#which again everything is sort of a vibes way

[loathemetc]

DELTARUNE THEORY: Is the Knight really "too obvious?"

More specifically, is Dess being the Knight too obvious?

In my opinion, no.

I feel like people who are in way too deep into Deltarune like I am are forgetting that Dess being the Knight isn't actually obvious to the layman player.

Like you gotta remember Dess is a character who is only mentioned in optional dialogue in Chapter 1, in passing a few times in Chapter 2, and once directly in Chapter 3. Tenna is the first character to even call her December. Everything about Dess being missing and her full name being December in Chapter 2 is subtext, and frankly some people just don't catch subtext.

Dess only being called direct attention to in Chapter 3, the same chapter the Knight appears in, is certainly no coincidence, but it doesn't read as a misdirect. After all, up until the Knight appears, the game is busy misdirecting you into thinking Kris is the Knight. Then soon after the game introduces you to Carol, a cold woman who is clearly sus as hell and has pointed antlers just like the Knight.

The subtext is becoming a lot more noticeable sure. Dess's room is labelled as such, it's not supposed to be entered, her guitar not meant to be touched. But the game isn't giving you much time to chew on that idea before introducing Carol and her obvious villain vibes. There is not much lull between the game wanting you to think Kris is the Knight and the game wanting you to think Carol is the Knight. There's also like 3 seconds of Asgore misdirect that is like, extra funny if you didn't know he was in the house yet, which is weirdly missable information.

But I know what you're asking, isn't the Knight's sword looking like a bat for a second too obvious? Well, besides just the fact that not everybody is going to immediately make the connection that it looks like a bat in those two seconds, no. Every mention of Dess wielding a bat is optional missable dialogue, and frankly, the lyrics to Raise Up Your Bat are nigh unreadable when you're actually trying to win the rhythm game. And if they missed that dialogue about the whiffle bat, they might not even make the connection between Raise Up Your Bat and Dess, even if the subtext of the Tenna scene makes it pretty obvious. Same with the baseball moon scene, although that again requires you to make the connection between Dess and baseball in the first place.

And then, throughout the rest of Chapter 4 and the Knight's various appearances, Dess is never mentioned again, and the actually present character of Carol will linger on most players minds.

In short, the game is definitely dropping hints that Dess is the Knight, but they're not as loud as people seem to think. People playing the game now, all at once, and not being the most thorough definitely won't be thinking it's as obvious as the people who have photographic memory of all facts about Dess from years of theorizing, and they might just not pick up on the idea in the first place. Kris is a much more enticing candidate until they aren't, and then Carol appears soon after. Dess is the underdog option here, being given less attention by the game due to her lack of presence, and that makes her all the better for keeping the mystery going.

I guess this was a sort of weird reverse of a Dess Knight theory, approaching it from the opposite perspective as usual, but I suppose I do think it's the most likely option. But if you think it's too obvious, just ask the people who saw the antlers and still think it's Asgore or Papyrus.

Last thing to remember I think is that this is a game that was never meant to be played in chunks over many years. The intended play experience is going to be playing the game start to back once it's actually done, like most other rpgs. We were never meant to have years in between chapters to obsess over all available information. Now, that doesn't mean theorizing is a bad thing, I love theorizing. But you gotta remember not to overthink it. Something that seems too obvious with years of time to think about it and all available information is not going to be too obvious to some guy playing through the whole game for the first time as intended.

[call-mi-jinx]

Steve Rogers — Long Overdue

warnings: AFAB!reader, Y/N is used (a lot), kissing, fluff

summary: Y/N and Steve have been friends for a while. But Y/N has secretly been in love with him, she realised after two years of being friends. And when Steve slips up and says something he didn’t mean to, it encourages her to try something new and see where it goes.

Main Masterlist Steve Rogers Masterlist

The Avengers Tower is empty. Corridors deserted, rooms quiet as a mouse. The only three living things in the tower are Y/N, Steve, and Yuki (Y/N's Kai Ken). Steve is reading one of his old books from when he was a child in the living space of the tower. Y/N’s relaxing in her room binge-watching her favourite show while Yuki is playing and running around with one of her dog toys.

The rest of the team is on a mission, acquiring some intel about a Hydra base somewhere in Poland that needed to be infiltrated, said they’ll be gone for about a week. Y/N wasn't allowed to go because she needs more training on how to control her powers, and Steve was assigned to keep an eye on her. She didn't mind that much, for two reasons. One, because she absolutely hates leaving her room, she enjoys being on her own without needing to force herself to interact with anyone. And two, because if she wanted to interact with someone, it was Steve.

Steve is one of the only Avengers she was close with, besides Natasha and Sam. He was the first person that Y/N opened up to when she joined the Avengers. She can never keep any of her secrets from him; she always feels compelled to open up to him. Steve always had that vibe about him, in her opinion.

But she has one secret that she could never tell him. She doesn't even talk about it to Yuki, and she tells Yuki everything. Despite her being a dog. To an outsider, the secret wouldn't even seem that big. But to Y/N, it would be like ripping her own heart out and giving it to someone.

She's in love with Steve.

She never plans on admitting it to him because she is disgustingly horrified of ruining their friendship. She values it way too much. He was the first person she had opened up to since joining the Avengers, and she would rather suffer with seeing him with a girlfriend than never talk to him again because of the awkwardness.

As Y/N starts a new episode, she hears her stomach grumbling. Great timing, seeing as she needed to feed Yuki too. She pauses the TV and climbs off of her bed and heads to the living space as she calls Yuki to follow her through.

As she enters the kitchen—which was also in the same room as the living space—she says hi to Steve, who gladly returns the greeting. Yuki runs to Steve and jumps onto the couch to snuggle up with him whilst waiting for her food.

"Want anything while I'm in here, Steve?" Y/N offers as she pours the last of the kibble and meat into Yuki's dog bowl. She makes a mental note to herself that she would need to go to the shop to get some more.

"Could you grab me one of those cake slices, please? I'm starting to see why you love them so much." Y/N begins to chuckle, as does Steve.

“So that’s where they’ve been going. Wondered why my angel slices started to disappear quicker than I was eating them.” Yuki’s ears perk up as Y/N places her dog bowl on the floor next to the fridge and whistles for her to come eat.

Y/N reaches up for the top cupboard right on her tiptoes but couldn’t reach it. She would use her powers to get them, but at the minute she’s sort of lost full control of her powers. Tony advised her to not use them at all unless she’s in the specially built room that she trains in.

“Steve? Please, could you come and grab them? They’re in the top cupboard, and I can’t reach them.” Steve begins to laugh as he puts his book down and walks over to where Y/N is standing.

“This is why you need to stop putting them in the highest cabinet possible.” Steve then reaches for the cupboard, but as he does so, his shirt rides up his torso slightly. Y/N can’t help but stare; Steve is just so well built.

She couldn’t help but feel bad, though. Steve was such a nice man, and every time she saw a little part of his physique. He was beautifully carved, as if the universe took all the time it needed to create him. Even with his personality too. He is so kind, cares for the people who need it, puts trust into everyone and treats everyone with so much respect. And that’s why Y/N is so in love with him.

Steve hands her the angel slices after taking one from the box himself. Y/N is still stuck in her own little world until Steve waves a hand in front of her face to snap her back to reality.

“Sorry I spaced out for a second.” She chuckles to herself as she takes the box from Steve’s hand. Then she gets an idea.

“Would you want to watch this show with me? I think you’d like it.” Inside she is practically begging him to say yes; for once she actually wants to spend time with another human being. And if she’d want to spend time with anyone, it would definitely be Steve.

“What’s it about?” She practically jumps with joy that he’s showing interest. She starts to feel her heart racing, and her palms get sweaty. Although she’s the closest with Steve, she hasn’t actually spent long periods of time in close proximity with him in her own room.

“It’s called Supernatural, and it’s these two brothers who fight things like demons, banshees, werewolves and vampires. It’s a really cool show.” Y/N fiddles with her hands as she awaits an answer.

“Sounds good. Let me just get changed into some comfier clothes, and I’ll head right over.” Steve gives her a warm smile as she nods in reply. They both head their different ways, Yuki following Y/N.

Around 10 minutes later, Steve knocks on the door and comes in. Y/N moves along her double bed to give Steve enough room to sit, and Yuki jumps up and lies on Steve’s lap.

“You seem to be the only person Yuki loves. She never sits on anyone's lap.” Steve chuckles as he scratches Yuki’s head. She snuggles deeper into his lap and closes her eyes, falling asleep almost instantly.

“Glad I have the honour. She’s a wonderful dog.” He turns to Y/N and gives her a warm smile that makes her heart skip a beat. When she turns to look at him, she only just clocks how close they actually are. She immediately turns away and grabs the remote.

“L-let’s put the TV show on.” Y/N felt her face grow hotter and her hands clam up. How the fuck did she let herself get like this over a man? An absolutely amazing and gorgeous man.

As the episodes fly by, Y/N becomes drowsier and drowsier. She fights to stay awake, wanting to savour this time with Steve. But sleep gets the better of her, and she eventually falls asleep.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

When Y/N wakes up, her pillow feels harder than usual. She feels around it until she feels a neck. She immediately feels her cheeks go bright red. Y/N looks up to see Steve, who is already chuckling to himself.

“Sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep on you.” Y/N sits up and crosses her legs as she turns to face Steve.

“Seriously, Y/N/N, it’s fine. I enjoyed staying over in your room for the night anyway.” That’s the first time Steve ever called her anything besides her name. She likes it. A lot.

“Did I snore? I usually snore, which kind of pisses off Yuki.” Steve raises an eyebrow at her for swearing, which earns a playful eye roll from Y/N.

"You did a little, but I found it cute." Y/N feels her cheeks heat up. Did Steve just say she was cute? Nah, she's just imagining it. Or is she? Or, could she use this as an excuse to flirt? Test the waters a little. She decided yes, you only live once after all.

“So you think I’m cute Stevey?” She raises an eyebrow at him with a smirk on her face. She may seem confident on the outside but on the inside she is screaming at herself to stop this, but it’s too late now she’s already started. Steve couldn’t even speak, his mouth kept on opening and closing. It’s like he’s short circuiting.

“I- uh… I…” Steve’s face went bright red. Y/N begins to feel bad because it looks like he’s embarrassed. But she finds it very attractive. Getting the guy she loves to become a mumbling mess? Yes mf please.

“Nervous are we?” Y/N places a hand on Steve’s knee. Her thoughts kept on bouncing between whether she should stop now in case it ruins the friendship or to continue because it might work out in her favour.

Then, something in Steve’s eyes changes. And it sends a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

“Not at all, pretty girl.” Oh my god. Y/N’s face immediately flushes. She did not think Steve would come back with something like that. Maybe she likes this more than him being nervous.

“So you think I’m pretty too?” Y/N leans closer to him, placing her head on her hand, looking up at Steve through her lashes.

“Oh definitely, Y/N/N. Prettiest girl I’ve ever met.” The look in his eyes makes every one of Y/N’s nerves light up. Steve leans slightly towards her with that smile he always has on his face. They both slightly chuckle at Yuki barking from the living space, probably a bird passing the window.

Nothing is said after that, Steve and Y/N just keep on staring at each other. Hoping the other is the first to do something, anything. Doesn’t matter what.

She hears Steve mumble something but he doesn’t give her any time to even compute before he connects his lips to hers. He places his left hand on her neck and his right on her waist. All the breath leaves her lungs.

She finally decides to kiss him back as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him on top of her as she lies down on the bed. His lips feel like a silk pillow, hands as soft as a warm blanket. Fireworks going off in Y/N’s head. This is all she’s dreamed of and more.

Their hands start roaming around each other’s bodies. Y/N’s hands travelling up and tangling in his hair, ruining the meticulously styled quiff he managed to perfect. Steve’s hands both go up to cup her cheeks.

Y/N then pulls away for air, she opens her eyes and Steve is looking at her like he needs her. It makes Y/N’s head go reeling.

“We should have done that way before now.” Steve lets out a chuckle at Y/N’s statement, he places a kiss on her forehead before sitting upright again.

“Long overdue.” Steve adjusts his shirt as Yuki comes running into the room. Then he sits back down on the bed next to Y/N. She sits upright and leans into his side, he wraps his arm around her in return. Yuki then jumps up onto the bed and cuddles up against the both of them.

“Wanna continue Supernatural?” Y/N looks up at Steve with a smile. Just now she realises how many different colours there are in Steve’s eyes.

“I’d love to.” Steve returns a smile, it’s practically beaming. Y/N places a kiss on Steve’s cheek before turning on the TV and snuggling up closer to Steve.

[sweetestflow3rs]

NEVER APOLOGIZE FOR RAMBLING. IN FACT, THANK YOU 🙏 so is it easy to get Cody down for consensual sex? Does he like more submissive or dominant dolls? and do u think pc could dom him at all?

