d roll over and kiss her chest, nestling there, listening to the slow, steady thrum of her heartbeat like it was your favorite song.

you made coffee while barefoot in the kitchen, her behind you, hips swaying lazily against yours as she reached around to grab the sugar.

sometimes she’d lift you onto the counter without a word, her palms spreading across the backs of your thighs, and just stand there, forehead against yours, soaking you in like sunlight.

you didn’t always speak — you didn’t have to.

some mornings you’d head into the orchard right away, baskets in hand, her massive frame silhouetted against the sun.

you’d watch the muscles shift beneath her skin as she worked, sweat clinging to her in ways that made your throat tighten.

sometimes you’d sneak up behind her just to wrap your arms around her soft belly, rest your cheek against the curve of her back and breathe her in.

she always leaned into you with a low grunt of satisfaction, her hands still working even as you clung to her like a second skin.

you sold jam on saturdays.

set up your little table at the farmer’s market, her towering presence a magnet for attention — rough hands, sharp jaw, worn boots, belly rounding beneath her apron like a harvest moon.

she’d let you talk to the customers while she leaned on the table, chewing sunflower seeds, watching you with eyes half-lidded in adoration.

and when you got too hot or tired, she’d shove a lemonade into your hand and drag you behind the tent, her palm splayed across the small of your back, muttering, “you work too damn hard, city girl.”

you’d lean into her, your temple against the sweat-slick swell of her stomach, and nod.

because you did. but for her, you’d do

────

epilogue, (pt.3): greying hairs and peace.

years passed like petals in the wind.

sevika got grayer.

you got lines around your eyes.

the farm never stopped needing you — weeds to pull, fences to mend, jars to fill, apples to pluck.

but the world got quieter.

softer.

you started dancing in the kitchen more.

you kissed without reason.

you laughed like you had all the time in the world.

your parents never called again.

they sent back the letters unopened.

but it didn’t matter — not really.

because for the first time in your life, you weren’t reaching toward someone who’d never reach back.

you were building something.

with her.

you planted more trees.

painted the bedroom walls a soft peach.

put up wind chimes in the porch archway that clinked and clattered like a lullaby in storm winds.

sometimes you’d lie in bed and whisper about the life you’d carved out —

the one no one ever expected,

the one you almost didn’t choose,

the one that saved you both.

“you know,” she’d murmur, her lips pressed to your shoulder, “i think you were the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”

you’d smile.

“funny. i was just thinking the same thing.”

and that was it.

no grand epiphany, no cinematic swell.

just mornings of sunlight in mason jars.

just sweat and apple blossoms and the way she held you like you were the only soft thing she'd ever been allowed to love.

you never needed more than that.

not when forever looked like her.

not when forever smelled like earth and jam and sun-warmed cotton.

not when forever was a woman with a strong back, a big belly, and hands that never let go.

and so you stayed.

and stayed.

and stayed.

until staying became the only story you’d ever need to tell.

until her name was stitched into the seams of every quiet hour.

until the apple trees bent low with fruit, and your heart —

well.

it was full.

THE MOTHER FUCKING END BITCHES!!

#i love pussy

#wheres my fat butch

#just wanna be a girl w her farmer butch

#i want that tangy fat puss

[fastboatsmojito]

just saw ur scott reblog gRAAAHH WOOF WOOF anyway !!! and it inspired me to request something <3 (love ur writing btw) pls write something with scott and how big he is 😣 a lil suggestive if u know what i mean 🙈

OHH YOU GET IT SO HARD + thank you so much !! 🫶🏼🫶🏼 whenever someone says they like my writing i get so giddy, it’s just the sweetest 😞

Anyways!!! Absolutely, thank you for fueling my obsession with this large man 💓

Just some scattered Scott x reader thoughts really

|CW; somewhat suggestive, he calls you girl once ☝🏼 incredibly obvious size kink from both parties whoops, he’s pretty canon-accurately an asshole, + suggested dom/sub relationship stuff??? Kinda??? Like not really but a little bit??? idk how else to tag that lmao. Obviously there’s a size difference here but it’s not specific, you could really just be shorter than him and it’d work just the same mwah <33

The first time you really notice is a total accident, you got caught up in the sight of the storm in front of you, not even given time to react to his stern “get in.” before he’s picking you up and putting you back in the car.

“What the hell was that?” He snapped, figuratively and literally as you blankly stare at him, still focused on how effortlessly he carried you back to the car.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know, it was just so close-“

“Yeah, no shit it was close. You could’ve gotten yourself killed. You have to pay more attention than that.”

You just nodded, staring at the way his hands flexed as he drove away, suddenly aware of the drastic contrast between the two of you. He picked you up like it was nothing, which was nothing considering the size of him, you just hadn’t thought about it in that way before.

——

He doesn’t think anything of it for a while, chalking your lingering glances up to his over-analytical mind, until you unintentionally piss him off with it.

“Is this going to be a problem for you?” He was right in your face, arms crossed over his chest as he bitterly chewed his gum, working himself up even more when you couldn’t give him a direct answer.

“If you can’t do your job ‘cause you’re too busy staring at me or whatever the fuck, I’ll have to move you to Javi’s team. Got it?” He barked, shaking his head as he stormed off.

As soon as he realizes why you’ve been staring at him, it’s over.

You were at the diner with the rest of the team, smiling as you walked to the table, bumping into some hard, tall, figure in front of you on the way.

He turned to steady you, big hands landing on your waist. “You ever try paying attention to what you’re doing? It’s pretty helpful.” He was a dick, sure. But you still found yourself focusing more on the feeling of his hands and the way your face warmed up at his assertive tone.

“You ever try not being an asshole?” You rolled your eyes at him before you walked away, but he didn’t miss the pause, or the way your breath picked up at his words. He put it together then, having been so caught up in work he didn’t realize just how tolerable you were getting, his hands constantly drifting towards you absentmindedly whenever you were close enough.

——

He usually went to work to get his job done and go home which was made clear, but after a while he got carried away. Comfortable enough being around you to end up reluctantly carrying you out of the car one night.

He tried to wake you up, met with sleepy grunts and you repositioning yourself before falling back to sleep.

He wanted to just leave you in the car, give you a blanket or ‘whatever’ but it was too cold, and you were in some small town he didn’t know well enough. He rolled his eyes as he took you out, large, rough hands a nice juxtaposition to the way he gently lifted you up.

He had to bring you to his room, not sure of where your room key was and not interested in dealing with your mood if he woke you back up.

He laid you down on the bed, throwing the blanket over you before taking off his work shirt and getting ready to begrudgingly sleep on the couch in his own room.

He went to turn off the lights, groaning when he saw you sit up, whining and stretching your arms.

“You know your necks gonna hurt if you sleep on that couch, Scotty. C’mere.” You sleepily muttered, patting the bed next to you.

He knew it was a bad idea, not missing the new nickname as he put his face in his hands, too exhausted to argue and too self-aware to disregard the attitude he’d have if he woke up to you in his bed and a sore neck.

“Jesus Christ. Alright, fine. One time. Don’t make it weird.” He gruffed as he turned the light off before slipping into bed next to you.

You were facing him as he faced the ceiling, his arms crossed firmly along his chest like some grumpy old man, still awake and motionless when you cuddled into him in your sleep.

——

After that he’s basically torturing you until you say it out loud. Putting his hands on your waist all casual to move past you, refusing to acknowledge any of it first.

Both of his hands were on your shoulders as he crouched down to be eye level with you, losing his patience after he caught you staring at his arms when he was trying to talk to you.

“If you want something, you’ll have to use your words like a big girl and ask for it. All this pouty, wordless shit won’t work with me. I need you to listen to me when I talk to you.” He spat condescendingly, minty gum popping in your ears. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and pointer when you shook your head.

“No? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me what you want. I’m not about to guess.” You squeezed your eyes shut to get away from his intense stare.

“I don’t want to say it here.” You barely whispered, opening your eyes when he sighed.

“Damn it.” He breathed before pausing, standing up tall and scanning over the parking lot you were in.

“Alright, come on.” He said bluntly before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Scott-“ You pouted as he swept you back to his motel room.

“Just shut up and let me help you out for once, yeah?”

