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hellowoolf · 5 months

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on strawberries and masonry: chapter iv

series summary: you atone for your sins, now, in a jackson garden, learning to care for soft things and yourself. joel miller is a lethal sort of similar, and misery loves company

you live in jackson and meet joel and you’re both damaged little babies and fall in love (but i’m drawing this shit out🫶🫶)

warnings: angst, age gap (reader late 20s/early 30s, joel 50s), mention of killing, mention of knives, SMUT, thigh riding/dry humping (…), fingering, pussy eating, some feelings…. (as always, let me know if i missed any !!)

word count: 5k

authors note: and so here's the thing about this is that-🏃🏼‍♀️💨💨

series masterlist | masterlist

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you wake up with a tug between your legs and your hand around your throat. you smile at the space of your room; you fucked joel yesterday. he was unflinching and hard, concrete under your inky wetness, but you walked away leaving him stained, you know, and this is enough. at last, you feel you’ve marked him just as irreparably as he has you (you cannot linger on this thought for too long).

you killed yesterday, too. sliced someone open at your feet just as you did all those years ago, left the body to rot with the rest of the mold outside jackson’s walls, and the ease of it certainly should frighten you, but the great lifting of your fuzzy secret from your shoulders lightens you as you pull yourself out of bed. joel knows the whole of you now, and in your first moments of consciousness this morning you can admit that the bareness of that pleases you.

you’re off patrol today, jesse insistent on beginning his rounds, so he and noah have inherited your and joel’s route for the day; maria figured the early light would make the induction less horrifying than it is. you want joel again, you think, maybe once the sun’s gone down, and move through your kitchen on your first free day in months.

of course, joel has always seemed attuned to your most secret thoughts, and so when you open your front door to greet your little fruits in the morning sun—you did this so little, these days—he’s there, waiting for you. the curls of his hair reach out every which way and you want to run your fingers through them again like you did yesterday, but he looks worried, almost frantic, so you refrain. there’s mud cupping around his boots and track marks behind him in the newly thawed dirt, like he’s been walking circles outside your doorstep.

“hey, are you o-”

“can i come inside?”

something in your stomach turns over. you step aside to let him through. he paces across the floor, hands tightened into balls and then running over his jaw.

“listen, baby, i been thinkin and i don’t think we can do that again. what we did yesterday. i…you’re tommy’s friend, and ellie likes you so much, and you’re half my goddamn age i mean, jesus.” he says all of it with his back turned to you, but spins to face you, now. “we go on patrol and i…i don’t mind your company, really, but it can’t, i can’t. we can’t.”

joel is sort of winded with the words. you flare up, first, with a searing anger—you’d murdered and confessed and given yourself to him, and it’s taken joel all but 12 hours to decide none of it was worth it. and it was so good, you want it again without compromise. you flinch to lash out, to yell and scream and plead with him.

but then you think of baby. baby. baby is an artifact of the act of yesterday, of him inside you and the stretch and the warmth. despite the rest of it, you know you have him, with baby you have him. so you allow him this moment, allow him to believe himself righteous and you willing to let it go.

“okay, sting. it’s fine.”

because he knows you—an unintentional mistake, but one that will kill you someday, surely—he looks unconvinced. “fine?”

you hum. joel’s knuckles are white with the fists he’s formed at his sides, and you’re certain if you asked him to open them there’d be crescent marks in his palms. you almost break, looking at his tightness there, almost grin at him and laugh that it’s inevitable he will fuck you again, it’s inevitable. but he looks so disconcerted here, a few steps from your doorway. you nod, solemnly, wetness collecting between your legs thinking of when he’ll take you next.

“yeah, joel, come on, i’m a big girl.” he rustles. “it doesn’t have to be a big deal. we can forget it happened.” no we can’t. and it’s your internal dialogue, but joel seems to hear it, too, because he rocks back and forth on his heels, waiting, it seems, for you to convince him further. you say nothing, shifting your weight onto one leg. he nods, to you and himself, and gulps down a sigh.