TW dubcon mention

IT IS POSSIBLE, and in practice he has!!! he was dating not!Niki during highschool until they broke up. ( Cody out-freaked them in the freak contest )

it’s so strange to say this, but it’s more likely to get into consensual sex with cody when he doesn’t know the person very well. if it’s like a one off, one night stand thing, yeah he’s game! but the more you get to know him and try to engage in sexual intimacy the way the line blurs between safe and consensual, it’s entering dubcon territory. i think it’s mostly due to him chasing more of feeling & adrenaline ( he is a BIGG adrenaline junkie ) than like… what the partner is saying. cause if they are like “hey can you not touch that?” and he sees they are feeling good but conflicted??? well, no he’s ignoring that, and he’s gonna keep going 🤨

as for his type!!! err… that’s hard to gauge out, it’s mostly a vibes™️ sort of thing. whatever hits my je ne sais quoi, cause both can work for him. you just gotta make him mentally ill to the point of fixation. play on his 4D chess gameboard. cause submissive doll? he can have fun controlling them and pushing them around. dominant dollies? he can get off about being pushed around.

i think the core of it is the want of being needed, and if he is mentally unwell enough about the person, than thinking that the person NEEDS him even if they don’t want him. and his way of showing that is… questionable. ( looks at his past behavior & ideology )

which!!! HE CAN BE DOMMED! just do the 4d chess and beat him at his own schemes, or just manage to physically beat him up, maybe spit on him, and he’s got the hardest boner that Blue Field’s has ever seen. and trust in that, with how big his dick is flaccid. he likes being pushed around by people he finds attractive, and calling him out on his bs makes him giggle. ( he will still do it to be reprimanded though, so be careful it’ll just enable him )

[carnivalls]

Killing myself a thousand times over. Do I want the setting of Good Intentions to be past based (fantasy greece meets the industrial revolution) or futuristic (fantasy greece meets itself after a stupidly ambiguous amount of years)

[duffmckagans]

very excited for people to see how all of these characters have changed in subtle ways due to either maturity in nuance or dissatisfaction with the original portrayals, but i think i'm most excited for people to read about valerie this time. which, possibly may be because this book is centered around her, but i just feel like she's gained some good depth. all of her traits are still there, for better or worse, but there's definitely an added realism that i'm really proud of ♡ and i hope is better understood this time around.

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Ren: And then of course when all of us Hermits got together...that time flew by, also, mostly because we were having such a--stinkin' great time together, that, uh, every day was a new joy, that. Sort of disappeared really quick. And I miss everybody already, I gotta say, man. Like, uh, back to...my very solitary existence here in England. Of course, I'm a real life Hermit, so, um, spend most of my time alone, and. I must say it was very nice to have some, uh, people I care about around me for so many days. And not-not just like. Around me, but, you know, we were sort of living together for a bit. And um. It was-it was wonderful. It was so so good. (to himself) Is this a--okay. This is very many, okay, this is four. Let's get these four over the river--this might be a little bit tricky, and there might be another couple others that we spot along the way.

Ren: "Gem was really struggling with missing everyone when she came home and on stream." Yeah, you know, it's, it's-it's Weird, we were, we were in like, an Alternative Universe for a little bit, where everything was perfect, and everything was wonderful, and we didn't--like, all we had--we-we-we basically went back to Eden for a bit, you know? We were basically kids again, where--our entire...uh, like, our only purpose every day was to enjoy the day, and enjoy each other's company, and just hang out and do cool stuff, you know? W-we-we made a pact together. That we would not do any work while we were, um, living together. So, no social media, no checking YouTube, no checking anything, just. Living. You know? Which is something, uh, that YouTubers and streamers don't do very often, so. I think we all really enjoyed...just being alive, for a little bit. (he laughs) And not thinking about anything else but just chilling with each other. (responding to a comment) Yeah, it's a bit like summer camp, yeah, macBcheesy, that's-that's a really apt description of it, I would, uh-I would-I would definitely agree with that, it definitely felt like a summer camp vibe, for sure. Um. But, yeah, very much missing everybody, I think everybody's, uh, missing everyone, missing the times that we had-- Scar: (in a singsong) Ren Diggity Dog~ Ren: (startled) Oh my goodness, there are voices--

[die-auster]

Some "if Yue is alive and went travelling with the Gaang" designs

With a ton of text about cultural inspiration.

The main book 2 look

I wanted to show cultural differences between the tribes, so Yue's look is sort of Mongolian. There were Mongolian-styled hats in the Northern tribe, and Yue's dress under the coat looked like a Mongolian deel (thanks @atlaculture for all these posts about clothes and everything else!), so it's not much against the canon information.

So she's wearing a deel again with a second layer - there are chinese actors on photos as far as I know; I hope it's okay. One-shoulder silhouette refers to later Aang's clothes because Yue is still kind of a spiritual person (she wasn't a fighter, so I want her to have some other useful talent – not a bender or healer like Katara or a non-bender warrior like Suki). Violet, pink and white were originally her colors, no changes here. Three blue characters would be too much for a group of five, and total white is not practical at all. I like to think that violet color shows high rank in the Avatar universe; in the original series it was only worn by princess Yue, Kanna, the chief Hakoda's mother, and by king Bumi.

Yue's boots here are mongolian gutals/gutuls (the collage is already big, but I used them again for one of Book 3-looks).

Her hair become simpler – just two braids and a hairpiece, to match her previous decorated hairdo. I guess if she's travelling with the Gaang she's not that much of a Moon Spirit anymore (maybe she returned the part of the moon spirit that saved her and was healed other way?), so I decided to forego the moon-referring part. Also it will be easier to do by herself since she has no servants now... The headdress I took from modern Mongolian dancers; the front part is crescent-moon-shaped.

The Ba Sing Se dress

I fell in love with this Ao Dai dress, it's simple, long and elegant. But... it's mostly Vietnamese… and I'm afraid that it's modern and not historically accurate. Also it does not really go together with other Ba Sing Se dresses :( because I did not want to just copy-paste some background look. But there is at least one dress with a tail, thigh high slits and a standing collar on the dress underneath, so... I guess my choice is not that bad? The tail makes her look more royal. The fan is the same which Toph and Katara had. For the palette I chose Yue's white color with EK greens and warm yellow/ochre to match Katara and Toph. The hairdo is copied from the series; I chose one with the tassel on the right, to refer the NWT/Korean accessories.

The Fire Nation disguise

A confession – I don't like FN clothes. I wasn't sure if I would be able to do it properly, so I almost copied that attire (left one) – asymmetry, as a Thai touch, which again matches Aang's Invasion Buddhist-like clothes. The palette keeps Yue's signature white, with some pink of a warmer shade, as they wear it in the Fire Nation. And the "royal" long skirt, 'cause she's still not a fighter. The look is simplified so I could not keep zigzag ornament on her longyi skirt, therefore I moved it onto the top part.

I used Thai dancers jewelry and... flip flops? idk how they are called in Southeast Asia (don't like Sokka and Katara's FN shoes at all, why the design is so complicated?).

For covering her hair I used a turban, inspired by Myanmar turbans; a white one, so if some hair will show, it won't be too noticeable. Also Yue could still be easily recognised on screen/page by her white head. The long end of the fabric on her right resembles burmese hairstyle silhouette.

The Invasion-and-till-finale look

For her dress I used a deel (again); the sleeveless jacket is an hommage to her original design and has some Korean vibes, like Toph's Ba Sing Se dress (at least I hope so). Katara and Sokka's season 1 looks have Korean influence, so I guess it's okay. Gutals are from her Book 2 main look. I have a soft spot for them.

My favorite thing is her hair :)))) It's a mix of Inuit/Mongolian braids and a hairpiece, also from the Book 2 look. This time there will be more braids. Two on the front – I wanted to keep them from her original hairdo, but now they are braided together (I saw this on the Alaskan Inuit women photos). On the back there are five, inspired by a Mongolian hairdo for young unmarried girls, who wore multiple braids. I decided to make five, because Alaskian Inuit language uses this amount for counting and with two front braids it'll make seven, which is a lucky Mongolian number. And in theory a limited number should be easier to animate.

The post-canon noble look

After the final battle I thought Yue will come back to Agna Qel'a and become a more active political figure. I chose a white kuspuk (blue color is still for Katara and Sokka), showing that she is ready to lead her tribe after this journey, not the passive perfect princess she was before. "She is associated in canon with the masculine yang of the yin and yang and the moon which, in most Inuit and Eskimo cultures, is considered masculine as well. While white kuspuks are associated with men and specifically family patriarchs, a feminine kuspuk in white makes plenty of sense for Yue's character" – @mostly-mundane-atla helped me a lot with the cultural meaning of the clothes (I am so grateful!). Also it's an hommage to her total-white Moon Spirit look. And I changed her hair again to Greenland updo with two tied braids on the front – more complicated than the simple braids she wore during the journey. It looks formal.

NWT is less Inuit-inspired and has a strong Mongolian touch (to make them look more "modern"? dunno) but I guess the formal wear for the spiritual princess could refer to older traditions. Which should be the same with SWT, 'cause SWT was originally a part of NWT – or so I heard. For example, Kuruk, the NWT Avatar who lived about 400 years ago, has nothing Mongolian in his look.

All the looks are simplified to match the style of the original cartoon. I know there should be more details and embroidery, but my goal here was to draw something (at least theoretically) applicable for animation. And no Hahn's betrothal necklace of course.

Also I want to mention here other great Yue designs, since they are the inspiration behind the overall idea of the post – the moon looks and "Yue joins the Gaang" outfits by amazingly talented @chiptrillino.

P.S.: an important note

This is my first attempt ever to design outfits that could fit the world of A:tLA. I am not Asian or ingenious, not an expert in their cultures or costume history at all, not a professional character designer. I am just a fan who tried to create designs with respect to real cultures and people. Nothing here was supposed to be offensive in any way. If something still is – please inform me so I could fix it as soon as possible.

I hope, as a fan, I have the right to draw fanarts looking for an inspiration in the cultures that inspired the original cartoon.

If you see mistakes in my post, be it in drawings or a text, also feel free to tell me. I will deeply appreciate it.

[clairerosetarot]

What is your future spouse’s biggest fantasies with you? 18+ MNDI

Pick a Gif 1 —> 4. gifs from mobile Devdas with Aishwarya Rai.

First of all thank you everyone who did the poll and i’m so sorry it took so long!! I was busy with school and work. :(( but now i’m back yayyy!

Remember that this is a generalized reading and may not be as personal as a personal reading 💫🌸 Please take what resonates, leave what don’t and let yourself be loved.

Pile 1❤️‍🔥

ace of pentacles, page of cups, page of swords

Awe, This pile is so cute! I am getting a ‘puppy’ love sort of vibe, even if you are both older. Scratch that - ESPECIALLY if you are both older. I see that your future spouse will think pure thoughts of you in 18+ fantasies even through old age. They do not see you through a degrading lenses, you are their prize, always.

They might be thinking of your face a lot, they love they way your eyes light up and want to finish all over your pretty face 🫣 oop. You might be a pisces too or verrryyy wet🌊 down there. They want to make you squr*t. They love shower s*x you as well, or simple imaging your body oiled up for them with their hands running all over you-omg!

Overall this person is obsessed with you, especially your face. You remind them of a beautiful mermaid and s*x with them will be more passionate and romantic than hard and degrading- perhaps you aren’t into that slow lovely thing but over time I see you opening yourself up (no pun intended!) for that and they becoming a little more rough and dominant for you if that’s what you’ll like. I see a harmony here of you meeting each other halfway.

Pile 2 ❤️‍🔥

knight of swords, the devil, page of pentacles

Omg I felt your future spouses energy exactly when I was shuffling and the cards only confirmed this. I believe they are dominant, and want to dominate you. There is also an element that there is something taboo here in this relationship that others may not understand, wether that is a same-sex relationship or this person is a bit younger/older than you.

I see there biggest fantasies being showing you new things, taking you out, and buying you what ever you want, only for them to roughly handle you 🥵 when you guys go back home. You are there little thing, and they want to ruin you, seeing your innocence leave you body and become a mess for them.

This person is a lot darker than pile 1, i could see them even being into bondage or other stuff within BDSM, remember that with everything in the bedroom, consent is key my loves! You absolutely don’t have to do what you wont want to! BUt, for those of you who are into that, yes, you future spouse will constantly fantasize about having their way with you, and want to indulge. Omg my! Your pile is freaky pile 2 lolll 🤤

Pile 3 ❤️‍🔥

5 of cups, the hanged man, the magician

Wow Pile 3, when I first got your cards, I thought, this is a sad pile, until I understood that this person is probably thinking of having sad, slow, romantic fantasies with you.

I’m going to be honest you and your FS could be broken up before you guys get back together again or they are just a naturally very sad and deep person ❤️‍🩹. Like I’m getting Hozier vibes from this, just very dark and angsty. They want to have lots of emotions with you and even imaging crying together with you in bed.

Overall this is a sort of strange thing, but i’m even seeing they could not have sexual experiences prior to meeting you or not give themselves up in that way before, so they could be conflicted on even what to fantasize about other than the emotions they have for you. A very interesting energy indeed.

Pile 4 ❤️‍🔥

4 of pentacles, the fool, ace of swords

Oh yeah, this might be my sugar daddy/mommy pile right here. 🗿🤑This person is financially stable, and their favorite fantasy is giving you that handbag you wanted and you getting on your knees in return. Not to sound transactional, actually I get this person really cherishes you, however I see money and gift giving a big aspect of their love language and one of the biggest ways they think of initiating fun sexy times with you.

This person’s fantasies aren’t nearly as emotional as the other three, i’m getting they just don’t see sexual energies in that way. They want to come and make you come. I’m getting they love when you guys laugh and talk while you use their hands to get them off. They could also be into feet play of some kind.

This person likes the happy cute moments during the act, and may compliment you endlessly during. They think you ar beautiful and want to enjoy some hedonistic pleasure with you. They might even buy some expensive aphrodisiac foods for you both to enjoy before to get in the mood, like wine. 🍷🍫

Overall honestly a cute energy lol.

[hedwig221b]

any fics with stiles being the darling of the hale family like the whole fam just loving him and really supporting derek’s relationship with him

Hello! Found these ones, but I feel like I'm forgetting some, so if anyone has suggestions, please, leave them below (I wanna read more)

can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? by whiry

There's something strange about Beacon Hills. Stiles can't really put his finger on it, but the way certain classmates look at him at school and the way certain adults look at him in the grocery store has him curious. And it's not the sort of pitying looks that his mom's coworkers used to give him, but these ones are longer, more searching, like they're looking for something. Not to mention the weird noises that sometimes come from the woods when he runs, too human to be animal and too animal to be human. Plus the way the Hales have seemed to sequester themselves to the wild and give Stiles serious Cullen family vibes. But Stiles, like everyone else apparently, ignores it. Until it becomes too great to ignore and he has to investigate for himself and find out what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. +++ Or, the one where Stiles and Derek meet, hate each other, slowly get to know one another, and fall totally head over heels for each other all while avoiding curious classmates, an angry ex-girlfriend, and, oh yeah, imminent death.

here in the heart (of my sanctuary) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Talia accelerates through the tunnel, and Derek looks up, watches the light that makes it through the bramble dance and shift over the hood of the car as they drive, fingers gripping the sides of the tank. It’s beautiful, like a gateway to another world. He’s lived in the preserve his whole life, and he didn’t know this was here. She eyes him. “You should know this man is very important to me. I take the responsibility of his care and counsel very seriously. Handing him over to you…it’s not a small thing. Please keep that in mind.”