-

I need him so bad

[nineteenninety-six]

Could you write like (you said you could try) idk teenage girl reader, having gone to the er with her friends, one of whom had a wrist sprain , like a group of 4 friends and then boom you’re all going to pittsfest , your injured friends get shot in front of you and you all run, one other gets shot they die on the scene, you lose your other friend, you end up later rushing into the er and looking you’re both okay you rush and hug in the middle of chaos, maybe dans recognise you from earlier "the mom friend" in the group had gum and a charger. You comfort eachother but then your last friend falls, suddenly blood around them. Hours later you’re the last one.

Idk maybe the doctors even mention the case later like it’ll haunt them like maybe all the friends were around 16ish

Idk I want angst with the characters like

TW: Pittfest. m@ss shootings. death. bullet wounds/injuries etc.

AN: Do I like this? No but alas, here it is.

It was the day of Pittfest but instead of enjoying the festival, you and your friends were in the hospital after one of your friends injured themselves, delaying your arrival.

“I just don’t get it,” You say as you gaze at your friend Megan laying in the hospital bed, “How’d you manage to sprain your wrist today of all days?”

Megan doesn’t even look slightly ashamed as she grins at you from her comfortable position, “I just got too excited as I was getting ready earlier, I guess jumping around with your eyes closed while singing along to your favourite song wasn’t the smartest thing to do.”

“Especially considering how messy your room is on a good day, I bet it currently looks like a bomb went off in it.” Elliot chimes in with a roll of their eyes, “I’m surprised you haven’t broken your ankle in that pigsty.”

“It’s not that bad…honestly!” Megan tries to defend herself.

“Whatever you say Megan,” Riley teases before he turns to you, “Have you got your charger? My phone’s almost dead.”

You nod and walk over to your backpack and dig through it to dig out the little portable battery before you hand it over to Riley who thanks you with a smile.

“Do we have any idea how long this is going to take?” Elliot groans as they slump further into their seat, “I’m starving! I should be eating a burger at Pittfest right now!”

You dig through your backpack once again and pull out a foil wrapped sandwich and offer it to Elliot, “I’ve got a turkey sandwich if you want it?”

Elliot jumps out of their seat and swipes the sandwich out of your hand before you even have time to blink and they devour it in a few bites.

“That wasn’t free you know, you’re paying me back with a burger once we get there.” You tell Elliot who nods and gives you a thumbs up as they finish chewing.

Dana and Robby watch the group from the nurse’s station. The privacy curtain around Megan’s bed is pulled back giving them a clear view of everything.

“She’s like the mom of the group.” Dana says as she watches you pull the blanket further around Megan to keep the chill of the AC away.

Robby nods in agreement, “Are they going to Pittfest?”

Dana nods, “Yup. One of them sprained their wrist this morning but they’ll be discharged soon and they’ll be on their way.”

Robby looks at them one last time before he turns away, “She’s a good friend…She’d be a good nurse too.”

Dana smiled, “I thought the same thing.”

You were dancing with Riley, spinning and twirling around to the music coming from the stage, laughing and squealing in joy as you enjoyed your time with your friends.

You were so caught up in having fun that you didn't hear the pops or screams in the distance until the music from the stage suddenly stopped and it was only then did you all hear the gunshots and screams.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you exchange scared looks with your friends before you're grabbing each other's hands and running for safety. You tried to follow the crowd but everyone was in such a panic that everyone was going in different directions.

As you searched for the exit, you let go of each other's hands, finding it easier to run separately.

"We need to find an exit, we're currently running like headless chickens." You pant.

Megan looks around before spotting the flashing lights from the emergency services in the distance,"Over there! Let's go"

You all follow Megan as she darts ahead but she doesn't get far as a shot rings out and Megan collapses on the ground, blood splattering across all of you.

You could only gasp as you looked down at your friend's body, blood pooling around her. You freeze as you look down at your friend and you go numb, until you take a step forward with a scream, crying out Megan's name but a hand pulls you back before you can kneel next to her body.

"We need to go! Now!" Riley shouts as he begins to run, tugging you behind him. Elliot caught up with you and you're sure the panic on his face mirrored yours.

You can't cry, not right now but all you could think about was Megan and how you just left her there.

As you ran for safety all you could see and hear were more people getting gunned down, people getting crushed in the panic, people crying out for their loved ones, it was too much for you. You wanted to stop right where you were and cry your heart out but Riley was still tugging you behind him. Thankfully you were approaching the exit where you'd hopefully be finally be safe but apparently you spoke too soon as another

spray of bullets rang out downing a swathe of people, including you and your friends.

Your abdomen burns and as you touch the burning area, blood soaks your hands and you realise you've been shot.

"Oh fuck" You sob, "Oh fuck no. Please not me…”

Gurgling to the side of you pulls your attention and when you look towards the sound, you wish you hadn't. It was Elliot. He was choking on his own blood as he stared at you with wide scared eyes and all you could do is cry as you slowly watched another of your friends die. In an attempt to comfort him one last time you reached over and took his hand in yours and gave it a squeeze.

Once Elliot's grip eventually loosened, you gently pulled your hand from his and painfully pulled yourself up to your feet and stumbled away, all while crying. You had no idea where Riley was but your current focus was getting out and getting help.

You stumbled towards the flashing lights, covered in blood and crying. EMTs rush towards you and load you into an ambulance, treating you as it rushed towards PTMC.

Your injury wasn't major enough to have you rushed to surgery once you arrived at the hospital, so you're waiting to the side until all the major patients are treated for an OR to be freed.

You had lost your phone in the madness and one of the lovely nurses had contacted your parents for you but they had warned you in advance that it would be a while until you would see them, so you settled on people watching.

You could see yourself in everyone you saw. You saw people completely spaced out in shock, some crying, all covered in blood and bruises. Everyone here lost something that day, whether it was someone they loved or a part of themselves, or both.

A stuttered call of your name catches your attention and you look over to find Riley standing at the end of your bed, just about able to support himself. He looked absolutely wrecked.

"Riley! "You lunge towards him before the excruciating pain of your injury brings back against the bed, "Oh my God, Riley..."

Riley lets out another whimper of your name before he collapses to the ground and all you could do is watch as he's swarmed by doctors and nurses and rushed away.

You were numb to it all as you watched Riley disappear around the corner. Two of your friends were killed in front of you and you had no idea of the fate of the last one.

All around you were people who were in the exact same boat as you. Many were mourning loved ones, crying in pain due to their injuries or are to the shock of it all. No one would be leaving here unscathed, including the workers at the hospital.

Soon you were brought into your own surgery, not knowing that when you wake up, your whole world would come crashing down around you, with the worst news you

could wish for that day.

Robby cracked open the can of beer with a heavy tired sigh. All he wanted to do was finish the beer, go home, have a hot shower and sleep for fourteen hours but the whole evening kept replaying in his head. He especially couldn't stop thinking of the group of teens that appeared earlier that day.

"What's on your mind, brother?" Jack nudges him from his position next to Robby.

With all the eyes of the people in the group on him, Robby begins to tell the tragic story.

"A kid came in earlier, sprained their wrist and their whole friend group was with them, four of them altogether. They were going to Pittfest afterwards. They were all excited, no older than sixteen, maybe seventeen..."

"What happened?" Samira pressed.

"All but one died." Robby muttered.

Everyone's mood darkened, brows furrowing and lips pouting.

"Two of them died in front of them at Pittfest, the last one collapsed in front of her, and died in surgery."

"Damn..." Donnie muttered, Princess nodding in agreement.

"Poor kid." Abbot shook his head, the day somehow getting worse.

"How do you even heal from that?" Victoria wonders out loud, "One moment, all of your friends are alive and you're having the time of your life and then next thing you know,all of them die in front of you and now you're alone."

"You don't. Not really." Abbot answers, "A lot of therapy and patience but it doesn't really fix or solve anything."

"Poor kid." Samira sighs, eyes watering at the thought of the poor teen.

"You can say that again." Robby huffs before downs his beer before he stands from the park bench. "G'night. I'll see you whenever!"

Abbot watched him leave knowing that he'll have to check in with him the next day, the day was already bad and long enough but adding the mass casualty was just the very unwanted cherry on top.

[n1k0laa5]

you ever seen a god ask for fucking permission?

no really. have you?

have you ever cracked open a holy book or a creation myth or a single ounce of divine energy and seen that shit go:

“um hey guys… so uh… if it’s okay with everyone, i’m gonna try saying let there be light? and if that doesn’t work maybe i’ll just, idk, meditate and hope a candle lights itself eventually?”

