Your giant taking you swimming. My favourite scenario like ever
theyâre tugging their shirt off, completely unbothered, muscles stretching, skin catching in the lightâand youâre just standing there, frozen, all six inches of you gaping up at this tower of casual divinity. They donât even realize theyâve turned into a walking monument of skin. Theyâre just getting ready to swim. But to you? itâs like watching a mountain shed clouds.
in the water, they move slow, but even slow sends waves rolling in every direction. You float helplessly in the current, spinning in a little whirlpool like a leaf. every shift of their arms sends ripples that tug you gently along. itâs playful. unintentional. massive.
Maybe them cupping you in their handsâfingers curled in like a cradle, palms full of warm, rippling water. your own private pool.
You try to swim after them, but thereâs no hope of catching up. Their strides are too big, too smooth, and suddenly theyâre goneâducked beneath the surface, becoming a large shadow from the deep. The water goes still.
When they riseâtheyâre like some ancient and godlike sea creature, water cascading off their shoulders, hair slicked back, smile breaking across their face as they spot you spinning circles like a wayward boat. You gawking. They laugh.
You tire quickly, of course. and without a word, they scoop you up, cradle you for a second, and place you gently on top of their sun warmed head.
From your perch in their wet hair, you watch the world glide byâwatch them glide, really. Their back flexes with every slow stroke, their shoulders pulling like tectonic plates with every movement. The water churns around them, like they were carved from seafoam and thunder. And you? youâre just along for the ride. drifting. weightless. tiny. safe.
Every so often, they glance up at you with that sheepish little grin. Like theyâre the lucky one.
You, stretched out on their chest after the swimâsoaked and breathless, clinging to their warmth like itâs the only sun that matters. Your curled into the dip between their collarbone and shoulder, so tiny itâs like laying across a sunbaked boulder that happens to breathe. One of their massive fingers moves lazily, brushing your back in slow arcs, and your whole body tingles from the attention.
You sigh, melting into them. You could fall asleep right here.