Northern Blues by kaistrex (weishen)

When Stiles steps into the room that the Hale house has conjured for him to stay in, the first thing he sees is a window already open, letting in a pleasant breeze. The second is a door in the right-hand wall. Laura clears her throat, scratching at her nose. “That leads to Derek’s room.” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. Now he understands how the pack knew this room probably wouldn’t belong to his dad (which, gross). He looks over his shoulder at Derek who’s glaring pointedly at everything except for Stiles with pink-tipped ears. “Presumptuous. I like it,” he says to the house, patting one of the walls and throwing a wink at Derek hovering in the doorway. _ When the Hale pack transitions to a new Alpha, Stiles is thrilled to be assigned to Beacon Hills to try out as their new Emissary. He and his dad are immediately enamoured with the idyllic little town, fitting right in with the rest of the Hales – except for Derek. The new Alpha shows no signs of welcome, but it will be hard for him to stay stubborn in the face of his family’s encouragement and a sentient house that has plans for the two of them whether Derek likes it or not.

Don't You Worry (Stiles) by Watermelon Wolves (RogueMarieL)

After Scott was bitten, Stiles told a very small lie in exchange for a very huge prize -- pack membership -- and he has spent the intervening years winning every Best Fake Boyfriend award on the books. Now, however, Scott wants to be in an actual relationship, and Stiles is losing his pack. Enter Derek.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Bonded to a Spark by AMatchInWater

Derek comes back to Beacon Hills after living in New York with Laura as a deputy. His mom wants to retire and has enlisted Stiles to be their emissary in training since he's such a successful spark. Derek hates all of it at first until he cracks when Stiles wakes him up in the middle of the night to fix the wards, and he starts to fall for the Omega living in his home.

sanctuary where i stand by ceserabeau

"We're happy to have you, Stiles," Laura says, and nudges Derek hard, "Aren't we?" "Of course," Derek says through gritted teeth. When he looks at Stiles, the kid has a smug grin on his face. What a little shit. AU where Stiles is sent to the Hale pack to be their emissary.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Only By Entering The Wolf's Den by Spuri

Stiles gets a call for help from his old babysitter, Laura Hale, after a slew of magical sabotage to the restaurant/gastropub she runs with her brother Derek. Mysterious magical and supernatural shenanigans are Stiles' bread and butter, so who is he to deny what's basically family? Even if it does mean facing his age-old, hopeless crush on Derek again, and the fact that Derek hates him.

[masterlist link]

[slttygeto]

SLOWLY LOVING YOU — SUGURU GETO.

જ⁀➴ synopsis: Before Yaga introduces you to the third years, Suguru is a little unsure of you joining them. And then he meets you, and suddenly his heart doesn’t know how to slow down.

જ⁀➴ content warning: fem!reader, reader gets a few cuts and faints, swearing and a lot of fluff.

જ⁀➴ word count: 4,2k

જ⁀➴ note: thank you to the sweet @duhsies for commissioning me! I had so much fun writing it<3!!

“Yaga says there’s a newcomer,” Satoru had a habit of speaking with a mouthful, which Suguru really hated. A hand is smacking the back of the white haired’s head who hisses at the contact before glaring at his best friend.

“Hey!” He protests, his sunglasses resting at the tip of his nose.

“Swallow your food.” Suguru presses, taking a sip from his drink. He had heard long ago from Yaga about this newcomer, and wasn’t really sure how to feel about it. It’s not that he wasn’t good with new people (he wasn’t), but he felt like it was a little odd to transfer someone and have them be with him, Shoko and Gojo right away. They had to have a good cursed technique, a great control of their cursed energy, otherwise they’d just get in the way of everything and—ouf, this was too negative.

Who was he to judge? Sure, a part of him was skeptical, but he was trying to awaken the other side that usually reassures him that everything will turn out just fine.

“I wonder if it’s guy or a girl,” Satoru speaks again, and this time (surprisingly) he swallows his food before opening his mouth. Suguru shrugs at his best friend, grabbing a fry from his tray of food.

“It won’t really change much, I just hope they’re good at what they do,”

“Oh Suguruuu,” Gojo whines at his friend’s negativity, pushing him but not too hard. “Don’t be such a kill joy, I’m pretty sure that they’re good. Otherwise, Yaga wouldn’t look so excited.”

“Why are you the one telling me to be nice?” The black haired male raises an eyebrow, carefully picking out a fry that didn’t have ketchup on it.

“You rubbed off on me,” Satoru wiggles his eyebrows to which Suguru rolls his eyes at.

“Don’t.” Suguru presses, but it’s too late to stop his friend’s funny joke.

“That’s a little fruity—“

“Finish your food.”

When they head back to the school grounds after having lunch, they’re pleasantly surprised when they find Yaga, Shoko and an unknown girl standing near one of the school buildings. From the looks of it, you weren’t that nervous. Sure, you were checking out your surroundings as the school was new, but nothing about your demeanor suggested that you were anxious. Not even a little.

Suguru raises his eyebrows at this, and although he tries not to stare too hard at you, Gojo is quick to notice it and nudges him with an elbow.

“Hey, think that’s the new girl?”

“I mean, it looks like it,” Suguru mumbles a response and stops walking when Yaga starts to approach them.

“You finally decided to show up,” Oh, an ass-whooping is on the way.

“The mission took us way too long,” it’s Satoru who tries his luck as his usual, and the grin on his face draws a similar one on Suguru’s lips.

“Yeah, but we managed to get it done with. That’s all what matters,” if it wasn’t for Satoru’s love to piss off their teacher, Suguru is sure that he wouldn’t bother. But it’s fun, and it gives the students something to laugh about.

You watch the scene unfold before you and you raise your eyebrows at how easy going the pair standing in front of you was. Did they not fear Yaga? You had been introduced to the man a couple of weeks ago before you were transferred to the school, and despite the comforting vibe the man had, you still felt like you owed him some sort of respect.

Something the two guys bickering with their teacher seemed to lack. Or maybe it was just an act.

Yaga gives the two guys a comical smack to the back of their heads and you hear Shoko snicker next to you. You fight back a smile of your own, until you feel Shoko pat your back, almost in reassurance.

“You can laugh, they won’t be offended.” You relax at this, and before you could even say anything in response, Yaga is clearing his throat to get your attention.

“You can introduce yourself,” oh, he’s talking to me. You’re suddenly aware of the three pairs of eyes fixated on you, and you fidget nervously.

“Hello, my name is (name) and I’m—“

“That’s boring!” The white haired male cuts you off, and your eye twitches. Well, that’s offensive. Before you could even glare at him, he’s approaching you while taking off his sunglasses and your heart stills at the sight. Those eyes felt like they were staring into your soul.

“Show us your technique, that’s a much more interesting way to introduce yourself,” your body relaxes at this, and you can see Yaga signaling you to go along with what your classmate was saying.

“Oh, okay then,”

Suguru’s eyes are cat-like as they fixate on you. You get in position to show off your technique and suddenly, everything goes quiet. He could feel the energy shift when you stepped away from them, and so he was anticipating a big show. Perhaps, you were a show-off like Gojo.

Suddenly, the air feels a little different—why is it wet? He touches his skin to make sure he wasn’t imagining things, and before he could even process things, fog had engulfed him entirely. This was new.

You were nowhere to be seen, maybe that was your technique—a little weak, Suguru thought. But it felt like you read his mind because right in front of him was standing a carbon copy of himself. A clone.

“What the—“ The clone stands still as Suguru gets into a fighting position, ready to unleash a weak curse at it, but the clone is quick to do the same and releases a different curse—the clone knew about his technique?

Before things could escalate further, he heard a snap of fingers from behind him and his eyes widen when the fog and the clone both disappear at once. You were standing right behind him. Being so focused on the fact that what was standing in front of Suguru was a literal doppelganger, he failed to notice you sneak up behind him. He assumed that you snapping your fingers was to deactivate your technique, but it was also a realization that you made him so unaware of his surroundings—and that was the beauty of your technique.

Everyone looks amused by Suguru’s confused expression. He was staring you right in the eye, and your confidence and the relaxed expression painting your face would normally sned shivers down anyone’s spine. It was awkwardly silent for a few moments before Gojo decides to break the silence.

“That was rather impressive, wasn’t it?” Shoko agrees with her classmate, clapping almost ceremoniously. Yaga steps away from the two to approach you and Suguru who was still staring at you, this time with less resentfulness. Sure, he hated having someone sneak up behind him. And the fact that you had chosen him out of the three felt a little strange, but he tried not to overthink it.

Maybe it’s because I looked like a bitch.

He immediately brushes off the thought when you flash him an unapologetic smile, the confidence you gave off a few moments ago replaced with something he couldn’t quite decipher—were you getting shy?

His lips part almost in shock at the way your cheeks are slightly pink, and you take two steps back and away from him before apologizing out loud.

“Sorry, I just thought you looked a little bored.”

Oh, not anymore.

“That to you, is a Grade 1 sorcerer.” Yaga announces very proudly. Usually, Grade S sorcerers would be the one to be introduced like this—with so much pleasure and honor. But Yaga didn’t care about that. He saw potential in you and embraced it like you were his top student.

Geto couldn’t shake off the giddy feeling in his chest. He watched as Satoru came over to your side and ruffles your hair, promising that you were going to have a good time at school because he was there. And you played along, the playful expression you wore on your face not matching the blush on your cheeks—you were just easily flustered having this much attention on you.

“What do you say, Suguru?” He snaps out of his thoughts at the mention of his name, and he finds his best friend staring at him with those eyes. He caught him looking at you, didn’t he?

“Sorry, I zoned out.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, but he wasn’t going to say that you seemed so interesting that he found himself so lost in his thoughts. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like how you seemed so unaware of the fact that you were breaking down his walls one by one, and all of this happening in less than an hour of meeting you? Unbelievable.

“I said, we are all gonna get along so well, right?” Glancing at you, he notices how you seem to shift your attention back to him the moment his name is mentioned. You’re almost eager to find out what he has to say next, sparkly eyes and a tight lipped smile making you look so fucking adorable—oh fuck, no.

“Yeah, we will.”

He was officially and totally fucked.

--

It’s been a few months since you officially transferred to Jujutsu high, and things were going great. You felt like you fit in so perfectly, you were a bit nervous that you would be a burden since the trio seemed to have a dynamic of their own, being the one to ruin the dynamic—or worse, feel left out would just be the highlight of your school year. But they were so nice. Each in their own way.

While Gojo felt like a troublesome sibling with his many pranks and jokes, Shoko truly felt like a close friend. You could crack jokes with her, share food and even watch movies during the weekend. The friendship you shared with both seemed very genuine and you were so grateful for that.

And then there was Geto.

Suguru Geto, tall and handsome, with long dark luscious hair and cat-like eyes. A smile that seemed precious since it appeared way less than you would want. A voice that felt like he was purring in your ear and a personality that had your heart stuttering in your chest.

He had caught your eye the moment you saw him walk on the school grounds. You tried not to make your tiny crush on the man obvious right away, but it felt like you blew your cover when you chose him as your target when asked to show off your technique.

Things weren’t exactly bad between you and the tall male, but they weren’t that good either. There an awkwardness that always lingered when you were both left alone, your heart would beat so fast and so incessantly when you felt his eyes on you before he places a piece of his chocolate on your desk.

“Was gonna share it with Satoru, but he pissed me off today.” You’re almost shocked that he’s even addressing you when neither Shoko nor Satoru were in the classroom.

“Are you sure? He does like sweets,” you still grab the sweet treat and place it in your mouth, to which he chuckles at.

“Well, you ate it immediately. Seems like you don’t care.”

“Well, he did piss me off too today,” you’re grinning, playing with the wrap of the chocolate. Suguru raises his eyebrows at your remark and continues to tease you.

“Was it another joke about how bad his clone was? I mean he’s not entirely wrong—“

“Stooop,” you groan out, resting your head on your desk in defeat. You were too embarrassed about the recent incident, and no one seemed to want to let go of it.

Rather than being embarrassed that his clone was that ugly, Gojo’s sudden and quick realization that your clones had an immediate link to your photographic memory lit up a bulb at the top of his head. And so the teasing began.

How come Suguru’s was so accurate on day one!

Do you have something to share with the class?

It was horrible, and you remember how Yaga had to smack the white haired male in the back of his head to get him to stop. He caught onto your little crush on Suguru faster than you had anticipated, but you were glad that when asked what he was teasing you about, Satoru chose to save you the embarrassment and just say that his clone was so ugly, you needed more practice.

“I just need more practice,” you say, a little muffled from having your face in your arm. Suguru stares at you for a few moments from his seat, then he suddenly gets up and walks towards you. He crouches down in front of your desk and you quickly raise your head in question.

“Hm?”

“You don’t hate me, right?” He could’ve asked that question from his desk, he knows that. But it would’ve seemed a little cowardly cause he knows he would avoid looking you in the eyes. But eye contact was important when communicating things, and right now was one of the few moments where Suguru felt like he was going to pee his pants waiting for an answer.

“Hate you?”

“I’m aware that hate is a big word—it’s a strong feeling too, but I just need to know if you feel that way about me.” Suguru was supposed to feel stupid, maybe a little insane for asking you something like this. But he noticed how things always got quiet when it was just you two alone. It didn’t necessarily mean you hated him, but a part of him wanted to make sure you didn’t resent him for mysterious reasons.