NO.

YOU HAVE NOT.

because gods DECLARE. they don’t negotiate. they don’t seek approval. they don’t ask mortals in the comments section of some shifting blog whether clapping three times is “valid.” THEY CLAP.

AND THE UNIVERSE MOVES.

so let’s fucking scream it:

YOU DECIDE THE RULES.

YOU.

not me. not your favorite tumblr writer. not someone on reddit saying your method “breaks the physics of 4D.” or telling you not to use specific terminology like “being delulu” or whatever, not even “logic” or “science” unless you decide those are your limits. YOU are the rulebook. YOU are the glitch in the code. YOU are the motherfucking override command.

you wanna jump three times, slap your ass and teleport into your DR? do it.

you wanna chew gum while affirming and then spit the gum out like it’s symbolic of leaving the 3D behind? that’s sexy. do it.

you wanna blink twice and go “i’m in the void”? then. you. are.

because guess what the only real rule is?

you persist in the belief that whatever the fuck you declare is TRUE.

that’s it. no more complicated than that. no ten steps. no crystal requirements. no 3am rituals unless you want to romanticize your insanity (which, go off, i do the same). all you have to do is decide “this works because i said so” and then LIVE. LIKE. IT.

and don’t you fucking dare say “but how do i know if it’s working”

baby.

baby.

if you ask that, you already decided it’s not.

you’re checking the oven every two minutes and wondering why the cake won’t rise. you’re ripping the seed out of the soil to ask the roots if it’s growing yet. you are the one stepping on your own hose and crying because there’s no water. STOP.

you wanna know what the real method is?

it’s persisting.

the purest, most sacred, unshakeable persistence in the truth which is your assumptions. the kind that isn’t even trying to prove itself anymore. the kind where you stare into a mirror and say, “it doesn’t fucking matter what I see. it doesn’t matter what my bank account says. it doesn’t matter if I feel like a mess. I have what I want and that’s that. I am that bitch and the world bends to ME.”

like right now. RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

you can literally stand up, walk to a mirror, stare at your own eyeballs and go:

“i don’t care if i affirmed once or fifty times.

i don’t care if i cried this morning.

i don’t care if the 3D looks the same.

i HAVE what I want. i HAVE shifted. this IS mine. there is NO option where this isn’t mine. it’s done. the end.”

and if you live from that place?

the 3D will fold like paper.

but nah. some of you out here be like:

“if i do this method wrong, will it cancel everything?”

“what if i skipped a step?”

“what if i wasn’t in the perfect mood?”

“can i manifest if i’m tired or do i have to vibrate like a goddamn fairy on speed?”

SHUT. UP.

YOU SOUND LIKE YOU THINK THE UNIVERSE IS A BUREAUCRATIC OFFICE.

like there’s a little man in the sky going “hmm sorry your affirmation didn’t rhyme so it’s been denied”

LIKE NO. STOP.

if someone told you that watching your favorite comfort show six times in a row while thinking “life is good” wouldn’t work, tell them to go eat glass.

if someone told you that you must stay positive 24/7 or it ruins everything? slap them with a copy of your new reality and move on.

if someone told you that you need to visualize for 10 minutes minimum or it doesn’t “count”—

baby. tell them to go find god. you are not one affirmation away from success. you are success DECIDING it is now.

methods?

they’re ALL real. they ALL work. if you believe in them.

• affirming once and never again? works.

• affirming nonstop til your brain turns to fucking pudding? also works.

• scripting every detail of your DR down to how your shoelaces tie? works.

• saying “i’m in my DR now” and then pretending it’s real until it is? that’s literally it.

• meditation.

• daydreaming.

• spinning.

• shifting while brushing your teeth.

• shifting while holding your breath.

• saying “i shift on Wednesdays and ONLY Wednesdays” and then it works because YOU DECIDED THAT RULE.

• saying “fuck it i shift now” and BAM, done.

• blinking.

• drinking water with intention.

• watching edits.

• falling asleep while delusional.

• falling asleep while pissed off.

• crying and STILL shifting.

• doing absolutely fucking nothing but choosing “i already have it.”

every single “method” is valid because YOU make it valid. you’re the cheat code. the override button. the backdoor into existence.

you’re out here asking “can i still shift if i have doubts sometimes?”

YES.

“can i shift if i’m not perfect?”

YES.

“can i shift if i forgot to say thank you to the universe?”

YESSSSSSS.

stop treating the universe like it’s gonna punish you for not doing your homework.

this isn’t school. this is reality. YOURS. not someone else’s. not a collective. not a simulation with rules. YOU dictate the terms. you want reality to shift when you hum your favorite song and click your heels together? it will. if you say so.

and yes, it’s that easy.

no, it’s not “too good to be true.”

no, it’s not “delusional.”

and even if it IS?

who gives a fuck. delusion gets results. logic gets excuses.

delusion gets your desires. logic gets you blog comments saying “be patient, the 3D is testing you”

BURN THAT BULLSHIT.

the 3D isn’t testing you.

you’re testing you.

you’re the one checking and rechecking and doubting and looping.

and every time you do that, you are reinforcing the idea that reality is something that happens to you instead of something that you command.

so here’s what you do.

you stop asking questions like “will this work?”

and you start saying “THIS WORKS. PERIOD.”

you stop looking for signs and start being the fucking sign.

you stop waiting and start walking like it’s already done, because guess what?

IT. IS.

you don’t need the mirror to reflect your new hair to know it grew. you don’t need the 3D to clap for you before you get on stage. you don’t need a fucking telegram from the void to tell you that you shifted.

you say it.

you mean it.

you LIVE it.

and reality?

it shuts the fuck up and follows.

[saintslewis]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; Nadia

summary: how about a vacation? :D

warnings: outfit descriptions/links, cussing, name brands, a lot of dialogue, maybe typos? idk

saint’s team radio 🪩: sorry for making you guys mad last chapter LMAOOO. made this one a bit longer so hopefully i get forgiven. where’s your dream vacay spot?

amanzoe link!

pls like, reblog and comment! <3

fc: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!

renaissance masterlist • general masterlist

-

Nadia felt different.

Of course she looked different in the week she asked for a week’s extension of her leave. Her hair now long and blonde, more tattoos specifically on her hands and a piece on her back. Everything re-pierced to feel more comfort within the pain and much baggier clothes as well.

She was physically glowing. Smelling like vanilla layered with an expensive Arabic perfume, knowing it would turn heads as soon as she walked anywhere. Going for lighter eyelashes, her eyes didn’t feel as heavy as they did as when she cried for hours days before.

Driving in ever-cloudy London felt good. The engine of her McLaren roared as she drove through traffic to make it in time for work, earning stares from people in their cars. She liked it, Nadia liked the attention she was receiving but she knew it would be difficult to not want more.

Lewis’ hoodie was warm and smelled like him no matter how many times it’s been washed and that brought immense comfort to Nadia. A smile spread across her face as she thought back to her husband.

He loved her and she loved him.

He never failed to show his love to her, small touches throughout the day no matter the activity, his gaze was on her most of the time like a lovestruck teenager who had just gotten with his crush. Anything she wanted, Lewis would get to it in a blink of an eye. Nadia got loved on so much that she could still feel his slow kisses all over her body making her thoughts drift away.

She had put her phone on DND except for Lewis, him being the exception for whenever he was out and missed his wife. She knew it wasn’t healthy to push everyone away but she felt the most safe in her little circle. None of them being her actual family members.

Snapping her out of her thoughts, her ringtone rang through the car and she saw that Lewis was calling.

“Morning my love.” He greeted first as soon as the phone was answered.

Smiling at the sound of his voice, she replied. “Morning, pookie. What you up to?”

“Still at the house, might go to my dad’s for a bit. Just wanted to check on you.”

“You’re gonna go this morning?” Nads asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

A beat passed.

“Lewis?” “Yes, my love?”

“Whatever you’re planning, make sure you get home safe.” She spoke and he chuckled at her stern voice, imagining her roll her eyes.

“I promise.”

Lewis dropped the call, putting his phone in his back pocket as he leaned on his car.

Thankfully, Buckinghamshire wasn’t cold but he felt a bit of a breeze as he chewed on his gum. Fixing his cap, he walked to the front door of the home and knocked ever so gently. Hearing footsteps and inaudible voices, the door opened to a very surprised Rea while she was fixing her school tie.