“alright,” and then more sure, “alright.” he walks to your door, half-turns his face to you with a hand on the knob. “thank you, darlin.”

once he’s gone, out through the door with his musk wafting down your hallway, you consider yourself, and the mud he tracked inside. you know he’ll seek you out again, from how off-put he seems with you now, and the way he twitched in his jeans, but still, a part of you bleeds, wounded at his attempt at rejection. what is wrong with you? it is strictly physical, you repeat to yourself for the millionth time since he came back to jackson. you think of leaving the dirt he streaked on your floor, a reminder that he came for you, but this is precisely the fear, the fear of wanting him for more than what he can give you, and so you move to wipe it up. you figure that joel is likely right; however this ends, it will be widely destructive and perhaps unfixable. but you’re right, too. it felt too good, and you’re both too unforgivable, to feign goodness now. something like giddiness bubbles up in your stomach—even against the doom you’re so adept at conjuring and the deep shadows joel casts, you’re eager, elated, thinking of him and how he touched you.

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the next day, you and joel return to your rounds like normal. like normal. almost normal. you talk at him from horseback, call him sting because you felt how it made him harder against your dripping seam, and he grunts responses back at you, doing his best, you feel, to believe in the normalcy.

but he watches you. you suppose he might have always eyed you this way, but it’s more feral now, unconcealed. you catch him glancing at your ass as it bounces on the saddle, the curve of your neck when you lean down, the grip of your fingers on the reins. your arousal grates at you, screams from your cunt and up your spine, and you hush it with tenderness. you will be sated again.

“so you heard about tommy and maria?”

joel bristles a little. “yeah, i did.”

“what, you aren’t happy for them? have a heart, sting, he’s your brother,” you smile.

he gives you a tight lipped grimace back. “yeah, and he’s irresponsible, thinks himself a fuckin hero.”

“no, not a hero. he knows himself too well to think that. he’ll be a good father, you know that.” joel stays quiet, and you look him over on his horse. the breeze makes space for the ghost he saddles up with, the one you’ve yet to meet. he is so brittle, always, but you remember how he’d asked where to touch, how intent he’d been on gentleness, at least at first. so you say, “you’ll be a good uncle, i think.”

joel looks at you surprised, and then down at his hands. you’re learning the language of his face; you watch him turn his hands over, reins slung through them, the both of you measuring their size. you’re slapped across the face with that devastatingly terrible want to hold him, the one you felt when he came to you about ellie, though you can’t bring yourself to cut through it as mercilessly as you did then.

“i hate to be the one to tell you, but you aren’t as horrifying as you think you are.”

this shakes him, but so too does it brush some of the mournfulness from his shoulders. joel looks back up at you, a little amused and a lot guarded, and says, “yeah? is that what i think?” he’s deflecting, shielding himself with your shared sexual tension, but you let him.

you hum, grinning. “mhm. you walk around like you’re this big awful beast.”

“i think i might be.”

“well, there are worse things to be.”

joel snorts. you think he likes when you criticize him. “and you’re the authority on this, huh, darlin?”

you twist a little in your seat, your own wetness more insistent. you do your best to smirk, look unaffected, defiant. “yeah, i think i am.”

he shakes his head, smiling more in earnest, trying to keep the ends of his mouth down. “you’re somethin, baby, i’ll give ya that.”

the pet names seem to come naturally now, coming and going as they please, and you notice him shift in his saddle. you know he’s just as coiled up as you are now, can feel the buckle of his body under the memory of you beneath him. you urge yourself to be patient, to wait him out, bate him to you, and let silence fall over the both of you as you trot back down to jackson, hoping the quiet soothes the sparkling ends of your open wiring.

it’s not until you dismount in your horse’s stall, saddle shucked to the side, and walk out to meet joel outside the stables that you’re struck with how immediate the inevitability you’re both playing with is.

he notices your limp—slight, nearly imperceptible to anyone other than him, and far better than it’d been the day before—only as you pad over, his side leaned against the doorway. you make it to him, his features strung together and mouth open slightly, and with frustration that teeters on offense he says, “why are you walkin like that?”

you look down at your legs and back up at him. you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy. “walking like what?”

joel rubs a hand over the side of his face and huffs, lowly and enunciative, “you know what the fuck i’m talkin about. why are you walking like that?”

you know you won’t get the words out properly, so you keep your eyes on him and stay silent. he brings a hand to grab around your jaw, and it reminds you of that night on his porch with the strawberries, but this time he keeps it there, squeezes, inspects the push of your skin. he whispers a goddamnit, mainly to himself, and then pulls your face closer to his and you breathe into each others mouths.