“I don’t hate you,” you pause your words, and Suguru watches as your face slightly reddens as you avoid his eyes. “Uh, just nervous.”

Now, why did I say that? It’s one thing to know that he makes you feel this way, but it’s another when you fully admit it to him and watch as he raises both of his eyebrows, almost in shock.

“Nervous?” At first, he’s scared that the word has a bitter taste to it—but it slowly dissipates when he sees the blush on your face darken because why did he have to say it like that.

It sounded like he was saying it for the first time, carefully tasting each letter and syllable. You felt nervous around Suguru.

“You are kind of intimidating,” the small smile painting your lips eases Suguru’s nerves despite having another word describe him. But he’s heard this one before. In fact, he likes it. He likes the way it makes him feel, the ego boost it gives him when he sees people quiver in his presence.

But he didn’t want to have this kind of effect on you. You didn’t need to fear him or avoid his eyes for him to know that he was a powerful sorcerer—he wanted you to feel safe with him. He wanted to rid you of any problem weighing you down, have that smile on your lips for a long time. Whatever Suguru felt for you, he was coming to terms with it and accepting it.

Slowly that is.

“If I’m intimidating, then is Yaga like a monster to you?” Suguru teases you back, and he stands up from his crouching position. He stares down at you with a grin, his sharp eyes making eye contact with your own bright ones. A contrast like this looked so endearing.

“Yes.” You don’t hesitate as you reply, and Geto immediately bursts into laughter at this.

“Wow, you didn’t even hesitate.” Wow, I made him laugh.

“But he is scary! I mean, he’s very nice… but I don’t think I’d wanna piss him off like Gojo does,” you mumble the last part, but Suguru hears you loud and clear.

“Satoru pisses off everyone, so you’re safe.”

Having a conversation like this with Geto felt nice. It wasn’t that often that you two chatted or even had the time to sit down and give each other normal classmate updates. So to be able to talk to him like this, make him laugh until his stomach hurts before walking to your dorms felt new. But you weren’t complaining.  

--

Over the last few months, you’ve gone on a couple of missions with both Suguru and Satoru. They were all successful, and you always got done with them in half of the time.

But today was different. You were going on a mission with Suguru.

Yaga mentioned how you both seemed to work really well together, and while Suguru might’ve been stronger than you, you had so much potential that couldn’t get wasted. Suguru seemed like the perfect fit for a partner and a sort of mentor.

The mission was going to take place in another city, which is why you find yourself on the train with the tall male who was trying to get some sleep.

Sitting across from each other, you couldn’t help but steal a few glances at the guy. He looked too good from this angle, you could feel your body tingling in embarrassment.

The guy’s just trying to sleep

Over the last few months, no matter how hard you tried to brush your feelings for Suguru, they resurfaced not only a day later when he did something that would make your heart stutter in your chest. You remember him making you food when you were sick, giving you his scarf when you got too cold, suggesting to style your hair for you—how could you not fall for him?

But you were terrified of rejection. You were scared that those feelings could potentially ruin the friendship between you two, and God knows how horrible that would make you feel.

“We’re there,” you were so lost in your thought, that you didn’t feel the train stop. Only Suguru’s hand on your shoulder was able to snap you out of it.

“Oh sorry,” you stand up and make your way out of the train with Suguru following close behind.

“Did you manage to get some sleep?” He asks from behind you, and you slow down your pace to match his footsteps before shaking your head.

“Not really, I wasn’t that tired.”

“Oh but you will be after the mission, that’s always how it is.” He was referring to the many times you and Gojo would end up falling asleep on each other on the way back home, and he would secretly take pictures of the white haired male drooling on your hair to show it to you when you both wake up.

“Thank god he’s not here to drool on my hair,” you say with a hint of annoyance, but it’s harmless.

“Oh, you never know,” the playfulness to his voice makes you roll your eyes, but the smile on your face gives away that you were anything but annoyed.

You arrive to said location after ten minutes of walking. And at first sight, it seemed like any normal abandoned building; a little creepy, no color painting its exterior and most importantly lifeless. But the smell—god, the gut wrenching smell that came from it made you cringe.

“God, it smells horrible.”

“Then we’re at the right place.” Suguru is the first one to walk in, and you follow close after. You take careful steps, eyes darting around the area to scan it for any clues.

“I have a horrible feeling about this,” you mumble to yourself. You knew you were sent to this place to find the source of its gloominess, but the farther you walked down the hallway, the tighter your stomach got.

“It was an orphanage.” Your heart sinks at the revelation, watching the old toys scattered on the floor, filled with dirt and dust. You could only imagine what happened to the kids.

The room is silent for a few moments before both of you and Suguru stand still. Almost on guard.

“Do you feel it?”

“Yeah, I do.” Whatever took over this place was huge. It didn’t necessarily feel like a strong or dangerous curse, but the way it was staring at you from down the hall had you standing in a fighting position.

Before you could even process the fact that you were dealing with that big curse, it charges at you—and fast.

It’s too fast for its size!

Mist engulfs the creature almost immediately, it would only serve as a distraction for a little bit before it would rage even more and decide to charge at you.

“Go hide, I’ll take care of it.” You watch as Suguru calls in two of his powerful curses, both enough to do the job. But you don’t want that.

You don’t want him to do the job on his own, or worse hide while he does everything. It wasn’t why you became a sorcerer, why you chose to even join the school. And so you stood still, grabbing one of the daggers attached to your thigh. You ignore Suguru’s cries telling you to step away from the huge curse.

“You’re gonna get killed if you don’t move!”

“Shut up!” The mist slowly morphs into something else—something Suguru has never seen you done before. It shapes itself into a beautiful scenery, one where flowers are blooming and the sun is shining and—he was hallucinating.

And so was the curse. The technique might’ve not been the most powerful, but it still managed to blind the curse for a few moments. You fill your sharp dagger with cursed energy before slicing it open in one swift motion. It’s messy and sloppy, and blood covers your clothes and the floor like a paint. You stand still and stare in awe at what you’ve just done.

I killed a huge curse on my own!

What you fail to see is the multiple cuts on your body, and how all color leaves your face as exhaustion washes over you. Shit, you were passing out.

The last thing you remember hearing is Suguru calling your name before everything goes silent.

--

Suguru is a mess. That was the only word that could accurately describe the state of the poor guy as he paced back and forth in front of your dorm room. No matter how much Gojo tried to convince him that you were okay, he refused to budge.

He was mad at you. You were so reckless back there, refused to listen to him when he asked you to move—he was filled with all kinds of emotions.

And so when Yaga finally gives him the green light to visit you, the first thing he does is scold you.

You’re sitting up in your bed with bandages wrapped around your body, and you look so tired. But despite all of that, you still manage to flash him a warm smile when he walks inside your room and closes the door behind him.

“Yaga told me I was passed out for two days, I hope I didn’t worry you—“

“What you did was reckless.” Suguru cuts you off, voice sharp and cold that you flinch. Your eyes stare at your lap, avoiding his because he was right. You were reckless, refused to listen to him and powered up your technique faster than your body could handle.

“I know,” you don’t apologize. A part of you wants to, but you were still going to stand your ground if he tried to guilt trip you about the situation.

“And I was very mad,”

“I know.”

It’s silent for a few moments, and Suguru takes in how despite the tears blurring your vision, you refuse to give in and apologize about anything.

“But that’s only because you scared me to death,” he hears you sniffle, and he sees you blink away the tears before staring at him in shock. Suguru takes a few steps towards you, and for a moment you see the hesitation in his action. He quickly brushes it off as he gently rests his hand on your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek.

“You have no idea how terrifying that was.” Your heart starts racing at his words, and his touch left a tingling feeling behind when he pulled away to pat your head.

“I don’t want you to do that again, but I gotta admit,” he ruffles your hair, the scowl on his face morphing into a soft expression.

“That was really cool,” your smile is on your lips almost immediately at his words, and you take your hand and wrap it around his wrist. You pull his hand down and place it again on your face, a bold move that has the both of you slightly blushing.

“You think I’m cool?” your voice sounds sweet when you ask the question, and Suguru thinks he’s never heard you sound like this before but he nods anyway.

“The coolest.”

Neither of you move or say a thing after this, but the prolonged eye contact had the tall male leaning down a bit hesitantly at first, making sure you were okay with it. So when you pull him closer and place your lips on top of his, Suguru is convinced that it was the right thing to do.

The kiss is short and sweet. You pull away after a few seconds and the blush on your cheeks spreads across your entire face when he leans in to give you another kiss. Then another and another.

“Sugu—“

“Shhh, you look cute when you’re flustered.”

2023 © all works belong to slttygeto. do not repost my work anywhere else.

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

The Great War

A/N: So this was made in response to a request but it ended up blossoming into a full 2K word fic adjacent and I had to split it into two posts! Anyways, if you enjoy sexy and occasionally soft Sevika, dramatic arguments that result in comfort, and mob-wife vibes… enjoy!

Warnings: Not smut but mentions of sex and both characters are D O W N B A D.. A lot of cussing and mentions of violence.

Pairing: Butch!Sevika X Femme!Reader who is super outgoing and forward

🂱 So the two of you’ve met briefly around town, kinda running in the same circles. You notice her right away but you don’t actually talk until she shows up at work — The Last Drop.

🂱 You’re a server and your charisma, magnetism, and punchy/blunt sort of energy makes you well suited to hospitality. You’re the bubbly outgoing type of waitress who gets their table laughing and in a good spirits with ur contagious good vibes.

🂱 You beat the other waitress to claim Sevika’s table, and it’s on.

🂱 She would get a kick out of it — your shamelessness. She really likes the forward thing, timidity makes her roll her eyes. Life’s too short for playing hard to get! Plus, she’s an adult. And a literal revolutionary who quite literally does not have the time for all that.

🂱 Before you learn each others names you endearingly and lightheartedly call her “butchy,” or something like that. She calls you sweetheart.

🂱 You’d pour her beers on the house. You’d lean over the bar counter on ur elbows, making sure ur titties look good and perky. And if it was just the two of you, she would not hide her ogling.

🂱 It’d be a bit of a game to you two. Making the other person crack, being the first to back down/get all blushy. You’d be all flirty-flirty over the bar counter, she’d pull you into her lap during her card game. It’s like how straight guys play gay chicken. Except ur actually gay so it would just be chicken.

🂱 And she’s smoking indoors, as per us. You ask if you can have a hit. She shotguns it into ur mouth and you blow it upward, once again drawing attention to your décolletage, to the girls hehe

🂱 Eventually she just asks you straight up if you wanna spend the night. Maybe you take her up on it, maybe you don’t. Either way, she’s not the fuckboy (fuckbutch?) hit it n quit it type. She’s an adult woman with emotional intelligence and communication skills goddammit and she’s gonna ask you to dinner.

🂱 Takes u to the fanciest place in the undercity, orders everything on the menu trying to flex her wallet and impress u. Whether or not u ask for it she gets you one of those weird rich people desserts where they make part of the preparation an “experience.” like they pour hot liquid over a hollow chocolate shell and it cracks open and reveals a little cake inside. Or something involving a blowtorch.

🂱 Anyways this whole time ur just rubbing ur lil high heeled foot up her pant leg under the table and twirling ur hair, touching her arm, etc. Naughty girl — she mock-scolds you telepathically with a dommy little eyebrow raise thing.

“Here? Now? I pull out all the stops to give you a magical evening and you already wanna leave and bang it out. That’s real classy, sweetheart.”

🂱 You’re both rather bold and upfront, obviously. Strong personalities, fire sign energy — which means you butt heads often. Your relationship is super intense and fiery so every day is like a soap opera, or like The Real Mob Wives of Staten Island in levels of drama.

“Why the hell didn’t you come home last night? And why did i have to find out from Vivi that she saw you cracking skulls in a fishing boat by the pier?”

“Babygirl I told you I was taking care of business. Sweetheart, uprisings don’t happen overnight, it’s all about biding time and strategically applying political pressure in Topside-”

“Jesus, Mary, and the goddamn camels you and your strategic goddamn pressure. I’ll tell you I’ve fucking had it with you and your fucking pressure. You wanna make me look like an idiot? When me and my girlfriends are sitting drinking mimosas for brunch at Jarrod's and they ask me ‘Y/N where’s that woman of yours?’ And i have to look them in the eyes and say “Clint Eastwood was unable to join us as she had a prior engagement strategically applying pressure. To the back of enforcers’ skulls. With a fucking baseball bat. Like a common thug. Mind you, I’m a classy lady all by my lonesome on a Sunday fucking morning-"

“Classy lady I’ll fucking say. You’d think I plan on growing old with Mrs. Fucking Vanderbilt, the way you want to buy ten thousand pairs of red high heels-“

“Omg babe you wanna grow old with me?”

“-that all look exactly the fucking same, by the way. ‘Burnt orange’ and ‘vermillion’ and ‘chartreuse’ or whatever the fuck — You know it’s just fucking red.

“Chartreuse is green, since you wanna be a smartass,”

“Don’t gaslight me, woman. Where do you even plan on wearing those? We live in an oversized sewer pipe. Not the magical land of Oz. I told you who i was when you met me. I told you this is what I do. And you better get used to it if you wanna keep charging my card at every boutique within a ten mile radius,”

“Or what? Gonna give me the spiel again, talk me to death about the uprising and the political elites and the our time is imminent, y/n. Gonna threaten me like you do your little fishing buddies? Gonna apply me some strategic fucking pressure?”

“That’s enough.” Sevika hissed, scary calm. She kicks the pantry door shut and whips around, pointing at you with her cigarette. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re done, Missy.”

“Beg pardon? I’ll decide when I’m done, thank you very much. You’ve got some nerve telling me when to speak when I can’t even reach you half the time. I had to track down your little boss the other day — brought him a lovely casserole — and ask if he could pass on a message for me! ‘Excuse me Mr. Scaryman Eye of Zaun, sir, could you possibly ask Zorro if she might head home as soon as she’s done busting kneecaps? And to arrive in a clean shirt, as my parents are in town and they prefer to greet their daughter-in-law when she’s not covered in someone’s intravenous blood. Thank you kindly.’”