The look in her eye moved from surprise to realisation as she registered who was standing in front of her. “O-oh. Morning Lewis.” The young girl stuttered. With his face stoic, he placed his hands behind his back.

“Where’s your aunt? Just wanna have a little chat.” He spoke.

Before she could speak, Thembi came to the door shouting for Rea to close the door if it was a neighbour. As shocked as her niece was, Thembi’s expression changed to that of smugness. “What a surprise! Can’t believe my son in law is so early!” She smiled widely as she clapped her hands.

“Please don’t call me that.” He returned the smile and watched as hers fell at the tone of his voice. “I came here to honour my wife. What the two of you have done to Nadia was absolutely disgusting,” He started.

Thembi’s eyes changed to what appeared as darker and brought slight chills down his spine. Nadia had described this look as one of a narcissist, a look that scared her as she grew up and explained her reasons for never being at home. Lewis has had his share of people like Thembi in his life so he was not phased as much.

“Call me unfair or any types of names but I don’t want either of you near my wife. I won’t speak for her but she’ll sort you out herself if she chooses to speak with.” Lewis concluded, his voice stern.

Nadia’s mother laughed. She laughed out loud at Lewis’ words. “Do you think we’re scared of you? Just because you’ve got more money and fame, you think you can take my daughter away from me?” The older woman pushed Rea behind her as she came face to face with Lewis.

“She never told you why she can’t have kids? Always out of the house because she couldn’t keep-” “Auntie, no. Don’t.” Rea spoke up but got given a look that shut her up.

“Listen here, Mr rich man. That girl was a harlot and never listened to me. Never showed me her grades and she expected me to love her? Who cares if she got in Oxford or whatever? This will teach her a lesson!” Thembi angrily expressed, using her hands to make gestures.

The fact that Lewis was unmoving was getting on her nerves. Why wasn’t he scared? He should be.

“Go back to her! Tell her she’s getting bigger and she needs to cover up and she needs to cover up. We don’t need her or her money. God, I wish I never had her. Such a pain in the ass.” She continued and at this point, Rea was tearing up behind her.

He raised his eyebrows and stopped himself from saying something damaging. “Gladly.”

With that, Lewis left them standing in their doorway. Thembi snickering as if she got the last laugh between this exchange and Rea who looked distraught, as if she lost everything in that very moment. He swiftly got in his car and took off to actually visit his father, as calm as he could be.

His phone buzzed as he drank his tea. Lewis loved receiving text from Nadia because she could go from being goofy to suddenly being serious, discussing anything and everything.

MESSAGES!

sthandwa sami: pookie!!! my students got me flowers and wrote me so many letters! 🥹🥹

that’s amazing, my love. you deserve them and the world. you’re so strong, my beautiful girl

sthandwa sami: great, now you’ve got me crying all over again. i love you, i’ll see you later 😚

i love you most. got a surprise for you when you get home.

sthandwa sami: 🤨🤨🤨

go back to work, you’ll find out soon 🤣

sthandwa sami: mmmkay. please also get croissants for me, love you bye!!! <3

“What’s got you smiling over there, son?” Anthony spoke up with a knowing smile on his face.

With his own grin gracing his face, Lewis put his phone down. “The one and only. She’s doing a whole lot better than last week.” He said to his father.

“That’s good. You should bring her ‘round more. She’s definitely a character, the whole family can’t stop gushing over her.” A laugh was shared between the two before a hush fell over their conversation.

Taking a sip of his tea, Lewis spoke up. “I did the thing we discussed. I thought you lot were joking about the narcissism.” He leaned his head on his hand.

Anthony let out a scoff. “Good. Didn’t want them to tear her down, that was disgraceful. You wired the money for her….what’s it called?”

“Lobola. It’s her dowry.” Lewis said, his accent prevalent as he tried to pronounce the word.

“Ah, yes. It’s not that we want to take her away from her immediate family but I don’t want them near her. They can’t ruin the plan knowing how far we’ve come.” His dad sighed as he spoke.

All Lewis could do was nod. He just hoped everything will work itself out because he truly loves Nadia.

-

There she was.

Blasting music in the driveway as she carried her new flower bouquets out of her car. A big smile on her face, bigger than what Lewis had seen during the past few weeks.

Eventually switching off the ignition and the music all together, Nadia fixed her purse strap and walked towards the front door of the home with Lewis standing right there. Leaning on the wall with his arms crossed and just admiring her as she came closer.

Making eye contact with him just lit up her whole face even more, eyebrows lifted slightly with her eyes rapidly blinking. She looked so happy. He never wanted her smile to leave her face, he planned to keep it there forever.

“Hi baby!” Nadia elongated the pet name as she stopped right in front of him. “Where’s all this energy from, love?” Lewis chuckled as he asked the question. Leaning forward to give her a peck, she returned a few more before looking into his eyes once again.

“Just a lot of good things happened today, it feels unreal.” She smiled, surely her cheeks were painful by now. “From the flowers from my kids to the email from Pharrell. Oh! And they let me take part time.” Nadia casually said, walking around to enter the house.

With his body moving along with hers as she walked past, he fully digested her words. “What? Love, what do you mean?” He asked, closing the front door behind him.

“Yeah! I managed to have a civilised conversation with the principal and we agreed that I’d take part time. It hurt to make the decision but I think it’ll work out for me.” She spoke. With her shoes off, she waltzed into the kitchen and placed the bouquet she was holding, down. Not even noticing the semi-large box on the kitchen island.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke. “As long as you’re sure and happy, then I am as well.”

“Thank you, pookie bear.” Nadia blew a kiss to him when her eyes finally landed on the box with a pretty pink bow. Giving him a look, Lewis moved next to her, holding her waist ever so gently. “Remember the surprise I told you about earlier on?” She nodded and he unconsciously squeezed her waist.

“Well…i know it’s summer break in about 3 weeks and I wanted you to have fun with some of your friends so I organised a little something.” He responded with a soft smile on his face as hers moved to look back and forth between him and the box.

Unwrapping the bow, she was stunned to see a few pairs of sunglasses, flower-themed claw clips, what looked like a new makeup bag and an envelope tucked at the very side with the words ‘For when the sun shines at Amanzoe’.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “What’s Amanzoe?”

“You’ll see.” He smiled with a smirk on his face.

Leaning towards him, Nadia kissed him passionately, their lips meeting with a soft touch with Lewis’ hands already roaming all over.

“What was that for, baby?” Lewis asked, a little breathless after separating from her.

“Just in case I get super surprised.” She shrugged.

-

PORTO HELI, GREECE

“Holy fucking shit.”

Nadia’s eyes were widened from the moment they were picked up from the airport via the private entrance. She knew that she would be surprised but not as inadequate as this.

That conversation was had three weeks before the friend group landed in Athens for the first time, impressed that there was transportation waiting for them with their luggage carefully packed.

Is this what luxury felt like? Did it always look so good? Nadia even thought to her appearance. Her hair in her usual blonde, a beautiful figure hugging dress from Loewe paired with tan Hermes Ocras. She felt like luxury. She finally felt comfortable in it.

Driving into Amanzoe felt like a whole new world. The calmness and ultimate luxury of the resort was absolutely stunning, the architecture paying homage to that of historic Greek monuments and mythology. It was so peaceful, Nadia took a deep breath and immediately felt relieved.

Feeling an arm link with hers, she lifted her head to see Justine with the biggest grin on her face. “I can’t believe that we’re here! It was so hard keeping this secret for so long.” Justine chuckled as the two of them followed Lori and Hailey in the main lobby building.

No words could leave her mouth as she continued to admire everything that was in sight. Nadia felt like it was a dream, from the villa to the damn plates they used in the resort restaurant. The girls spent their time over the next few days just soaking up the sun and enjoying the amenities that the resort offered, talking about anything and everything under the stars.

Talking about her infertility was tough but she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with them and it was then she realised how much support she had been getting from her friends. She would often look at the girls and internally thank them for making sure she was happy and healthy.

“Let’s go to the beach club!”

That’ll do it. Once it was decided that they would go and have fun, the group got ready and took several pictures before leaving the villa. The beach club was very cute, a very chill vibe knowing that Lewis was in Spa and it was race time. The aesthetics of the place were too beautiful however, that’s what change their minds.