“this real? are you—fuck—are you fuckin limping? or are you tryin to set me off?”

you don’t hesitate. “real.”

joel nearly growls at you, and gives your head one last tug before he drops it. “let’s go,” he grits out, and starts storming towards what you know is his house. a shudder runs through you and you feel yourself clench around nothing; a part of you makes to refuse him, to decline to follow behind him like you need him for the sake of stubbornness and point-proving. in the end, though, you let yourself be led, for the knowing that you’re pulling at him in someplace irremediable.

as soon as you walk through his door he’s got a paw on your bicep, pressing his fingers deep into your flesh, and another at your throat, holding lightly to keep your head close to his. you push your face forward to feel his tongue in your mouth, but he ducks his chin back as he hauls you to the couch in his living room, giving you a satisfied mm-mm and a shake of his head. he sits himself in the center and pulls you down onto one of his thighs, running his hands up and down your sides, under your ass, up around your tits, pressing and pulling. you duck your lips down to his again but he catches you by the throat.

“no kissin this time.”

you whine in response, but he presses his thigh up and the friction on your clit through your clothes makes you mewl. you drag your cunt, soaked through, along his pant leg, and tip your head back with a moan. “i thought you wouldn’t fuck me again,” you say, breathy and mainly to his ceiling.

joel groans watching you, pulling your hips back and forth along his thigh. “an’ i won’t.”

you grip his shoulders and glide your pussy on him, hoping he feels the wetness and unbearable heat there.

“but-”

he lets a breath out hot along your collarbone and you arch further into him. “but nothing. keep going. make yourself come on me,” he pants.

you’re sure you’ll draw blood, even through his coat, with your hold on his shoulders. your moans grow high pitched and loud, wrecked, as pleasure pulls through your limbs and swirls around your clit. and it’s so good, but your self-destructive insistence still finds a way out, between moans letting out “joel, i-” but joel moves the hand on your throat to your jaw, pulling your mouth open with his thumb and pushing the tip in. you swirl your tongue around it, accepting silence and accepting him at last, and he moans wildly as you suck on his finger.

“please darlin, just give me this, just let me watch,” and he sounds so fucking desperate you can’t help but move faster, pressing yourself further into his leg and feeling the dampness you leave in your wake. you move like that, his thumb in your mouth and watching you, intently and mercilessly, while you pant and mewl with your clothed cunt rutting along his jeans, until you feel your orgasm tapping down your shoulder blades.

“jesus, darlin, you’re soakin me, fuck, you see that?”

you nod, his thumb corking any foul response you could possibly throw back at him.

“you need it that bad? sweet thing,” he purrs into your neck.

from around joel’s finger, you moan, “oh god, joel, i’m gonna come.”

joel grunts and groans back at you, “that’s it, baby, make a mess, fuck.”

you go tight and press further into him, thrusting faster and harder, and you’re so close when you realize he’s tipping his hips up and twitching as he moans, and oh fuck he’s coming from watching you. you spasm as you come, screaming into his skin as he pushes his thumb further down your tongue. the taste of his hands, the hardness of his cock as it presses into your leg when you thrust forward, the spreading heat from his come in his jeans, all of it twists you up, hot arousal dragging through you until you’re spent.

you both pant, clothes trapping your come to your body and his to him. he lets himself one deep breath in of your scent, running the curve of his nose through the light sheen of sweat glistening down your neck, before placing you next to him. he’s delicate with your body, limp and all limbs and elbows, as he sets you on the cushion, but still you feel him deflate. you’ve returned to that place at the edge of his bed, of his drowning in self-condemnation and your straining to keep him afloat.