“You showed up at work? Wait- you talked to Silco? Babe I told you to stay the fuck away from there!”

“Please. He may be the kingpin of the city or whatever, but I make a gorgeous quiche. Trust me, babe. Once he tastes my cooking, I am henceforth immune to whatever machiavellian basement torture chamber you brutes probably use as your break room.”

🂱 Sorry guys, got a little carried away there. Point is, one minute you’re screaming at each other and dramatically slamming doors and throwing shit, the next you’re fucking on the kitchen floor like the world’s about to end. You guys basically co-authored the book on how to be an absolute nightmare of an upstairs neighbor. The entire building feels the floor shaking and no one knows if the screaming is just you guys having a little too much fun for 2pm on a Tuesday, or if they’re gonna see this on the news tomorrow.

🂱 Kidding! At the end of the day, trust and loyalty are the foundations of your relationship. You love each other wildly, deeply, and passionately.

🂱 Sevika has a strict no going to bed angry policy. If you’d gotten into it that evening you might give her the cold shoulder, curl up facing away from her in the quiet moments before bed. She’s reading by the lantern on the bedside table — an upcycled barstool the two of you stole from your old job at The Last Drop one evening when you were in a particularly silly mood.

🂱 She catches your gaze a couple times as you stare over your shoulder to see if she’s paying attention to you, and then you immediately turn and go back to ignoring her. She takes off her reading glasses, tosses her book onto the bed, and rolls over to you, wrapping her arm around you from the back.

“Hey baby?” She kisses your shoulder and the back of your head since you still won’t look at her, and she continues. “Love of my life? Light of my world? Keeper of my soul and partner in crime through the sea of trials we call the fucked-up game of life?” You turn slightly to give her a glaring side eye.

“…What do you want.”

“Still mad at me, babygirl?”

“Not at all. Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I’m sorryyy,” she draws it out, cooing at you all soft and sing-songy. If the ne’erdowells who often got their asses handed to them by her and her little team could see this Sevika, they’d think they lost their mind. Hell, if any punk on the street could see this Sevika they’d think they lost their mind. It made your knees weak the way she undid herself and softened for you. For only you. You fought the smile forming and she continued murmuring against your skin.

“It’s all this bullshit at work Silco’s got me taking care of. I’m neglecting my little lady, I’m stretched so thin. It’s too much…”

“Too much…?” You echo. “Talk to me, love. Silco’s not letting you catch a breather?”

She grunts in affirmation against your shoulder: “Mm-hrmm”

“Does my baby have the whooole wide world on her poor, tired, buff, strong, sexy shoulders-EEK!” She gleefully flips you over to face her, making you cackle. You’ve been disarmed. At her mercy. You always were.

She leans forward to bonk her forehead against yours.

“Glad someone in this cruel world finally understands me and my line of work,” she says, half-joking.

“No one understands the importance of your job better than me, babe.” You continue, at this point unable to remove the sarcasm from your tone even if you tried. She nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder facedown, head supported by the cushiness of your tit. You weave your fingers in her hair.

“The honorable burden of great duty… The unfathomable smothering of moral obligation, even. One might describe it as an immensely… strategic pressure-”

“-For FUCK’s SAKE”

“You have worker’s rights, you know! Demand an hour off — paid — in your underground torture chamber-breakroom. You’re entitled to relax and sip coffee as you watch the bodies hit the floor, goddammit!”

Feigning exasperation, Sev dramatically collapses backward starfish-style on the old-ass creaky-ass decrepit-ass daddy longlegs convention of a double bed the two of you share; in a shithole apartment, in a shady-ass neighborhood, in a collapsing city. That’s how it was between the two of you. Underneath it all, she trusts that you’ll always be there to kiss her wounds, to make sure her collar is straight and there’s no shmutz on her face. You trust that at the end of the day, it’s you she’s coming home to.

[strwberri-milk]

Could you please give headcanons on how Sylus and Rafayel would react if MC is used to people putting work before them? Like they grew knowing work comes first so if the guys have work commitments that take a long time or they go a while without talking, MC isn’t bothered or phased. They’re just happy to be talking again, and when unable they just busy themselves. Hope this made sense. Kind if sad comfort vibes, lol.

Sylus is good at focusing but not to the point of ignoring you. He realises something's off when he tries to figure out what the last thing you said to him was and figures it's been a while since then. You're still quietly keeping to yourself, clearly patiently waiting for him to give you attention once again. He clears his throat, this time as a way of signalling that he's finally done. Your head perks up immediately at the sound, making him chuckle a little as he beckons for you to come over to him.

Whenever he finds himself too busy to text you it almost upsets him that you respond without seeming to mind it all too much. He wants you to be mad at him, or at least annoyed that he couldn't find time to get to his phone (which does not happen - his phone was taken away from him for a period of time). You reply as though it hasn't been a week since he last was able to speak to you, prompting him to ask if he's done something.

It takes a while for him to figure out exactly what's happening but when he sorts out that you think his work is more important to him than you he rolls his eyes. There's no way you could ever think that because as far as he's concerned everything he does is for you. He'd quickly have you unlearning that habit, reassuring you that whenever you want him he's there because all he wants is you needing him.

There's no way you could feasibly feel like Rafayel puts work before you. You've witnessed just how annoying he gets when he doesn't want to work, trying your best to help out Thomas by bribing Rafayel with things if he promises to just sit down and actually paint for a few hours.

When he actually does lock in though it will be days until you get something out of him that isn't just a grunt. His phone dies and he doesn't pick up his calls but you're used to it so it doesn't bother you. It takes him until he's actually about to collapse from exhaustion to realise how long it's been since the last time he saw you and he is not very happy about that one. Once his phone is finally returned to the land of the living he spams you with texts and calls, telling you to come over and see him.

You're pretty calm considering he accidentally ignored you for a few days. He was hoping you'd have some stronger emotion besides just brushing him off and reassuring him that it's fine and you really don't actually mind. After a bit of prodding he finally figures out what's happening and tells you that he doesn't care when or how - he wants nothing more than for you to monopolise his attention or at least just hang out with him as he works. He loves you and wants to spend as much time as possible with you.

[elizabethrobertajones]

summer scions!! I absolutely love the new portraits for all their smug happy expressions. Except Y'shtola, who is not going to deign to give a camera a proper saucy look because that's silly. Urianger is smirking twice as hard on her behalf.

Glam review under the cut!

I unlocked Alphinaud first of the twins and didn't know Alisaie had a little necktie yet, so I'm deducting a point from my first impression because the sheer delight that he had a silly little necktie of some sort no matter the situation delighted me so thoroughly. Since they're still engaging in matchy twin dressing to some degree, I have to assume they either like it and won't admit it after digging in so hard, or Ameliance sent them off with cute outfits and matching backpacks, and they still don't really shop for themselves.

He's got the practical watch/compass gloves which are good for a technically proficient Sage and probably the most practical gear he's ever worn except for when he was poncho Alphy, but wearing ankle-length jeans seem like the least weather-appropriate choice of the Scions if we assume their average skin coverage is a good weathervane for the temperature in Tural. I chalk it up to teenage awkwardness.

8/10 unless he and Alisaie chose their outfits themselves, in which case it's a 9/10

I think Alisaie is the only Scion to keep a single piece of their default gear, and those are her usual gloves. She's colour-matched around it.

Because of the gloves and boots, she looks the most ready for hardcore hiking, somehow, and her matching Alphinaud with a cute button down shirt with rolled up sleeves along with that particular choice of baggier shorts (when she normally wears more form fitting shorts) do give me the closest to butch vibes it's probably likely to get for main characters. So I'm giving her an extra point I stole from Alphinaud for the lesbian vibes.

9/10 or 10/10 if she made these choices all by herself.

Everything about this cracks me up, from his portrait above to the image of him tanking open shirted once he pulls mobs.

Believe it or not, he's getting an additional point for those shoes simply because the competition in practicality in tanking is G'raha.

I had a moment of excitement when I thought the necklace was pink because that's always a cute Ryne/Minfillia thing fanartists give him with ribbons and such, but once I got zoomed in on him it was red, so I guess he's just been shopping. Although, the turquoise shorts are her eye colour and the actual large diamond shapes are secretly Mothercrystal coded in those colours, which just cracks me up that you can pick out one of the worse days of his life (Urianger's grand Warrior of Darkness plan) in his Chill Summer Beach Vibes look.

Douchebag beach bro shell bracelet as well, which really makes me double down on him and Urianger spending way too much on tourist bait along the stalls in the Famous Turali Market. The hat and sunglasses are giving him one of the Most tourist-y looks thematically reflecting how a lot of the Scion guys were just here to hang out, narratively or literally. Maybe he's trying not to get such an intense tan again, which is the only reason he's not entirely topless.

11/10 I could not stop laughing when I got him and Urianger to 100 and Beheld The Brilliance in the same moment.

Please note the raised sunglasses in Urianger's portrait, which are not the model his character uses.

I am delighted that I had been incorporating that island watch into my healer glams on both the logic you need to know your clock positionals but also they're largely the smarty pants jobs (WHM being vibes only aside - it gets its own glams :P). And here's Urianger and Alphinaud both using watches.

Now, I had a moment of being vaguely disappointed he had trousers not a skirt or something else swishy and androgynous, but then I did realise that I, a nonbinary weirdo who relates to Urianger since he made me nonbinary, have actually gone to a couple of garden parties dressed in some variation of this exact outfit of light trousers and a nice button up. Plus, the earrings are in both ears, so no "Google, which ear is the gay one?", these are just straight up cute femme dangly earrings with his favourite little dudes on.

More importantly, the colours he's repping are those of Lopporit Radio. He probably tunes in every night for his broadcasts :')

Mirrored sunglasses for the guy notorious for keeping thoughts and plans close to his chest and choosing deliberately to be enigmatic even when it serves zero purpose except for I guess gender affirming care. (The gender is Weird Bitch.)

I can't tell how I feel about those dad sandals. I suppose it depends if he's wearing them like a fashion model (brand new and clean with perfect pedicured feet) or if those are REALLY dad at the beach-like and, since I'm not a foot person, this for me is only a choice between "not off-putting" and "AURGH".

9/10 the proximity to Thancred hauls him up several points of misgivings I had, and the lopporit shout outs are killing me :')

I unlocked Y'shtola last and holy fuck I am a lesbian. I don't even recognise where those boots come from, so either a really expensive glam or something I just have not stumbled on. She has toe rings I think? And painted nails? I have no idea if the garter (?) is part of the boots glam or a custom thing as result of not recognising the boots and how much of them is normal. I feel like they customised a lot on her anyway - the back of her top has purple beads that match her staff (not dyable on the real piece)

and I think the necklace has to be part of the top instead of a separate necklace piece with the way it hangs, AND the bracelets are a glove piece with the original summer glam, but I assume they're layered with the false nails, also in the glove slot. All in all it's giving the sort of effort which is starting to creep up to what I'd expect from the modding community not the game. I mean, not THAT good but getting close. Baby steps towards what fandom can make :P

She really is god's favourite meow meow.

Anyway I can't really judge this fairly because it's really hot and I love her so I'm just going to give it 100/10 and move on. :)

how did I get a picture where Estinien looks like he's stooping to get in the frame...

The fact he has Azure Dragoon Blue Top and then Violently Nidhogg Fuchsia shorts is the colour theory that absolutely killed me. When he lights up during his burst and starts glowing pink all over his shorts are like. Taking him over like the eye once did I think.

love a guy who can embrace his past trauma and dress to match all that has passed before and all that he intends to do now (kill something large and tasty, grill it on the beach, fall asleep with a beer in hand until the waves come in and wake him up).

I gave him that wooden bracelet in the glam he has on my desktop screen so once again I'm feeling weirdly vindicated.

Other details: no ponytail despite the warm weather because he's got enough ventilation. The fact there's cactaurs on his shirt when he's on record for eating them is amazing. We should imagine he's wearing his jobstone like that pendant (since he's one of the only guys with a confirmed jobstone despite being the Guy Without A Job notoriously that one time.)

Unlike Thancred's hat and sunglasses combo, which seems fun and boisterous somehow, he seems the most walled off of all the sunglasses wearers even though he's not the most mysterious. The visor really helps make it a sort of wall. Maybe just because his terse upfront personality and somehow despite his clothes horse habits THIS amount of whimsy seems the most out of character at first glance, but he DOES look uncomfortable to me.

Somehow I find everything about this outfit excellent for his character but also like maybe he was forced into it, everyone cornering him and telling him the Scion Beach Party was a mandatory work event and he was not allowed to beg off of it and he did put some work in expressing himself but also is going to go find a much quieter corner to lurk in for the day, when not competing with Thancred (can't grill, loves it) for the barbeque (Estinien can grill, would only do it because the threat of Thancred doing it wrong is too high).

confused 7/10 mostly because I think Krile is blackmailing him and not because I don't love everything about this.

Here's how G'reenha Tia can still win -

Anyway here's the deducted point for tanking in flip flops (PERFECTLY acceptable BLM gear btw but he's Mr Versatile.)

(I joke but the main character of my novels is a flip-flop wearing menace who could and would tank in them)

Between the padlock and key necklace and the woven bracelet right after we all went feral over the Thavnarian bracelets for couples thing so recently (and Corvos is just across the water!) he's absolutely dripping cutie pie love interest coding yet again.

(Also yes I know the lock and key thing is very funny because we were introduced to him learning he was a fancy key to a big door.)

Gains a point back because the other green g'raha thing is I'm pretty sure people use this shirt glam because it kinda looks like it has weed on it.

Don't quote me on that, vibes only.