Leaving for a hunt for a good night club in Athens, the girls had the time of their lives and Nadia felt free. Free from everything waiting for her back home, free from her job, free from her mom. She was on cloud nine.

The next few days felt like heaven. Nadia knew that history intrigued more than she could ever imagine but to see herself fully grasp into Greek culture was something she was purely interested in. And so was Lewis. Lori, Justine and Hailey had left earlier to give the two their well deserved time alone. He had arrived and immediately went into vacation mode.

The Hamiltons were in Greece, a summer break that one could dream about for days on end. They would eat, sleep, explore, make love, read, chill in the pool all in the comfort of Amanzoe.

-

MESSAGES

rea: hey nadia. just wanted to check in on you. i miss you

nadia: girl fuck you

*this contact has been blocked!*

Instagram!

nadiahamilton

liked by sza, ryandestiny and 4,747,976 others

nadiahamilton it’s so damn hot, my fault y’all! 😣 (look how gorgeous my girls look 🥹)

view all comments.

user i’m biting my phone rn

user and you just wake up and LOOK LIKE THIS??

user MOTHER IS BACK

user MOTHER IS BACK OH MY GOODNESS

loriharvey hi (louder than everyone else)

nadiahamilton hi my love 🤭

latto that man is so lucky, i’m so jealous of him

nadiahamilton back home in a few days 😝

user NADIA

lewishamilton you’re joking

lewishamilton i just fell to my knees

lewishamilton god, you’re beautiful

user get you a man like lewis y’all!!

user is she not going to address anything??

user she’s not obligated to tell you shit 🫶🏽

mercedesamgf1 the princess of the team 💐

alexandrasaintmleaux i’m barking at my phone, JUST ONE CHANCE PLS

charlesleclerc alex 😧

alexandrasaintmleaux i don’t think you understand

lilymhe TINKERBELL!!

nadiahamilton LILS!!

theestallion allat for US?!

nadiahamilton it’s all for you actually meg

user 2 million likes in an hour, no one is doing it like her i fear 😭

lewishamilton you’re so beautiful

nadiahamilton thank you sthandwa sami 🤍

user DOES HE KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS

user clearly he does omg

user it’s so cute that he’s learning for her

sza this is what i pay my wifi for

nadiahamilton BITCH 😭

haileybieber take all my money

justineskye i think it’s time for another vacation with you, i need it NEOWWW

user she’s your favourite celebrity’s favourite celebrity 😭🫶🏽

tayrussell hey and stuff

nadiahamilton hey bae

amanhotels thank you for the visit! 🤍

user AMAN??? AMANZOE???? THEIR MONEY LONGGGGGGG

user idc nicole is still far better than her

user the same one who couldn’t get a ring after 7 years? c’mon now, let be serious

fencer sister in law serving looks!!!

nadiahamilton don’t think i’m not watching you, kilometre….

fencer what did i do?????

lewishamilton i love you. got you more halloumi

nadiahamilton COMING, I LOVE YOU 🥹🥹

lewishamilton

liked by louisvuitton, fencer and 3,574,168 others

lewishamilton the wife pt.2 in greece

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saint’s notes: hope y’all enjoyed this! 🥹

tags: @non-stop-imagines @motheroffae @perfecttrashface @thisismeracing @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @cocobutterqwueen @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @littlelizzies-world @httpsserene @apenasumlug4r @eddiesbitch83 @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @peyiswriting @sunfairyy @vsfavs @louvrepool @mistruscity @tian-monique @hopefulromantic1 @exotic-iris13 @yeea-nah @nichmeddar @gg-trini @lifeless-firefly @vellicora @takeoffz-tookoff9876 @serpenttines-library @emjayewrites @royallyprincesslilly @lewisroscoelove @purplelewlew @xoscar03 @kidsol-ar @nothaqks @tremendousstarlighttragedy @ggaslyp1 @henneseyhoe @saturnville

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[insxghtt]

do you hate me? — euronymous x mean girl!reader

Maybe Euronymous liked you more than he should.

warnings: beating nazis i guess (you'll understand). mostly fluff as always.

this is a fanfic for RORY CULKIN ONLY. i don't even know the real story of mayhem really, i just watched the movie and to be honest i didn't even like it so....... idk sorry, i am in my rory culkin era and i will make it everyone's problem.

The first time Euronymous saw you, you were not in a good mood.

Well, it was difficult to ever see you in a good mood. You came from a not so loving family, so you learned how to defend yourself from a very young age. It’s not like you chose it, you just learned that there were two types of people in the world: the ones who fight, and the ones who get hurt. It was about survival, so you did what you had to do, you built your walls and they were fucking strong.

Some people would be surprised. Euronymous was. You didn’t look very threatening, that was a fact. You liked pink, you loved makeup, you had a sweet smile. It's why he felt so confused when he first saw you walking inside his record store.

Your hair was tied in a bun, your earrings were golden, the pink shirt you were wearing ended just above your stomach, showing off your belly piercing. Your boot-cut jeans and high heels completed your look. You were definitely not fitting in. All the other people in the store were either wearing all black clothes or something dark with a weird band logo in it.

A couple boys tried to scare you as soon as you stepped in, yelling “Hail Satan!” right at your face.

Euronymous smirked, wondering how long it would take for you to realize that you walked in the wrong store.

But you weren't scared. In fact, you stared at the two boys in complete silence. For a moment, they laughed, but soon their smiles began to fade out. Something about your look, your presence and even the way you chewed your gum was fucking scary.

“The fuck you lookin’ at?”, you asked angrily and the two boys just looked away, too afraid to say anything else. “Fuckin’ assholes”, you whispered to yourself as you walked to the balcony, where Euronymous was still staring at you, but this time with surprise.

You stopped right in front of him. The look on your face was serious, and he felt the urge to say something that would make your face twist in disgust. After all, it was his favorite thing to do.

“You sure you’re in the right place, cupcake?”, he jokes.

You just ignored his question.

“Listen, I need a dark fucking mindblowing death metal album or some shit like that, what do you have?”

“This is fucking Helvete. Everything here is metal”, he laughed and leaned on the balcony.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “Okay, mister… whatever the fuck your name is…”

“Euronymous”, he added. “My name is Euronymous.”

You felt his friends around looking at you.

“Of course it is…”, you continued, feeling impatient to leave that place. “Look, I have a brother who’s into this…”, you gestured with your hands to the records around. “...type of shit and tomorrow is his birthday. I don’t know if your brain is rational enough to notice, but this is really not my thing, so I’m gonna need some help, okay?”, you gave him a sarcastic smile.

Euronymous liked it. The attitude, the way you were not threatened by anyone there at all. Shit, he even liked the lip gloss in your lips and he was far away from being a lip gloss admirer.

And he had no idea why he liked it.

“Alright”, he nodded, not taking his eyes away from you for even a second. “So, is he really into it or is he a poser?”

You had no idea what he was talking about. “You’re asking me if he’s a satanic freak who wants to burn down churches and eat priests for breakfast?”

“Wow, she’s fast”, he said with a smile and his friends laughed.

“Yes, he is.”

“Alright”, he said, disappearing behind the balcony to grab something.

He knew exactly what you needed. That is, if your friend was not a poser, of course. He grabbed his own band’s record and showed it to you.

You stared at the record and looked back at him. “Okay…”

“It’s my band.”

“This is weird”, you whispered to yourself and the guy in front of you gave you a smirk. “Whatever, how much for it?”

“If you give me your number, it’s for free.”

“That’s not happening, but I appreciate your trying.”

You paid for it as you watched one of his weird friends putting the record in a plastic bag. Euronymous made sure to take it from his friend's hand to give it to you himself and when you grabbed the bag, you felt his fingers touching your hand.

"Freak", you whispered to yourself and he laughed as you turned away to leave.

Euronymous wouldn't say it out loud but he even found himself thinking of you after that.

The second time he saw you, you were beating the shit out of a boy outside of a bar. The boy was on the ground already wrapped up in a ball.

"Fuckin' nazi!", you yelled as you kicked the guy on the stomach one last time. 

Later, he found out that you were very good at beating the shit out of nazis.

As soon as you noticed Euronymous watching you sent him a deadly look. Euronymous would even be scared if he wasn't… well, himself. That was one thing you had in common, you two were not easily threatened.

"What do you want?", you asked.