“joel, let’s not do this again, it’s fine, you’re fine, i’m fine. what’s wrong with this?” it comes out lighter than you intend, voice still narrowed by your fading orgasm.

he clears his throat of something thick and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, but he’s not as decisive as he was that first time, and a piece of you lifts. “so much.”

“you’re just being combative now.”

he laughs, then, sort of delirious, but your cheeks warm with it anyway as he says, “it’s like i…” and then he raises his head to peer down at you, “i can’t help myself. i don’t know.”

you sigh. “are you planning on trying again? to help yourself?”

he looks around the room, mostly untouched despite your coming. “i guess so.”

you nod, brushing your pointer finger down his bicep. he doesn’t flinch. you find you aren’t angry at him, what with the overwhelming sense that it’s unnecessary. there’s a resignedness about him, one that’s unbiting and soft; it will give under your fingertip, if you push it.

“okay. come find me when you give up,” you say, and there’s no malice in it. he leans back on the couch and runs a knuckle down your hand splayed between you.

“alright.”

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by the time joel looks for you again, you’re altogether impressed—he held off, this time, for a whole 48 hours. when that soft spot you prodded two days earlier finally caves in, he comes to bang on your door in the near twilight darkness. you let him in, and he insists, repeats like a hymn into your stomach as he gets on his knees, that this ain’t fucking either, and pulls your jeans off.

you don’t tell him it’s your first time having your pussy eaten; in your experience, men find the end of the world a wholly viable excuse for avoiding it. the lack of it hasn't bothered you until he presses his face into your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit and anchoring his hands on your hips.

“oh jesus fuck oh my god, sting,” you moan, still pressed up against the wall by the door. you pull on his hair to grind yourself further onto his face and he groans into your skin “so good, darlin, so good.”

joel laves his tongue over your clit, circling and rolling it on his taste buds. you’re screaming, and hitch a leg over his shoulder. “fingers, joel, please.”

you feel him smirk, frenzied, into your cunt, tongue and teeth still eating at you there, mumbling, “say it again.”

you whine, “please, please,” but he shakes his head, and the friction pulls your spine from the wall into an arc in the air. your toes curl as the heat of his mouth spreads from your pussy through your body and you know you’ll be close soon, but you want to feel him inside. “i’ll say it as many times as you want me to, fuck, please.”

“my name, my name, say it again,” he corrects, sounding about as lost as you are.

you respond immediately, pleading, “joel, joel, joel, please, your fingers, joel,” and as he growls at the sound of his name in your mouth he pushes two fingers into your aching sex. you feel your cunt swallow them whole, pulsing and buzzing around them.

“jesus, so fuckin tight.”

you dig your heel into his back and he thrusts his fingers faster, stroking your walls and reaching for your cervix. the sound of you, around his hand and dripping down his wrist, makes you both rasp out something unintelligible. you try to mewl out something like i’m so fucking close, and joel seems to understand, nodding slightly. as you tug tighter on his hair and pleasure comes roaring at you, world humming and white as you gush, joel pulls his fingers from you to position his mouth under your hole, pushing his tongue in and out of you. you scream, at him and yourself, that it’s so good, and he moans in agreement, lapping up everything you give him.

when it’s over, you slump slightly against the wall, and he leans back on his haunches to assess you, naked from the waist down and barely standing. he looks down at the fingers he pulled from you, wetness shining here, and then back at your bare thigh. without a word, he begins to bring them up to your skin.

“joel, what are you-”

he looks possessed, almost, unresponsive, as he wipes his fingertips across you. you look down, light catching where he’s touched you. J. the sight of it makes you slide fully to the floor, something quick and beastly baring its teeth within you. the silhouette of his cock, stiff in his pants, draws you in. you feel him watching you as you stare.

“can i?”

he shakes his head, out of breath. “no.”

“please?”