Anyway he came colour coordinated (with his original eye colour and hair colour not the bright Allagan dalamud red dye that goes with his normal outfit) so so precise and neat, like he's going to some sort of formal event, and even with flip flops he really does seem incredibly put together like the twins or Y'shtola, just for full outfit cohesiveness.

As someone who would hold G'raha's hand on the romantic gondola vibe, 10/10.

3 out of 10 and a huge cringe if you would not. He's got to stop Striving.

Hey it's the star of the show!! Adorable hairstyle out, cute plot-important earring on, and wearing her exact character colours but adorable beach wear :)

I love that she looks kind of like she went to the girls for advice and got the top from Y'shtola and the shorts from Alisaie, and she probably was very serious and stressed about getting this right even though there's no rules and no one's judging her -

oops.

Anyway the ballet shoes are adorable and go with all the cute picto spins and twirls :)

I think the strict colour scheme does speak to the slight lack of fleshing out she got so far in the story (we don't really have any real character reason that picto in particular spoke to her and this glam isn't one of the many fun takes people had on how to dress to meet that brief ). I don't think DT did more than just repeat that she's serious and sweet and trying really hard to get out of her shell and be more fun and creative and also she's been practicing dodging really hard she shouts mid-Trust combat (bless her). But ALSO getting out of the shell is really hard and she only found out everything and got some closure in the final level 100 quests so there wasn't really much to do with her after that.

This is like her First Non-Plot-Critical Whimsy Moment and losing the hood or any cat ears entirely (and there are perfectly functional cat ears to wear in game) is a good step considering we know she wears it precisely because she needed a sort of advance PR campaign to make her look cute and approachable before she opened her mouth and started bringing down the vibe (serious scary children are SO funny though and i love that for her). Having the same top as Y'shtola is a good thing for trying to make her less childish and have her trying to show that now as she takes this huge step out from the background. I mean, it still has a slight sense of her costuming herself and pushing herself out of comfort zones as she always does, but it's 100% in character so I adore it.

1000/10 because Krile is great and there's so much going on here and it's so fun when a character's whole personality is a costume and then they're like aurgh wait do I even want that??

[howlett-dekarios]

𝚂𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑

▏Trilogy!Logan x Reader

▏Summary: You were the perfect student of Scott's. But after you've came back form university, you've changed and Logan can't stand it.

▏Warnings: dom!Logan | virgin!reader | NSFW | MDNI | big breast | | breast play | slight overstimulation | kinda mean!Logan | unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!) | spanking | Logan calling reader names | male masturbation |

▏Word count: 3,5k

First days in school were a very weird experience for him. Being around so many kids and a few teens who were genuinely interested in studying here. The place itself being some sort of safe space for them. Truly unusual to watch something from so close, or even being considered a part of. Xavier wasn’t pushing him into anything though, rather giving him time to adjust to the new reality. Logan didn’t really feel like matching the whole vibe. Being a responsible adult, an example for youngsters.

He was called by Charles into his office. What he didn’t expect though was to be bumped into on his way in.

“Of course Professor, it will be done as soon as possible-“ A young woman's voice was stopped when her head hit the hard chest of Howlett. Her gaze quickly rose and was met with his unreadable eyes. “I-I’m so sorry Mister..”

“I’m Logan, kid.” His voice stern. “You should be more careful.”

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry.” She stuttered. This guy wasn’t giving the nicest aura. Big, grumpy and intimidating with the cigar between his lips. “It’s my fault, I-“

“I’m just kidding, kid.” He gave her a teasing smirk, definitely enjoying how she had been panicking just seconds ago. Logan was a bastard who was well aware of his posture. “Nothing happened.”

“Sure..” Her red cheeks made him smirk even more. Are all students like this girl? “Goodbye, Professor, have a nice evening. Same for you Mr. Logan.” And with that she left as fast as possible, embarrassed by the whole situation she put herself into.

“Take care, bub.” His attention focused on Charles again. “Are all of them so scared?” The question was rather sarcastic one.

“I prefer the term of well behaved and polite.” The man in the wheelchair smiled and got back to sorting documents that were stuffed on his desk. “Besides Y/n is one of the best students here. Very smart and well raised young woman.”

“Oh is she?”

“I’m quite positive. She was asking me for the recommendation letter for the university she wants to get into.”

“They can do that?” Logan was honestly surprised. He couldn’t really imagine graduating from such school and being accepted in a ‘normal’ world later.

“It’s not so common unfortunately. Most students prefer staying here and becoming teachers like Jean or Scott. That or move out to the countries where the knowledge about mutant kind is less advanced.”

“They’re running away from reality-“

“Seems familiar?” Charles gave him that knowing look which other mutant already hated from the first day here. Older professor was actually one of the few people who had the ability not to take offense and even mouth back. Old ‘I know everything’ bastard.  “But I didn’t call you here to talk about Y/n performance in studies. You made your decision, Logan?”

Howlett wasn’t dumb, well knowing about what exactly this question was. Him staying in the mansion. If he was ready to fit into school reality. To deal with kids, or worse, with Scott. But what choice did he really have in that matter? It was that or coming back to the shadows. To live from paycheck to paycheck, getting any non-attachment job, vanishing as soon as someone realized who he truly was. And here? As much as Logan hated to admit it, it started to feel like home. Being accepted, doing whatever he wanted without needing to think about being discovered. A stabilization he never thought he really needed.

There was one more thing. He was in debt to Charles. For all the help the old man provided him with getting back the memories. For making it possible to puzzle all his life together. Such sort of debt wasn’t something a man can forget just like that. Or at least Logan couldn’t.

“I’m gonna stick around. No teaching though.” Not yet at least. He wasn’t ready for such responsibility.

“A babysitter then?” Xavier laughed, which only made the other man roll his eyes.

“I can train older ones.” Make himself useful by the skills he has. Not much but could be good to start.

“Very well, so be it Logan.”

And that’s how he officially became part of the life of the mansion.

For the next month Logan hasn’t gotten a lot of occasions to cross his way with Y/n. She was too focused on her studies and getting ready for the university life she planned for herself, and he definitely wasn’t the type to beg her to move her ass and join the training with the rest of teens. He really couldn’t point out why every other member of the team was so fascinated about that girl. Sure, she was nice, kind and smart, but that wasn’t making her anyone special in his mind.

That’s how on her last day in the mansion Logan was indifferent towards her. When Scott and Storm were all teary, hugging her and wishing luck, he stayed aside, watching it from the far corner of the room.

“Mr.Logan-“ Her face made it clear she didn’t know what to say after that.

“Just Logan, bub. You’re a grown up so act as one.” Maybe a bit too rude, judging by Jean killing gaze he felt on himself. “Just do your best there and don’t let anyone boss you around. If all I heard about you from Charles is true, then I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“Thank you.. Logan.”

“Y/n we need to go, you’ll be late for the tour around campus.” Scott called her after packing everything in the truck.

“I’m coming.” She smiled at Logan one last time. “Sorry for not attending your classes.”

“Yeah, whatever, it was your choice.” He shrugged, patting her arm. “Just don’t bump into anything on your first day there.”

“I won’t-“

“Y/n!”

“Coming!”

And just like that she was gone, starting a new chapter.

It was quite funny how history repeated itself.

After five years and graduating from the university she was once again at home. Talking with Professor about wanting to come back. To help both the school, since she had a degree in psychology so she could help students to understand their emotions, but also to fulfill her responsibilities as a mutant. Charles has always been saying how her mutation was so unique and how much it could serve for goodness.

In those few years she understood where she should be. Who she should be helping. As a successful psychologist it would be so easy to just open her own practice and make good money, but deep down Y/n got the feeling that it wasn’t what would make her happy. Being surrounded by normal people, hearing all the hideous things they’ve been saying about her kind.. it just made it more clear. It wasn’t her world. She wasn’t welcomed in it. She never should’ve left the mansion.

She was so stuck in her own mind that she didn’t notice the body in front of her. Not until her nose sunk deep into someone’s white wifebeater.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I-“

“Old habits die hard, huh?” Deep voice made her realize who exactly she bumped into. Again.

At this point Y/n was sure that the universe is just playing its most hilarious pranks on her.

At first Logan didn’t recognize her.

Those five years changed her entirely. From a nineteen girl who he had only seen with her nose in the books, to a fully grown woman.

Fuck, a very attractive one too.

The upper messy bun, the white shirt and dark shorts which left very little to the imagination.. If the concept of glow up was real, then it sure as hell could be used in her case. He really needed to double check if it was actually her.

“Logan.”

“Y/n.”

They’ve been looking at each other and if not for Charles, it quickly could’ve been awkward.

“Good to see you here Logan, I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Man in a wheelchair smiled and pointed at his student. “Y/n decided to join the team. But she will need a little bit of training before she can go for the missions. I believe your teaching skills could be useful for us.”

“And how do I know she won’t bail it all like the last time?”

“I’ve changed.”

“Yeah, I can see it.” Quite literally. One was sure, if Scott could see his thoughts right now, he would probably beat his ass because none of them were appropriate. “Fuck, alright.”

“Excellent. Welcome back Y/n.”

Next weeks were true torture. Watching her in clothes that wrapped her body tightly. All sweaty and with a face that showed true motivation to win against him. One thing he learned about Y/n was how university indeed changed her. From a polite and shy student, to a bratty and confident woman. Testing his patience limits whenever she opened her mouth.

Every night he was coming back to his room, getting in the shower and getting off to the thoughts of her in his bed. Laid down naked, spread all just for his pleasure. Her mouth finally shut up by his dick inside, abusing her throat. Logan wasn’t certain why it all made him so on edge, but something in her just made it impossible for him to focus. The thoughts of her irresistible.

He couldn’t act on it though. She was too young for him. Being the precious girl of Scott and Charles, the brightest and so perfect student of theirs.

But one evening made him lose it all.

“Always having such a fucking smart mouth bub, huh?” He hissed through his teeth, while having a strong grip around her throat. “Never taking my advices-“

“Maybe I would if you wouldn’t have your eyes on my tits all the time.” She mouthed back, using her power to form a dagger and sticking it into his lower stomach. “You’re always so grumpy, why is that? Haven’t put your dick into anything in a long time?” The bluntness of her words took him completely off guard since Logan was sure about hiding it rather well. 

Those few seconds gave her enough time to pin him to the floor, her legs on his chest and another dagger white energy dagger near his throat.

“I won.” Y/n gasped, clearly out of breath. After weeks of sparrings and constant failures she’s finally made it for the first time.

Her being on top of him was enough for Logan tho. In a second he rolled over, strong arms pinning her to the training matt.

“Get the fuck out.” He groaned, looking into her eyes. He wasn’t playing anymore. “We are done.”

There was no way of him working with her ever again. 

For hours Y/n was debating on how to approach Logan. What she should say, how to apologize to him. She took it too far, using some cheap shitty distraction to win. In reality she wasn’t even sure if Howlett had any interest in her, and judging by his reaction it was clear that he took the offense. The accusation of being unprofessional like this.. it was a really low blow.

That’s why she was currently standing in front of his room, knocking and waiting for an opportunity to say sorry.

What she didn’t expect was to be met with him half naked, wearing some sweats and having wet hair.

“I-I’m.. listen Logan, I’m sorry about what I’ve said-“

He didn’t give her a chance. Instead his big hands grabbed her waist, dragged into his room and pinned to the other side of the closed door.

“Oh, really, princess?” He fumed, his eyes focused on her face like he was really looking for any sign of doubt, not really in a mood to be played over again. 

“L-Logan I’m really sorry-“

“You should be, bub. Using my weakness, like it wasn’t you who have been wearing these tight pants and bras of yours.”

“W-what-“

“Everyone thinks you’re so smart but I see that you don’t have basic instincts, huh? Teasing me every damn time, like you don’t want me to fuck you dumb, and then having the audacity to just spit it in my face.”

“I swear I didn’t-“

“Is that so? Then why can I smell you know, Y/n?”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck his heightened senses. The second he grabbed her she started getting wet, squeezing her legs just to provide any sort of pressure. 

“Logan-“

“I asked you a question, bub.” The threatening tone near her ear made a shiver run down her spine. “But let me ask again. Do you like it Y/n?”

Truth be told, the time she spent with Logan made her realize how handsome the guy was. Strong and cut muscles, the height, and now the chest hair and happy trail going down under the waistband.

“My eyes are here, princess.” He chuckled seeing her struggle.

“Y-yes.” If before she was out of breath, then now it was literally no existent.

“Good.”

And just like his eyes landed on hers. Swallowing her flavor. Devouring any place he could. Quickly the kisses lower to her neck, leaving the trails of his spit and teeth on it. Bruising it like it was his job to do so. 

“Logan!” Her moans were a pure symphony for his ears.

“Legs.” The simple order made her obey, wrapping her legs around his waist like it has always been their place. “Good girl.”

It didn’t take him long to make her a moaning mess. Dropping her on the bed and undressing, leaving her fully naked just as in his scenarios.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about it for too damn long. Always wearing those tops that are fucking too little and cute for your slutty tits. I imagine guys on campus enjoyed them.” Her nipples were being abused just like the neck before. “But they’re mine now, you get it, bub?”

“Yes, yes, please.” She cried, trying to cover her eyes, both from pleasure and embarrassment.

“Ah, ah, ah, none of this. You can’t act all shy on me now when you’ve been such a bratty bitch all the time, baby.” Logan grabbed her hand and pinned them together above her head, not making it possible for her to do anything else than just take what he was giving. After he was satisfied with his work on the upper parts of her body, he took his pants off and smirked at her reaction. Logan was quite aware of his size being above any normal human, so it wasn’t any surprise. “Never had anything like that, huh? None of your little college boys gave you something like that? But don’t worry, princess, I’ll make sure it fits.”

But before he could enter her, she stopped him, putting her hand on his chest.

“Logan, wait!” Seeing his confused face, she whispered the thing he couldn’t believe was real. “I-I’ve never done it..”

“Come again?” But her reaction to his question ensured him that what he just heard was true. “You are a virgin?”