"Nothing", he shrugged and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, putting it between his lips.

He turned away for a second but soon he turned back to you, removing the cigarette from his lips and putting it back in his pocket. You stared at him curious to what he had to say and he thought to himself if he should really say it.

But you only live once, right?

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Euronymous felt nervous as he watched you thinking about it.

But it was only a drink, right?

So to his relief, you also shrugged and nodded.

You two walked in the bar and he did buy you not one, but two, three, four drinks. You found yourself laughing at one of his jokes at some point and you wondered if it was the alcohol or if you were actually enjoying his presence.

"So, why did you move here?", he asked with a smile. "I mean, it's not like this is a dream city."

"Well, I like it here", you said. "And also the rent is cheap."

He laughed, but didn't say anything. Then you realized he wasn't satisfied with your answer. He wanted to know why.

"I ran away", you answered honestly.

"What did you run away from?"

Maybe if it was anyone else, this would be the perfect moment for you to push them away like you always did. But it wasn't anyone, it was him. And you enjoyed talking to him.

"My family. I ran away from my family."

Euronymous nodded, knowing that there was a line that he couldn't cross yet. Of course, he could ask more. He wanted to, but more than that, he wanted you to do that by yourself.

"I get it", he said.

"Of course you do."

Euronymous looked at you, so you explained. "Look at you, all angry at the world."

"My family is pretty nice, actually."

This time you were the one feeling surprised.

"Really? So you're a family guy?", you asked. "Then why do you act like you hate everyone?"

He thought about it for a second.

"I can still hate everyone except for my family", he gave you a smirk.

You smiled. Maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that he had those big beautiful blue eyes, but you were mesmerized by how pretty he was.

"Do you hate me?", you whispered as you got closer to his face.

Euronymous stared at your lips. You were so different from him and he, for some reason, was loving it.

"No…", he whispered back.

He didn’t kiss you that night. You turned away before he could do that, distracted by a song playing in the background. You stood up from your chair and offered him your hand, asking him to dance with you. Euronymous hated that song and if it was anyone else asking him to dance, he would immediately decline and leave. But it wasn't anyone, it was you.

So he danced with you. The first minutes he had a frown on his face, but it faded away as soon as he saw you almost tripping on your own feet. He tried to hide his laugh as he held your waist, but you knew he was enjoying this more than he wanted to assume.

Soon, you two were dancing to songs that he swore to never dance to. Euronymous knew that if any of his friends saw him like that, they would probably lose all the respect they had towards him. But then again, he asked himself if he even cared.

And the truth was that he didn’t. He didn't care about anything else other than you at that moment.

[stellasvault]

I’m not exactly sure where to go for requests so I’m gonna assume this is okay (I’m new to making requests 😭😭😭) but we all know that Miles grew up in New York and loves the culture there and I just think it would be really funny if he had a girlfriend who was from a very rural southern area and she isn’t used to city life at all. Idk just a silly little thing that popped into my head that I think was cute

ur in the right place don’t worry!! also ur right this is such a funny idea i love it, thank u for requesting! 💜

“sorry, i’m not a city gal”

pairings: 1610!miles morales x fem!reader

warnings: sfw, reader and miles are kinda in a long distance relationship

you loved miles, you really did. you loved everything about him.

his adorable cheeky smile when he was genuinely happy, the way he awkwardly held your hand when he was feeling clingy. there was just one thing you didn’t understand:

how did he live in such a large and loud place?

you had grown up in a country area where everyone was spread out and cars were consistently used to go basically.. everywhere. so it was definitely a change when you first arrived in brooklyn with no idea where you were going. you were fresh out the train, dusting yourself off and adjusting your headphones.

you already didn’t like this place. did people seriously just be this disrespectful and live with it? chewed gum and stickers blanketed the walls and ground, and you swore you heard the sound of tiny feet scurrying. rats? blegh, you didn’t even want to think about it.

ok.. you thought, just find his apartment, and walk up to his floor. that’s it. you reassured yourself, looking at your cell to remind yourself of the directions.

it took lots of turns, retracing your steps, and asking strangers who had no interest in you, but you made it. you looked up at the tall building blanketed in graffiti.

what if they talk in city slang and i don’t understand? you panicked, biting your freshly-manicured nails. or what if miles decides he wants to break up?! you got yourself even more riled up with your horrible scenarios, fidgeting with your phone.

your panicking was interrupted by your phone’s familiar ringtone, vibrating in your palm. you picked up, still nervous. you perked up as you heard the voice you loved so much: the voice of your boyfriend, miles.

“mi amor, you okay?” he spoke into the phone, obviously anxious to talk to you.

you smiled at his usual awkward reaction. “yeah miles, i’m fine. what’s up?” your visit had been planned for days, carefully organized so that it would fit both of your schedules.

he sighed. “my parents, they won’t let us go out until they talk to you…” he trailed off apologetically, knowing talking to rio and jeff could be a challenge.

you gasped sharply. again?! what do they want this time? you thought to yourself, ridden with fear.

“hey, i can feel you being nervous from all the way over here!” he laughed into the speaker, it was almost like you could hear his stupid grin. “it’s fine. they just want to make sure you’re ‘respectful’ or whatever.” he reassured you.

you felt a smile tugging at your lips, your boyfriend was too adorable for his own good. you sighed in a mockingly dramatic way. “fine, if you insist.” you heard him mutter ‘yes!’ in victory, making you giggle.

“see you soon?” he asked rhetorically.

“soon.” you repeated excitedly, before rushing up the stairs of the apartment.

—————————————————————————

the last hour had been a blur of sweating nervously, having laughing attacks, and sneaking tight squeezes of the hands when mrs. morales & captain morales weren’t looking. you couldn’t even count the amount of times mrs. morales had corrected you on her and her husbands names.

you now sat at the top of the apartment. it was dark, but the lights of the city illuminated the sky beautifully. miles had shared this was one of his favorite places to think, his favorite place, however, was where his late uncle told him how to spray paint.

“it can’t be that bad!” miles laughed, playfully shoving your shoulder.

you sucked your teeth. “i’m afraid it is that bad.” you placed the piece of scrap paper even closer to your chest, making sure it was completely hidden.

“if you show me, i swear i’ll show you my sketches!” he promised, waving around his chunky sketchbook in his hand.

you debated whether not to give in, all the outcomes running through your head. but, the lingering curiosity got to you, you knew you had no choice.

“if you laugh, all those precious figures of yours are going straight out of the packaging.” you warned him with gritted teeth. the anger you showed was hiding your plain anxiousness. miles absolutely adored art, you knew that. but what if yours wasn’t good enough?

he shrugged, confident that he wouldn’t let out a single chuckle. you slowly turned around the white paper to reveal a sketch of miles. in the picture, a slight smile was tugging at his lips, and his eyes seemed to shine through the paper somehow.

he almost immediately tugged the portait into his hands, observing it silently. “wow..” was all he could say.

you squirmed slightly. all his face showed was that he was definitely focused, but did he like it?

“mami, this is amazing.” he turned his head to look at you in awe, but his expression showed he was getting a burst of energy. “how did you hide this from me? you always insist you never want to draw, but there’s no way you’re bad at this!” he laughed, grabbing one of your hands with his free one.

you tried to decipher whether he was just trying to be nice or if he was being honest.

“so let’s see that sketchbook.” you smirked. his face scrunched up in anger.

“i hate you..” he muttered under his breath as he flipped through his book.

“and i love you.” you cupped his face and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

—————————————————————————

AHHHH I LOVE MILES ☹️☹️

thanks for reading! likes and reblogs mean the literal world to me <3

•☘️☘️☘️

[clarklexlois]

I'll be sending this question to about 20-possibly 50 other people, don't be afraid to consult with them or your mutuals as this is just a silly social experiment.

It's well known that giving any non-human organism human teeth is a horrifying visual. However, there is a severe lack of the reverse. What if there was a human with bird beaks instead of teeth. The type of beak doesn't really matter to me, but feel free to discuss. Would this hypothetical beak-toothed person have the teeth as a replacement or would the teeth simply open and feed that way. Continuing from the separate beak/mouth theory, how would this being communicate? Maybe it's multiple, different voices from each beak, or maybe it's just one. Would one have to brush their beaks? I know beaks grow continuously, would that mean the person would have to file their teeth? Perhaps there is a beak-tooth alternate universe that affects all animals (including birds, giving them human mouths and I suppose the same thing for octopi and platypuses?) that could answer all of my questions. Until that universe is discovered, I have chosen you to answer my deranged inquiry. To make sure others can read your response use #beakteeth, thank you for your time.

hi anon I want to start by saying you are strange but also fascinating and I hope you get a lot of actual answers to this.