“i think i really will die if i see my cock in your mouth,” he heaves, and you both sputter at the thought. you bump your head on the wall behind you and close your eyes.

“thank you, sting.”

you hear him sniff as he lifts himself from the floor. the door creaks open.

“wasn’t for you.”

he leaves you to cope with whatever that means, dripping onto your floorboards.

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neither you nor joel ever say, out loud, that your rapacious meetings are confidential, but it’s an unsaid promise you keep regardless. the moments come to you much like the strawberries, small and saccharine and due for rot, but yours. he holds you taut against the side of the stables to pet his middle and ring fingers into you, stretching you like a promise he knows he cannot keep; he finds you, before patrol and after, to fuck you on his tongue, leaving marks down the backs of your thighs, blushing letters of his restraint; a few times he allows himself the demeaned enrapture of rutting his cock, through his jeans, along the seam of your pussy, rasping out soft and terrible things about the way you look and feel. all the while he reminds you, into your clit or along your hairline, that this isn’t fucking, though you suspect he says it more for the way it reverberates through you and comes back to him.

you find yourself unused to being someone’s secret. your first, danny, was dark moments in a treeline with the rest of your group feet away; the lot of you were shameless, an incestual sort of family, and nobody minded the noises. you’ve taken a few men home in jackson, too, but they unanimously found merit in the achievement of fucking you, reclusive hermit as you have been, and set the stories of you loose to circulate through the commune the morning after. you might have minded, the first time, but in time you supposed the rumors humanized you, at least, made you more woman than you sometimes let on. besides, such objectifications never materialized; to avoid castration or some other gruesome slice of a death, the whispering always quieted as you walked past, and quickly became uninteresting. before joel, it’d been a year, at least, since you’d taken someone to bed, and now you find yourself more woman than human with him, but the rest will never hear of it. a piece of you remains convinced the secrecy, for joel, is born of his mortification, disgraced by your body and the ways he meets it; this truth is an unrelenting one that twists something smarting through your chest. the rest of you remembers the J he drew on your thigh, painted on with your own slick, and thinks (hopes, if you can be honest with yourself) that he is just as possessive of you as you have become of him.

you sit on your porch bench with a strawberry in hand, red wetness staining your skin as you slice it with your knife. ellie told you a few days ago that she saw a magazine once, with food and chefs in it, and they had a page about fruit art. the both of you laughed at how trivial that sounded, doubled over on the floor of the greenhouse, but when the laughter died out, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder wondering how exactly one made roses out of little fruits. you make nicks in the strawberry and pull them down with the flat of your knife to fan them out. it looks much more like a little pine cone.

“the hell is that?”

you don’t have to look up to know who it is, but you can’t help watching him approach. the warmth of late spring continues to dance through jackson, and you feel a heat curl in your stomach watching his forearms press from his rolled flannel sleeves. you grin down at your strawberry.

“it was supposed to be a rose, but i don’t feel too convinced.”

the soft rumble of a laugh rings through your ears. joel pulls your open hand toward him to inspect the thing.

“hm. maybe if i squint real hard.”

you pull your hand back, biting your tongue behind your cheek to keep from beaming at him. “you’re impossible.”

“uh huh,” he smirks, and sits down next to you. a second of quiet spreads its legs between you, feline and satisfied. his breathing comes slowly, deeply, and you feel your lungs synchronize with his, continuing to cut at your strawberry and spinning it in your hand.

“why’d you come?”

joel clears his throat. “not for that.”

you hum. “just the pleasure of my presence, then?”

with a smile he tries to hide from you he says, “somethin like that.”

another open moment, the wet scratch of your fathers knife reverberating in the air. joel watches the people of jackson walk by, on their paths to food or sleep or love somewhere, squints his eyes as the horde makes its way and does not turn its head to you.

“you don’t…” he circles his thumbs together, shaping his words very carefully, “you don’t got a lotta people to talk to here, huh?”

“is that what you came here for? to ask me that? don’t be an asshole.” he shrugs. you let out a tiny huff. “i don’t know, i guess not. but i don’t do a lot of talking, so i don’t need that many listeners.”