She nodded, not being able to look into his eyes.  

“Y/n look at me.” She shook her head, afraid of him being mad at her. “I said look at me, bub.” Logan gently grabbed her chin and forced her to face him. “It’s okay. It’s fine, you don’t need to be ashamed. Fuck, you’ve been so confident in your words back there that I thought.. but it doesn’t matter. It’s all good, I’ll be gentle. Just tell me if anything will be wrong, okay?” When she nodded one again, he smirked. “Words Y/n. You have such a smart mouth then use it now.”

“Okay.”

That’s when his member slowly entered her. Inch by inch, Logan was checking on her if everything was fine. The little pain expressions were a natural reaction considering his size, so he was soothing her legs, calming her down by praising how well she was doing.

“So fucking good for me, baby, so tight and warm.”

At first Logan wanted to give her some time to adjust but instead the girl told him to move.

“I want it, Logan.”

And who was he to deny her?

His pace was too slow for his liking, but her comfort was in first place.

“Faster, please.” She moaned, not being able to stand his gentle trust. “I’m not made of glass.”

Oh, she really shouldn’t have said that.

“As you wish.”

Logan grabbed her legs and turned her around, making her stand on all four. Pounding into her relentlessly, like his life depended on it. One hand grabbed both of her, holding them as a lever, making her arch in a way that will never leave his mind. Other went straight to her hanging breasts, squeezing them and overstimulating to her limits.

“Lo! Please, fuck, I’m close.. Lo..”

“I should’ve known that all it takes to finally shut you up is just to fuck you dumb. Such a good pussy for me, keeping herself pure just so I can use it however I want, isn’t it right princess?”

“Yhym, yeah, please, Lo!” Her mind clouded by the overwhelming pleasure.

“Already dumbfounded, how sweet. What would Scott think about you, baby, huh? You think he would be proud of his perfect student to be pistoned like a cheap whore? Just a hole for my pleasure of all the people?”

His fingers traveled from her tits to her clit, making small fast circles which made her legs tremble uncontrollably.

“Logan! I think I’ll-“

“I know, princess, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Give it to me Y/n, milk me so I can know how good your cunt is.” He kept his brutal pace, pounding into her from behind. Feeling how her legs were slowly giving up, Logan freed her hand and slapped her ass, leaving a red mark on it. “Cum on me, baby.”

“Lo! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It didn’t take much for him to follow her, reaching his orgasm, painting her walls white with his own cum. The trip to the drugstore for the morning after pill will be the first thing needed in the morning, but for now his mind was focused on something else.

Y/n didn’t take Logan as a type of the good aftercare guy, rather betting on the ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am’ man. But to her surprise after they both calmed down from their high, he grabbed her waist and cuddled her into his chest.

“You alright?”

“Yes.. shit, it was..”

“I feel the same, princess. You did a very good job.” He smirked, giving her tender pecks full of affection. “I’ll clean you in a second, baby. Also I don’t think you’ll be able to have any sparring tomorrow.”

The teasing comment made her blush, but she knew he was right. It’ll be a miracle if she will be able to walk properly. But it took her a second to realize the true meaning behind his words.

“So… we are cool?”                                                                                                         

It honestly made him smile. But it wasn’t his usual forced grimace. This time that smile was kind, soft and genuine which made her heart melt a little.

“Yes, Y/n. We are cool. Besides, you were right. I was checking your tits all the time.”

They both laughed at that and after a few more seconds in a tight warm embrace, Y/n fell asleep.

Finally after five years of being here, Logan found a good reason why it was worth staying.

BONUS

Their relationship was kept a secret. To Logan it was ridiculous, but Y/n didn’t want Scott to find out, knowing that her former teacher would be furious. He would definitely judge the choices she’s made, especially by choosing Logan of all the guys. So that’s why they’ve been hiding. Stealing private moments, hiding in empty classrooms for quick make out sessions. Sneaking out of each other's rooms in the middle of the night.

But one day, she fucked up.

Charles called the whole for an emergency meeting early in the morning. She was still tired from the entire night intimate session with Logan, that her brain didn’t have any moment to wake up and start working properly. Instead of grabbing her own hoodie, she put on Logan’s which was too big for her.

The whole meeting went smoothly, though she couldn’t understand why Scott was giving her angry glances, at the same time Logan smirking like crazy.

“Nice hoodie, sweetheart.” He finally whispered into her ear, when the gathering was over. The realization hit her instantly like a bullet. 

“I can explain-“ Y/n started.

“Fucking asshole.” Scott only bumped his arm into Logan’s chest on his way out, not wanting to hear it all.

“Well that could be worse.” Another smirk appeared on Howlett’s face.

The next thing she felt was his lips on hers. There was no way he wouldn't use the first occasion to show off his girlfriend. 

▏A/n: Was the first concept writing some sort of teacher's pet fic? Yeah, but then it slightly evolved. Hope you enjoyed it tho!

[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

[bucketgetter535]

This is not a cry for help (but it might be) PART FOUR

WC: 4.2k CW: Angst/Paige being a little shit Notes: This one is sort of funny! Kinda..

Waking up was weird. Mostly because Paige didn’t feel like a walking migraine for once. It was still early-ish. Her face was smushed into her pillow, hair a mess, mouth dry like she’d swallowed cotton in her sleep. But her chest didn’t feel like it was cracking open from the inside, so that was a win.

The room was quiet except for a soft tap-tap-tap sound. Azzi on her phone. Still in bed. Still right there.

Paige peeked one eye open.

Azzi was propped on one elbow next to her, scrolling with this peaceful little furrow between her brows. She looked all fresh-faced and sunlit, even in dorm lighting. Like she woke up and immediately achieved serenity. Disgusting.

“You’re still here,” Paige said, voice hoarse, sleep-thick.

Azzi looked over, grinned soft. “Obviously. You slept through, like, three alarms.”

“Maybe I died,” Paige mumbled into her pillow. “Ever think about that?”

Azzi clicked her phone off and flopped the rest of the way onto her back. “You snored. So I was pretty confident you were alive.”

“Betrayal,” Paige muttered. But her heart felt fuzzy in a way that should be illegal. Too soft. Too warm. She rolled onto her side and stretched dramatically like a cat trying to annoy its owner. Which, to be fair, she was.

And just like that: annoying mode engaged.

–

The dining hall smelled like butter and regret, which was accurate. Paige wasn’t starving, but she wasn’t not hungry either. So she went neutral. Medium hungry. Vibes hungry. She grabbed a waffle. One sad waffle.

Azzi raised her eyebrows from across the table. “That’s it?”

Paige chewed her first bite and blinked at her like: what else is there in life? “What, should I eat two?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re good.”

Paige looked at her like she had just unlocked a cheat code. Then, because she was easily peer-pressured by people she liked (so, just Azzi, basically), she stood and got a second. The logic wasn’t even food-based. It was Azzi said to based.

The second waffle tasted better, annoyingly.

–

Practice was hot. Gross. Loud. Paige felt slippery by the end, the kind of sweat that stuck her shirt to her lower back and made her want to crawl into a freezer. But it was fine. Her shots were falling. Her body didn’t hate her. Azzi kept looking at her like she was funny, not annoying. So yeah, fine. Everything was fine.

Until Azzi said, “I’m gonna go see the trainer real quick,” and started walking.

So Paige, obviously, followed. Because she was still operating on annoy Azzi back to balance mode.

“You’re gonna miss me,” Paige said behind her like a ghost in a hoodie.

Azzi didn’t turn around, but her voice drifted back: “I haven’t missed you yet.”

Rude. Correct. Beautiful delivery.

They reached the trainer’s corner of the facility, where it smelled like icy hot and old gym socks. Paige leaned dramatically against the wall while Azzi checked in. She was mid-lean when the trainer, a lady built like she’d been chewing iron since 1982, looked up from a clipboard and squinted at Paige.

“You’re next,” she said, sharp and efficient. “Sit.”

Paige froze. “Wait, what?”

The trainer already turned back to her notes. “You’re on the list. Sit.”

Azzi turned to look at her like what did you do.

Paige pointed at herself like, me??? then looked at the chair, then at the door, then at the trainer. She opened her mouth to argue but… sat. Because apparently she had lost all free will the second they entered this space.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, smug. Paige glared at her.

“Betrayal,” Paige muttered under her breath again.

Azzi just smirked. “You snore,” she whispered.

Paige nearly threw her shoe at her.

–

Azzi sat on the table first, obviously, because this was her whole thing. Paige leaned back in the folding chair nearby, arms crossed, pretending to stare at a scuff on the floor but actually watching the whole thing like it was the latest episode of something.

Azzi was chill, per usual. Even getting stretched out and poked at by someone with intimidating biceps and zero small talk energy, she was just like, yep, this is what my life requires. Which…okay. Cool for her.

Paige, meanwhile, was already building her escape plan. Something like: Step One: Claim you have a twin. Step Two: Vanish into a hallway vent. Step Three: Rejoin society in six years.

“You’re fidgeting,” Azzi said, without looking at her.

“I’m always fidgeting.”

Azzi hummed like true. Paige made her most dramatic sigh and dropped her head back against the wall.

Eventually, the trainer patted Azzi’s leg, like, you’re done. Azzi hopped off the table easy as anything and looked over at Paige with this smug little look that made Paige want to both kiss her and trip her.

Then: The trainer turned to Paige.

“Paige Bueckers?” she asked, and Paige immediately sat up straighter like she hadn’t been slouching and muttering to herself for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Then she added, because she couldn’t help herself, “Unfortunately.”

The trainer did not laugh. Instead, she set down her clipboard and said, “I’m Tasha. I work mostly with recovery and stability. You’re scheduled to be here.” She raised her eyebrows like, so sit your ass down.

Paige blinked. “No yeah I just… I dunno why I’m even on the list, though. I’m like… fine.”

Tasha didn’t even bother with words. Just turned to her laptop and pulled up whatever terrifying athlete database she had on hand, which probably included blood type, shoe size, and the exact moment Paige started emotionally unraveling.

“You flagged three separate red markers last week,” she said, scrolling.

“What? How?”

“Sleep irregularities, visible weight fluctuation, and your lateral foot plant is off.”

“Okay, who snitched?” Paige said, and Azzi made a snort noise from the bench. “And also how is my foot plant a red flag? That just feels rude.”

“It’s not about being rude,” Tasha said. “It’s about making sure your body’s not falling apart under your brain’s chaos.”

“Well, that’s dramatic,” Paige said, even though like… okay. Fine. Tasha wasn’t wrong exactly. But also: shut up, Tasha.

Tasha pulled over a rolling stool and gestured to the table. “Shoes off. Let’s take a look.”

Paige looked at Azzi one last time for maybe a save me glance, but Azzi just shrugged and smiled, like you got this. Which, like, traitor. But also… Fine.

“Shoes off,” Tasha repeated, and Paige groaned like she was being drafted into the military.

“God, okay. Chill,” she muttered, unlacing her left shoe like it personally offended her.

Tasha didn’t even blink. Probably had three daughters and a pit bull and had seen it all.

And as Paige lifted her leg up onto the table, she couldn’t help but think: I am literally fine.

And then: Okay but what if I’m not.

And then immediately: But like, shut up. You’re dramatic.

She flopped back onto her elbows and sighed. “I’m just saying, there are girls here with real issues. I’m, like, aggressively healthy. In a physical way.”

Tasha raised an eyebrow. “And in a mental way?”

Paige blinked at the ceiling. “…I’m really good at shooting threes.”

Tasha didn’t answer that one. She just got to work.

Azzi dipped out halfway through. Something about cold plunge or foam rolling or whatever it was that efficient, high-functioning humans did when they had their life together. She gave Paige this little look before leaving, a sort of good luck, don’t be a menace expression. Paige returned it with a save me, please, I’m begging you one. Azzi just grinned and left anyway.

So now it was just her and Tasha.

Paige was still perched on the treatment table like a sullen crow, one shoe off, one sock on, arms folded like a human fortress. Tasha was doing whatever trainer voodoo she did, pressing on pressure points, checking joint mobility, running her fingers along the side of Paige’s calf like she could feel micro-tension with her soul or something.

It should’ve been a prime opportunity for Paige to start being annoying again. Except… Tasha was scary. Not like, mean scary. But the calm, professional, seen-some-shit kind of scary. The kind that made you instinctively sit up straighter and question your life choices.

So Paige behaved. Mostly. Sort of.

“You’re underweight,” Tasha said after a pause, which…okay. That was a choice of an opener.

Paige blinked. “Damn. Okay. You sound like my coach.”

“I take that as a compliment,” Tasha said, unfazed. She tapped something into her tablet with one hand and kept rotating Paige’s ankle with the other. “It’s not a huge red flag. But enough that I notice. And you’ve dropped a few pounds since the last check-in.”

Paige squinted at the ceiling like it had personally offended her. “That’s weird. I’ve literally been eating. Like, aggressively.”

Tasha hummed like, sure you have.

“And by aggressively I mean… like one waffle. But still.”

That got a small smirk. Maybe. Hard to tell. Paige was still calculating how sarcastic she was allowed to be with this woman.

“You ever considered nutrition as part of performance?” Tasha asked.

“I dunno,” Paige muttered. “I mostly just consider food when my stomach yells at me. That’s performance-related.”

Tasha gave her the kind of look that said, you’re lucky you’re funny.

“Do you have, like… degrees or something?” Paige asked, mostly to fill the silence. “I feel like you’ve gotta be wildly overqualified to be casually body-scanning a teenager like you’re in the freakin’ CIA.”

“I’ve got a B.S. in Exercise Science,” Tasha replied. “Masters in Athletic Training. Minor in Psych.”

“Of course you do.”

“I work with teenagers. Psychology is required.”

“Oh my god,” Paige groaned, flopping backward again like this table was a fainting couch. “So you are profiling me.”

Tasha quirked an eyebrow. “Only a little.”

“Rude.”

“I’m trained for it.”