At first I was picturing a human with a beak in place of their whole mouth and then thought well some birds have teeth so I pictured a human with a goose beak but the way you word this sounds like each individual tooth is replaced with a similar sized beak which is a horrifying visual. Not really sure how that would be functional for eating because even if the beaks opened it just leads to gums rather than a mouth/throat, unless the way to chew food is by crushing bits up by opening and closing the beak-teeth instead of how we normally chew. idk if that made any sense. I think beaks in place of teeth wouldn’t have effect on how the person communicates, beaks in place of a mouth would I suppose but then maybe this person could speak in the same way a parrot can. I think if this person needed to file their beak teeth it could be done by chewing on something like beaver teeth. If it was a society of beak teeth people tho I could see them using files so they don’t have to constantly be gnawing on things to keep them short.

I hope this helps??? with whatever it is that you’re planning to do with this questionnaire

[aurlworthfightingfor]

Three things hunger games edit makers seem to love to use….

1) t*ylor sw*ft

2) that “type of girl I want to chew under my bubble gum” whatever the fuck that means (I’m sure it’s some kinda innuendo, but I don’t get it)

3) Hamilton songs (I’ve still never seen it so idk the songs per- say just recognize what they are)

For the most part it isn’t a complaint just.. an observation.

[gladiatorcunt]

i like (or liked) to think that i don’t have a type in women but i just saw this gorgeous woman who was blonde with like brown roots, cute outfit where you could partially see her white lace underneath, a bit chubby, and giggling at whatever was on her phone while chewing gum almost obnoxiously. to sum it up she looked like she’d ruin my life and i almost got me and my sister hit by a car cause i couldn’t stop staring at her as we crossed the street

if you really wanted her, you would’ve held a hand out and stopped the car like superman while you were still looking. or gotten hit. idk what would’ve charmed her more. you’re definitely stronger than me, just know that

[acollectionofcuriousreblogs]

Random TMBS Facts You May Not Know Part 3

One of the canonical weapons of the Ten Men is poisonous chewing gum.

[nagichi-boop]

Thank you for such an in depth reply!

I have been given the shower chair recommendation a lot, so maybe I need to suck it up and get one. My mum didn’t seem keen on the idea last time I brought it up, but that was before my tilt table test showed POTS (and for whatever reason she doesn’t believe me until a doctor agrees with me that there’s a problem), so maybe she’ll be more agreeable. Then again, she doesn’t shower in the bathroom I use. I share it with my brother, so it’s not like it really inconveniences her. And I can also maybe use it while brushing my teeth, too, so that’s a plus. The only options I really have at the moment are sit on the edge of the bathroom (very uncomfortable cuz it’s not a wide surface), the toilet seat (ew) or the floor (not impossible, but I have dodgy knees and also the floor is uncomfortable too). Getting mouthwash might be a good idea. I’ve been suggested gum before but mouthwash is probably better tbh. Plus I don’t have to then worry about getting rid of the gum when it’s not nice to chew anymore.

Tbh I already have dry shampoo but I tend to only use it when I need it since I don’t really like how it feels (not sure how to explain it cuz idk what specifically I don’t like about it, but I don’t like using it). But baby wipes or a cloth could be handy for when I need to wash problem areas but don’t have the motivation to wash my entire body. I guess I have an all or nothing attitude so I’m like “why would I bother doing that when I could just wash my whole body”, but then I don’t actually do that anyways. I also bought some antiperspirant to see if it’ll be better than the deodorant I usually use.

I actually listen to music or watch videos in the shower already, so I guess I’m doing one thing right! I think showering would be even worse if I didn’t do that.

And yeah, maybe I do need to keep a log of what activities tire me out the most. I know the top of my list would probably be changing my bedding and laundry would also rank pretty high. Showering in comparison isn’t as bad I guess? It’s more just motivating myself to actually do it.

And logically I do agree that trying to force something to happen means you’re less likely to do it. I guess I just can’t tell if I’m being unreasonable/lazy or if I am just fighting against my own limits mentally and physically.

How do I stop being stinky? /hj

Okay but more seriously, how the hell do I convince myself to shower every day and brush my teeth twice a day? I first of all struggle to just motivate myself to do it. And then past that, it can be kinda tiring sometimes. There are times I have to lean against the sink while brushing my teeth because I’m so out of breath. Would a shower chair help? Everyone who talks about shower chairs talks about passing out in the shower or getting dizzy, but I don’t get that. Would I even notice a difference because my symptoms are so inconsequential? Are there ways to keep myself “fresh” between showers/brushing my teeth, or is there a way to sucker-punch my brain into just being cleaner?

[hughiecampbelle]

Hard To Love (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,210

Inspired By: Puke by Ava Maybee I loveeeee this song

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is definitely for therapy lol I hope no one minds. Ya gurl feels very unlovable atm. Idk. It stems from something someone said to me once, someone who is supposed to love me unconditionally, they said I am hard to love. Of course I forgive them, I love them, but it still stings y'know? Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Is there something wrong with me? You don't know if you’ve spoken the words or only thought about them. Either way he rocks you both back and forth, arms around you, hushing your fears. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, his heartbeat rapid, playing a tune you can’t quite name. Is there? There must be. Some innate, genetic wrongdoing. Something must be missing from you to make you this way. Sensitive. Forgotten. An easy target. They shoot their arrows into you, through you, but you always come crawling back. Always. The pain, the blood loss, the look in their eyes, none of that matters. You don’t matter. They know they can do whatever they want and you’ll cling to them like a lost child. Because they’re your family. Because they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. But they don’t. And that is not a fault on their part, but your own. You have done something to make them hate you, you have done something to make them turn on you, it is all your fault. You’ve seen them love others the way you have wanted to be loved. You have seen them be so caring, so devoted, so in love with someone it breaks you into pieces. It threatens to undo your very soul. There is something about you that is so undeserving, so unlovable, so broken that they could never fathom treating you that way. They could never see you as something to care for, to give a second thought. 

Is it my fault? No, he fights back, no, no, never. But he’s wrong, biased, blinded. You’ve done a good job fooling him. Everything is. Right? Everything, everyone’s emotions, their well-being, it’s all on you. You take care of them. You heal their wounds. You dry their eyes. And in return, you get nothing. You are forgotten. His arms grow tight around you, together, stronger, as if he thinks holding you will keep your brokenness from showing. Pieces of you slide off his lap, shattering against the ground. You want to fight against him, against his word, but you’re too tired. Exhausted. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to fall. It can’t be like this every time. You question why you come crawling back every time, hind legs wounded, but you do it. The moment they give you a second of attention, you forget everything that has ever happened. Every unkind word. Every look. Every comment. It sticks into your hair like gum. You are so hard to love. A direct quote. Spoken to you in a moment of fury, of anger. Does that make it any easier to swallow? Does it make it any better knowing it was spoken out of frustration? No. The anger bites back, chewing you to bits and pieces. It is the hard truth, the thing that needed to be said. He knows the sensation, that sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, the expectations you’ve been carrying for this single moment deflating, dying in your arms. 

Why am I so hard to love? You whimpered through the bathroom door. What, what are you talking about? He jiggled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. You sat with your back against the door, not letting him in. You wanted to, no you needed to be alone. To cry this out. I can’t help you if you won’t let me in. You didn’t want his help though, you didn’t feel worthy of it. You deserved to be alone, to feel alone. You were a burden, a hindrance, something people didn’t want alone. You kept running through the list in your head, all the reasons, the myriad of explanations. If they picked one, just one, maybe you could change it. Fix it. Fix you. Make yourself into something deserving of love. You pressed your face into your crossed arms, feeling small. Insignificant. He slid down to your level, speaking quietly, tenderly. You know whatever they said or did, it’s not on you. No one who loves someone would hurt them like this. Like his father. Like your family. You just shrugged, knowing he can’t see. You weren’t sure why you listened to them, why you let it get under your skin, it just did. Too sensitive, they called it, as if it were a bad thing. As if it were another reason to disregard your tears, your feelings. You never should have gone home, but you missed it, the idea of home. This grand notion that things would be different, they would be different. You always do. Hopeful, he calls it. Fucking stupid, you correct. It's naive of you to think they’d ever change, ever soften, ever share the same heart as you do. As soon as you go back you remember why you left, why you built this little life with him in your home, why you came home crying every time. 