“don’t do a lotta talkin?”

“no, not really.”

“well shit, darlin, you talk a helluva lot with me. why’s that?”

something biting sinks its teeth into you, cheeks flushing and hands closing more over the strawberry, nearly mutilated now (the both of you). “cause you refuse to say anything and the silence gets exhausting.”

“i’m exhausting?” and there’s a smile in his voice that you take in like a tonic and nearly spit back up. you will not feel this feeling, you will not.

“yes, you are,” you insist, and you know you’ve laid your cards out now with the waver in your voice, feeling him shift beside you. you think he’ll let it go.

“really…” a breath, “why d’you…talk so much to me?” the emphasis, there, to me, surprises you.

“what do you mean why?”

“i been told i ain’t good company.” you smile something tragic at your feet. he continues, “and you’re so young. pretty little thing. and you don’t have any friends your own age. it’s sort of…odd.”

you could turn around, storm inside and slam the door behind you; you consider this option. but what’s one more awful truth? what’s a million more? you seem to relinquish them all, at one point or another. pretty little thing, oh god, oh god.

“i think you’re a lot like me, sting. a lot like me.”

joel shakes his head, admonishes, “don’t say that.”

“i mean it, you are.”

“i ain’t.”

“you are! i am violent and ruthless and the killing doesn’t bother me anymore. i get nightmares and i think i’m saved, but then they slip right off. the people here are so tormented by the blood on their hands, or they have none to begin with, but i don’t even mind it. that’s so much fucking worse.” joel opens his mouth to say something but you stop him. “and that’s what you are, too. i know you’ve killed people, joel, a whole fucking mass of them just like i have. but then you’re…” and here’s the most horrific part, you brace yourself for it, “you’re sort of gentle with me. did you know that?” you look at him, now, and wish you didn’t. he winces at you like you’ve punched him square in the stomach. still, you don’t rush the words, let them crawl out slowly. “that’s not forgiveness, that’s apathy. you don’t care about the things you’ve done. and i don’t either. so i…” you make one last scoring line with your knife before setting it down, cupping the fruit between both hands and letting the juice seep out. “i guess i thought talking to you would feel good. it does feel good.”

joel’s eyes are brown and gleaming at you, and you watch as he unties the things you’ve said. he looks over your eyelashes, the bridge of your nose, at the plush of your lips, and then out onto the street ahead, slouching over. please say something, say anything.

“you got a real keen eye on you, baby.”

something heavy and unforgiven washes out of you, but he sounds like absolution, you think, with the drawl and the sugar in his words. “you think so?”

“mhm.”

the tone of his voice reaches around you, shakes a grin along your lips as you hold back deep heaves in the column of your throat. his broadness sat next to you, his unrelenting appraisals of you, it’s all deeply intimate; he twists you in his palm like you and your little fruit, but he does not slice you open. he raises a thumb to cup around the back of your head, stroking the pad back and forth along your hairline. you don’t dare move.

he whispers, “so soft here.” you shudder, and the bench creaks as he leans over. you feel the heat of his lips press, light as anything but intentional, decided, right under where he’d dragged his thumb. threading his fingers up through your hair he holds you in place, dipping his canines a moment into the line of your neck before pulling back, flickering his lips one final time on the little mark he made. goosebumps raise down your shoulders and wrists at the closeness of him, scent of his spit and skin.

you’re certain he’ll leave as he sits back in his spot, certain he’s pulled you both back to his terror of the sweetness of you. but his hand stays, he stays. you sit there, unspeaking with wet fruit in your hand, until the sun dips below the horizon, his palm behind your neck, brushing his fingers over the fading indent he left. a ravenous thing tugs below your navel, pulling your wetness out, swelling your clit in your jeans, and you greet it like an old friend. but the grip up higher, around your trachea and through your arteries, is new. the beating heart of it grows with the swipe of joel’s fingers, and you know you are fucked, but oh, you’ve fought so hard. you’re condemned to love him—you’re nearly there, it occurs to you. maybe martyrdom and death in halfway love with him is worth it, if he can keep his skin on yours.