“You should use your powers for evil.”

“Trust me,” Tasha said, gently bending Paige’s knee back, “I’ve considered it.”

Paige snorted, then hissed. “Ow. Okay. That was not nice.”

“Hamstring’s tight.”

“Well yeah, because I carry all my emotional baggage there,” Paige muttered under her breath.

Tasha didn’t react, which somehow made it worse. Paige peeked sideways and caught the tiniest hint of a smile. Like this woman knew. Like she had the file.

Paige wrinkled her nose and sat up a little. “Okay but, like, real talk? How do you even know me? Is there a poster of my face in the office or something?”

“I’ve been briefed on everyone on this roster,” Tasha said. “You’re… memorable.”

Paige shrugged. “I’m a smart ass.”

“Painfully.”

“I feel like I should apologize but I don’t want to.”

“That’s okay,” Tasha said. “I didn’t ask for one.”

And that—somehow—made Paige almost feel bad. Which was unfair. She was just being herself. A normal, emotionally constipated, sometimes charming, occasionally reckless, fifteen-year-old disaster of a person.

But still. This lady was doing her job. She didn’t need Paige being a gremlin.

Paige kicked her legs a little, heels hitting the padded table. “So… is the verdict that I’m dying? Or?”

“Not today.”

“Awesome.”

“Eat two waffles next time.”

“Okay but they’re small waffles.”

“Then eat three.”

“You’re brutal.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

Paige looked at her. Tasha looked back.

“Alright,” Tasha said, tapping on her tablet with the efficient energy of someone who always had a plan. “You’re the last one I haven’t done a full profile on. Sit up. Let’s go.”

Paige blinked. “Like… a personality test? Do I get to find out if I’m a Gryffindor?”

Tasha gave her the flattest look known to man. “No. Athletic profile. Medical. Stress baseline. Sleep, hydration, etcetera. I’m building a picture of how your body’s doing so I can keep you in one piece.”

Paige swung her legs over the side of the table, flipping her ponytail like this was her press conference. “Oh, I’m in one piece. I’m a walking miracle. You’ll probably want to write a paper on me.”

“Noted.”

“You can call it The Untouchable Paige Bueckers: A Case Study in Human Perfection.”

Tasha didn’t even blink. “I’ll get started on the abstract.”

Paige grinned and squinted at her. “You’re hard to rattle. I respect that.”

“I work with fifteen-year-olds,” Tasha replied. “You’re not even in my top five weirdest.”

“Hey,” Paige protested. “I’m deeply unique. One of a kind. Practically mythological.”

“I’ll believe that when I check your blood pressure.”

“It’s probably perfect.”

“I doubt that.”

Paige leaned back and stuck her arm out like a queen offering her hand to be kissed. “Fine. Take my mortal vitals, if you must.”

Tasha pulled out the cuff without reacting. It was starting to make Paige feel like she had to try harder. Which was weird. Usually people cracked by now. Teachers. Coaches. The lunch lady. Even Azzi occasionally gave her that sideways glare when Paige got going. But Tasha? Solid as a boulder.

The blood pressure cuff hissed.

“So this is what we’re doing, huh?” Paige said, as the numbers blinked on the little monitor. “Like a full government file. You gonna check my search history next?”

“I’d probably regret that.”

“You definitely would.”

Tasha typed something. Paige craned her neck dramatically to peek at the screen.

“You’re nosy,” Tasha observed.

“I’m thorough,” Paige corrected. “It’s part of my genius.”

“Uh-huh.”

Then Paige’s phone buzzed against the table. She glanced down.

Dad.

She rolled her eyes so hard it should’ve counted as an ab workout. “Oh my god. Not this dude again.”

Tasha glanced up. “Boyfriend?”

Paige made a face. “Ew. No. That’s my dad.”

Tasha hummed and went back to typing. Paige sighed, locking the phone and flipping it face down like it might bite her.

“Course now my mom answers too,” she said, mostly to herself. “How thoughtful. Only been, like, ten hours.”

“Busy people?” Tasha asked.

“Busy avoiding me,” Paige said, sweet as syrup. “My mom’s out in Montana. Practically a different planet. My dad’s still in Minnesota pretending he knows what’s going on in my life. And I’m here. The heart of the action. In a small padded room with an athletic trainer who I think might be CIA.”

Tasha said nothing.

Paige smirked. “You do give off that government energy. I bet you have clearance.”

“I have a lockbox full of heating pads and ankle tape.”

“Same thing.”

Tasha finally looked at her, just a half-second pause, and Paige could feel it. The slow inching toward something more real. Paige didn’t like it. She never did.

So she leaned back again and went for it: “Honestly, if you really wanna diagnose me, just write down ‘god complex’ and call it a day.”

Tasha raised a brow. “Interesting. That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.”

“Oh yeah. It’s my only issue,” Paige said breezily. “I’m just too powerful. Too radiant. A danger to the ecosystem.”

Tasha clicked her pen. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Paige deadpanned. “All these people expecting me to beam my divine light upon them. It’s a lot for one humble vessel.”

Tasha didn’t speak right away. She just tapped a few things into her tablet. Calm. Focused. Like Paige hadn’t just made a whole scene of herself.

Which meant she definitely wasn’t buying any of it.

Paige shifted slightly, the silence starting to itch at her skin. “You don’t believe me.”

“No,” Tasha said, finally. “I don’t.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“I think you’re smart,” Tasha continued, tone level. “And I think you know exactly how to keep people at a distance.”

Paige’s stomach did something stupid. Like a drop. Like she’d hit an emotional pothole at full speed.

“Okay,” Paige said, trying to snort like it was funny. “Psych minor. Got it.”

“I think you make jokes so people won’t ask questions.”

“Jokes are funny,” Paige muttered.

“And I think,” Tasha said, still maddeningly calm, “you don’t actually believe a word you just said about being god-like.”

Paige didn’t respond. She stared at the far wall like there was something really interesting on the motivational poster with the word PERSEVERANCE printed over a mountain peak.

She heard the tap-tap-tap of Tasha’s fingers again. Then:

“Tell you what,” Tasha said. “You let me keep doing my job, and I’ll let you keep pretending none of this matters to you.”

Paige blinked, surprised. “That’s the deal?”

Tasha nodded once. “For now.”

And for some reason, that made Paige’s throat feel weird. Like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or just… stop talking altogether.

“…I’m still gonna annoy you,” Paige warned.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Cool. Because it’s kind of my whole brand.”

Tasha just smiled, subtle and unreadable. “Well. I’ve seen worse brands.”

Paige had gotten a little quieter since the last time she opened her mouth. Which for her was saying a lot. She laid back on the padded table, letting her arms dangle off the edge dramatically like she was auditioning for a teen soap set in an infirmary. Tasha was still doing her thing. Some kind of muscle testing, probably meant to see if Paige was hiding any little tweaks or injuries. Paige wasn’t. She would’ve said something. Probably. Maybe. Okay, maybe not.

Anyway.

“You really don’t think I have a god complex?” she asked eventually, staring up at the ceiling like it had answers written on it. “Like, not even a little one?”

Tasha’s hands paused briefly on her shoulder. “No. I don’t.”

“Huh,” Paige said. Like she hadn’t heard that before. Like she didn’t know what to do with it.

Tasha moved to Paige’s arm, doing something with her elbow and wrist that felt suspiciously like it might be helpful but still made Paige want to squirm. She flinched when Tasha pressed near the back of her shoulder.

“You always this tense?” Tasha asked, casually, like it was a small-talk question.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Paige muttered. “Why, am I supposed to be relaxed?”

“That’s the goal.”

Paige snorted, then fell quiet again. She stared at the corner of the ceiling where the wall met a bit of ductwork.

“So, like,” she said, “why don’t you think I’m obsessed with myself?”

Tasha glanced at her over the top of her glasses. “Why do you think you are?”

“I mean… everyone’s always said that. Since I was like five.” Paige flexed her fingers a little. “I talk a lot. I’m loud. I used to walk into rooms and just start performing. Jokes. Stories. Made-up interviews with myself.”

“Sounds like imagination.”

“Sounds like attention-seeking,” Paige said, voice a little lighter than it should’ve been. “They always said I liked being the center of everything. Like I needed it.”

“Because you were loud?”

“Well… yeah?”

Tasha pulled a stool over and started working down Paige’s arm again. “Remind me to send you an article about ADHD.”

Paige rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. That one again.”

“That one again,” Tasha said, unbothered. “You roll your eyes, but you haven’t read it, have you?”

Paige shrugged one shoulder. “It’s not like that. It’s not about being distracted. It’s just… I don’t know. My brain gets full sometimes. Like I want everything to be quiet but also I need something happening. Or I go nuts.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Paige looked at her, suspicious. “Do you have it?”

“I work with kids who do. I know the signs.”

Paige chewed her lip. “And being a lot… that’s a sign?”

“Being energetic and talking too much is not a moral failing,” Tasha said, still calmly moving along her arm. “Neither is having a big personality. You ever think maybe you talk a lot because that’s how your brain breathes?”

Paige blinked up at the ceiling again. “No. But that’s a cool sentence.”

“You’re not selfish because you want to be heard, Paige.”

That one landed somewhere deeper than she meant it to.

Paige swallowed.

“I think I just… I dunno,” she mumbled. “Sometimes I’m so loud I can’t even hear myself.”

Tasha didn’t say anything at first. She just moved back to Paige’s shoulder, pressing a little deeper now.

Paige hissed. “Okay—okay, that’s sore. That one’s definitely sore.”

“You carry everything in your shoulders,” Tasha said. “Overachievers usually do.”

“Not an overachiever.”

“Perfectionist, then?”

Paige didn’t answer. She just breathed out slowly, hands twitching at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them.

“Still think you’re self obsessed?” Tasha asked.

Paige shook her head once. “Nah. Prolly not.”

“Good,” Tasha said, like that was the right answer.

Paige didn’t know if it was. But it felt better than pretending she was invincible again.

–

The end of training camp came fast. One minute she was dodging Tasha’s laser eyes and eating exactly two waffles under Azzi’s watchful gaze, and the next she was zipping up her duffel bag and wondering if she’d somehow hallucinated the whole week.

It felt like a blur. Not in a bad way. Just in a… overstimulated, I-was-kind-of-a-wreck-the-whole-time way.

She and Azzi ended up on the same flight back to Minnesota because of course they did. Paige didn’t ask if Azzi planned that, and Azzi didn’t say, and that was fine.

They sat next to each other. Azzi took the window seat. Paige had the middle, which was normally hell, but Azzi leaned against the wall and let her head rest on her arm and somehow didn’t look even a little uncomfortable. Paige stared at the tray table like it owed her answers.

She hadn’t told Azzi she was nervous. Not even a little. Not about going home, not about her dad, not about the tight knot in her stomach that had been there since she got the text saying “see you soon” with a thumbs-up emoji like everything was totally normal.

Azzi turned toward her at one point. “Hey,” she said, like it wasn’t going to be anything big. “I think my mom’s planning to keep us at my grandparents’ cabin for the rest of summer.”

Paige looked at her. “Us?”

“Me. Jon. Jose. All of us.” Azzi shrugged. “You should come.”

Paige blinked. “To your grandparents’ cabin?”

Azzi nodded. “Yeah. Like for a few days or whatever. My mom said you could.”

And just like that, Paige’s heart felt like it flipped and did a little cartwheel and then tried to play it cool.

She smiled, casual. “I’ll think about it.”

But she was already saying yes in her head.

–

Home smelled like old carpet and tension.

The minute Paige stepped in the door, it was like the house sucked the joy out of her sneakers. There wasn’t even a “hey, you’re back.” Just the sound of the TV on low, and someone stomping upstairs, and a door slamming that echoed through her spine.

Drew came bounding down a second later, and Paige slapped on the smile like it was her job.

“PAIGE!” he yelled and threw himself at her waist.

“Drewskiiiiiii,” she said, hugging him hard enough to lift him off the ground. “Miss me or something?”

“Nah,” he said, grinning. “Well, maybe.”

He was still just a little guy. Big eyes, messy hair, wearing socks with little flames on them like they made him faster.

“You wanna play Fortnite or what?” she asked, already dropping her bag by the door.

“Yeah! Can I use the good controller this time?”

“Only if you think you can get some kills,” Paige said, heading to the living room.

–

The shouting started around nine.

Drew was still oblivious. She made him wear the headset so he couldn’t hear, and she cranked the TV as much as she could get away with. Paige just kept pressing buttons and trying not to look at the staircase.

It was bad tonight. Real bad.

Somewhere around 11:17 p.m., she let Drew fall asleep in a pile of pillows on the floor and scrolled through her texts. Nothing new. Nothing from her mom since that weird little “glad you’re home :)” hours ago.

Her thumb hovered over Azzi’s name. She hadn’t responded earlier. She’d just said she’d think about it. But now…

She texted:

Paige: Hey. Can I still come to the cabin?

Three seconds. Five. Eight.

Azzi: Yeah. Obviously. My mom said she’d pick you up if your parents are cool with it.

Paige swallowed.

Paige: Cool. I’ll tell them. Thanks.

Azzi: Bring a hoodie. It gets cold.

Paige smiled down at the phone. Like, actual smile. It was tiny. But it counted.

She glanced back toward the hall, where the shouting was starting up again upstairs. Her face dropped like it always did when she wasn’t with anyone. She grabbed a blanket off the couch and tucked it over Drew, then turned her phone on silent and slipped it under the couch cushion.

Some kids had nightlights. Paige had Azzi.

She’d take it.

She whispered down to her brother, “I got you, okay?”

He didn’t answer. He was out cold, mouth slightly open.

Paige stayed there on the floor beside him until her neck hurt. But it was better than her room. Better than the noise upstairs. Better than looking too closely at how tired she was.

Tomorrow, she’d leave again. Tomorrow, she’d go where it was quiet. Where someone actually wanted her around.

She wasn’t gonna cry about that. But if she did?

Whatever.