Maybe he should have warned you. He didn’t want to dampen the mood. Roman could see how excited you were, proud to show yourself and all your achievements, no matter how small. Naming every relative, how much you missed them, how long it’s been since you’ve seen them. Maybe he should have gone with you, protected you, becoming your human shield. It wouldn’t have mattered. You wouldn’t have let him get hurt like that. They were smart in their cruelty, knowing just the right insecurities, the right buttons to push to shatter who you are inside. He watched you try on countless outfits, worried they wouldn’t like what you chose, worried you wouldn’t make the best impression. It didn’t matter what you chose in the end, they had enough choice words about your body regardless. Y/n, will you let me in? He asked softly, not moving. You let the question hang in the air, sniffling, letting yourself relax, take deep breaths. He checked your bedroom, the couch, kitchen, every nook and cranny where you might try to hide. This always happens. The disappearing act, the lack of self-worth, the hatred turn in on yourself. It’s them you should be mad at, but you can’t be. You love them too much. You need them too much to think harshly of them. The handle turns, the door creaking open. He moves with open arms which you fall into.  He doesn’t have any jokes to make it better, anything to lighten the mood, he knows better than that. Now, you need comfort. You need soothing and reassurance. Your head against his chest, the rest of you heavy with grief. You go back every time because you want to be loved the way you’re supposed to, the way all the songs and shows and movies promise you: unconditionally. And every time you’re disappointed. Because your life, this life, isn't a movie. It doesn’t have a happy ending. It just keeps going despite the heartache, despite the pain. It threatens to collapse in on you, cave in, when it gets bad. There’s no such thing as unlovable, he says to you, to himself, to the universe. Discarded like a kicked puppy. He can handle it from his father, Gerri, everyone, but you? You don’t deserve that. There’s no such thing as unlovable, he’s sure of it.

[writteninkat]

Heyy🐻 I usually ask for NSFW but this is crack with a little ✨nasty and fluff✨ um- any of the MHA/BNHA boys reacting to the reader gagging on the toothbrush....idk I just want a bit of fluff

you can do whatever with this just have fun with it☺

remember to drink water and eat daily🥰

BNHA GUYS REACTING TO YOU GAGGING ON YOUR TOOTHBRUSH

w/ Katsuki, Tenya, Kirishima, Denki

a/n: hi ilysm u're always so freaking sweet sendin' mwa requests 🥺 hope u stay healthy always luv <3 also this'll be a bit shorter than my usual hc's since i can't rlly think of a plot for this to follow idkidk

genre: fluff, suggestive themes, some crack lmao

navigation

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

it's early in the mornin', you're half asleep, you remember the layout of your shared apartment so good that you can walk to rooms with your eyes closed

katsuki is already there brushing his teeth and as soon as you step inside, he hands you your tooth brush and puts the toothpaste on the brush for you

your mistake: you yawn while putting the toothbrush in your mouth and you totally miscalculate how deep you've pushed it in your mouth

it hits the back of your throat without any warning at all and of course, you choke

"tch, be careful, dumbass. it'd be idiotic if you died from a toothbrush"

yeah the sudden hitting your back and almost choking to de*th (im joking can yall tell? 😐) part definitely woke you up

TENYA IIDA

the second you step inside your shared bathroom, still yawning and your hair all over the place, Tenya is smiling at how adorable you are

he loves mornings cause he gets to see you in this state- not in your prim & proper pro hero costume but instead just... you.

as he daydreams about how inlove he is with a Y/n who has dried saliva in the side of her mouth and eye boogies in her eyes and her hair a bird's nest, it's immediately broken when he hears you gag

you're dropping your toothbrush on the sink and coughing for dear life as your husband rubs and pats your back, telling you to "breathe, Y/n, breathe!"

when you assure to him you're okay, he goes on to lecture you about...how dangerous it is if you don't hold your tooth brush properly???

"tenya I don't need this right now, I almost d!ed!" you pouted to which your husband rolls his eyes at. "You can't die from choking on a toothbrush!"

you take your brush and point it at him, "Wanna test that theory now?"

God he fucking loves you so much

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

you reach up to him for his third morning kiss of the day before you walk over to your side of the bathroom sink

as you're brushing your teeth, you start to doze back in sleep land, your hand moving on its own as your head slowly droops forward

no, your red haired husband doesn't notice this cause he's too busy flossing and you know what happens next? you know what happens next.

yes you choke. on your toothbrush. what a fucking idiot.

and instead of asking if you're alright as you're coughing out the foam from the toothpaste, Eijiro is laughing his ass off like it's hilarious watching you suffer

he's slapping his thigh, laughing loudly until you finally calm down

you glare at him

"what?" he asks

"what?" you copy him, "dude I almost d worded! couldn't you help me by like rubbing my back or something?"

"it was funny!" you narrow your eyes at him, "like how bad do you have to be to fuck up brushing your teeth?"

"Eijiro I give you five to run."

"Five what? minutes? hours?"

"four, three, two-"

"ahh, fuck."

DENKI KAMINARI

little shit makes fun of you for walking with a limp from last night's activities

"need a wheelchair there hon? ah wait- it probably hurts more if you sit, doesn't it?" he pouts, faking sympathy as you simply glare at him

you take your toothbrush, squeezing toothpaste on the bristles

"hey, hey hon, I go in hard but come out soft and I don't mind if you blow me. What am I?" he smirks, poking your side with his elbow.

"I swear to god Denki if it's-"

"I'm a chewing gum!" He smiles ever so innocently which only makes you glare at him even more

"what's long, and hard, and has cum in it?"

at this point you're just ignoring your idiot of a husband

"cucumber!"

still ignoring.

"hon hon hon, what's hairy on the outside but soft and wet in the inside, and whose word starts with 'c' and ends with 't'?"

still ignoring him

"coconut!"

your thin string of patience snaps and you move to hit him on his arm but push your toothbrush in even deeper instead, making you choke

"mmhmm, that's exactly what you said last night."

oh my god you're gonna k word him 🙂

[rigginsstreet]

lmao for the gum ask why not both? i saw the mint post you rb and then i was thinking about the scene w/ billy chewing gum and was wondering about flavors

I feel strongly that billy and heather are both cinnamon bitches. Big red all the way (on a side note I went through SUCH a big red obsession when I was a kid like I was smacking on packs of that shit every day… I miss it)

Steve feels very juicy fruit to me like packs a lot of flavor but only lasts 5 seconds before you gotta throw it out 😂 and everyone’s like “steve that gum sucks it doesn’t even last” he doesn’t care

Nancy and Jonathan are typical spearmint bitches

Robin sticks to bubblegum but sometimes she feels fancy and will go for like a cotton candy flavor

Argyle does those zebra gums from the 90s idk if they existed before the 90s but doesn’t matter. He’s the zebra gum he’s chewing on the zebra gum. Probably some ugly ass flavor like grape too (I like argyle but his penchant for pineapple pizza leaves me disgusted and disturbed)

Chrissy seems like a regular bubble gum girl too maybe it’s the cheer uniform idk I don’t know her

I have no thoughts about anyone else except I’m convinced Dustin likes that big chew gum that comes like it’s supposed to be chewing tobacco y’all know the one. Just stuffs a wad of it in his mouth leaving everyone horrified.

I also would like to see billy giving el cinnamon gum for the first time and laughing when her eyes bug out of her head that’s fun. I also want to see el interact with bubble tape and pulling off too big a piece and of course not realizing it till she’s already chewing. A universal experience we all have to learn

Lucas seems like a tic tac kid. Or oh my god when mentos comes out he’s gonna be a walking ad bet

Mikes gonna go for the listorine strips. Why do I have some many thoughts about these characters and mints/gum what did you unleash lmfao

Let’s give max ice breakers liquid ice those were fun

Will gets altoids he’s an old man. You know what put Jonathan down for this too. But Jonathan does like regular mint flavor will goes for the fruity ones 😂

Hopper keeps breath spray on him this I know. Joyce will just pick up whatever’s around she’s chill like that