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taglist: @koshkaj-blog @shotgun-shelby @limerence4u @5oh5

#joel miller #joel miller fic #fem!reader #jackson!joel #the last of us #tlou #hello woolf #on strawberries and masonry #joel x reader #joel miller smut

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aquaticjess · 1 month

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my second year in a row running this 5k!! last year i was barely running 3 miles at a time at all so i was so stoked with 28:50. this year though im in such better shape running wise i thought i would be able to beat last years time by a lot! alas, only 3 seconds 🤣 my focus for the last year has been on building mileage in a way my injury prone body can handle, so im not that surprised i guess that im not that much more speedy! still, happy with the improvement regardless! maybe someday i can whittle my times down to closer to my high school pr’s (yeah right lol) 🏃🏼‍♀️

#everydaygood #myrunning #myracing

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cam-strong · 1 year

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Race Day! 13.1 miles

What a beautiful place for a half marathon!

I was so dying at the finish there 🫠 lol

But what a great race! My goal was 2:45 and I ran it in 2:55, which is still a 3 min PR from last month. The best part was, I felt so much better physically and mentally in this race. I ran straight for 10.75 miles until we came back up around the Diamond Head crater (which I crushed on the way out!). I kept a decent pace for much longer, and am so proud of my effort out there.

I’ll be ramping down road mileage for a few weeks as we head into vacation at the end of June. More time on the bike, and probably a few much needed yoga sessions (and sneaking in some trail runs, too). Then it’s time to plan the training cycle for the December marathon! I’ll probably find a few more shorter races to pepper in there, too. 🏃🏼‍♀️❤️

#race day #half marathon #fitness #fitblr #workout #goals #cardio #running

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welcome-to-hawkins · 2 years

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Okay I’m sharing my nasty thoughts about that van with you if you don’t mind sjsjsj

Hear me out, making out with Eddie in his van and he’s fingering you in your seat but because it’s been a few weeks since that little knight fuck session lmao you forgot about the rule only he definitely hasn’t 👀 so he does everything he can to make you break it and you inevitably do without even realizing what’s happening so you’re a bit confused when instead of kissing you and telling you his "pretty girl did such a good job" he’s just staring and says that "you’re in deep trouble" 🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️

No but I’m with you 👀

It started out innocently enough, he’d suggested you watch him and his band rehearse on Saturday.

When he picked you up you shared a quick kiss but nothing more, and when you’d climbed into the seat and he’d leaned across to buckle your seatbelt for you you thought nothing of it.

Except you were wearing that skirt again. That goddamned skirt that made your ass look amazing and made him want to bend you over the nearest surface. And tucked into it was his Hellfire shirt… I mean it really wasn’t fair to expect him to keep his hands to himself.

So when his hand slid across your thigh and started to drift up your skirt, well who would blame him?

Deft fingers worked their way into your panties, curling around the lace and tugging them to the side.

“Eddie, stop! What are you doing, you’re driving!”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even bother to look at you as his fingers dipped between your legs, swiping two fingers through your wetness, dragging them up and spreading it around your clit.

Eddie kept his eyes trained on the road while he touched you, pushing two fingers inside you and curling them. His palm ground against you with every flick of his wrist.

Legs spread, skirt flipped around your waist and head twisted to watch him, you looked obscene.

“Fuck Eds. M’close”

He chuckled darkly, finally turning to you, “come then, pretty girl”.

And with a particularly rough thrust of his fingers against your g-spot, you did. Your moan was loud and high pitched as your arousal soaked his hand and the seat below you.

Before you even had time to recover Eddie had pulled into the side of the road.

You turned to him, cheeks rosy as you came down from the high, and found him staring.

“What are you doing? I can suck you off while you drive, we’re gonna be late if you stop” you preempted his next words with a grin.

“Do you think you deserve my cock right now?” He spat, “since you can’t even follow the only van rule?”

“What? Eddie I don’t…” you didn’t get chance to finish before his hand shot up and was wrapped around your throat, pressing you back against the seat while he looked over you.

“Who?”

“D-daddy” you choke out.

“Good. Now stop acting like a brainless slut and think, what did I say the van rule was?”

His words have your hips rolling up towards him searching for friction, and then a lightbulb goes off, “no getting your seats dirty”.

Your eyes follow his to the sticky wet patch between your legs, smearing across the leather.

“Just couldn’t listen, could ya? Now I’ve got to punish you.” He didn’t sound nearly as upset about that as his words suggested, lips curving upwards into a sadistic smile.

“Now turn round, ass up”.

“But wasn’t my fault! You started touching me and~” again you don’t finish your sentence, this time because he has grabbed your thighs and flipped you on his own, knees pressed against the seat and face pressed against the window.

“Did I ask?” He rips your panties all the way off and flips your skirt up once more, “now shut up and take it”.

You could see the cars speeding past as he groped and kneaded the flesh of your ass. Your soaked pussy clenching around nothing when he finally delivered the first blow.

“One”

The sound of the slap arrived before the pain, settling deep under your skin.

He alternated between your left and right cheek, hard and soft blows as he counted for you. Your ass rippled with each hit as tears pricked at your eyes.

“Fuck baby, look at you. My handprint all over your perfect ass” he groaned, pulling you up to him by your chest. Turning your head toward him he licked a stray tear from your cheek and then, “get on your knees and clean my seats up for me”.

You scrambled down into the footwell, bracing your hands against the seat. He simply watched, eyebrow quirked and nodded for you to continue.

Swallowing you poked your tongue out and traced it along the line of your juices on the leather seat. Your eyes fluttered shut as you worked to clean the wet patch, occasional moans slipping past your lips.

When you’d cleaned most of the slick from the seat, making the wet patch larger with your saliva, you looked up at him expectantly.

“Oh I know you didn’t think you were getting away that easily baby.”

Okay! I need to be stopped 😂

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #munsonsgirlanswers #eddie munson x you #smut

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iricathel · 1 year

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HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY

TO MY BELOVED JAZZY DAZZY

I'm late for everything as always but whatever 🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️

Sorry for the rushed ass art but my beloved friend deserved to get her birthday present at all cost 😤

Lately my job is giving me a lot of trouble doing the things I like the same way I used to. I have a hard time adjusting to the schedule since I end up very exhausted, but I wanted to do something special for you at least since you're always there for me T_T🫶

I enjoy our time together, either doing roleplay or even having the most ordinary or random conversations. You and Rox are greats friends for me and I always cherish you with all my heart 😩💗

#My art #Birthday present 🖌#ruki mukami #Jas the Maid¿?#Lowly-Livestock 🏃🏼‍♀️

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ozarkthedog · 1 year

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Hey, Ozzie!! Big congrats on your 10k and happy early bd!!! 🥳 Thank you for your writing!! Your stories always make my heart bit faster❤️‍🔥👏 Well I saw her name on the list and ran here FAST🏃🏼‍♀️ If you please📝 Boss!Rebecca Welton x PA!reader and numbers 146) and 10) 💗💗💗

warnings: Boss!Rebecca Welton x PA Fem!Reader. mention of masturbation. illusions to smut.

word count: 799

author's note: first time writing Rebecca. go easy on me. THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THE QUEEN!💙

10K Birthday Celebration

You stalk up the steps of your boss’s lavish house and let yourself in. The house is quiet as you hang your purse on the coat rack and slip your heels off. You dip your head into the kitchen and the sitting room looking for the gorgeous woman.

You’d secretly been harboring a crush on your boss since the first day you started working for Richmond. Rebecca was a tough but gracious boss. It made your tedious job even more difficult with the fact that you had to hide your feelings. Rebecca made the dingy world around you shine.

Many times you could’ve sworn you caught her looking at you but you chalked it up to late, stressful nights and poor eating. You wanted so badly to be with her but it would be unethical and she could have anyone she wants. Why would she chose you?

You tap your fingers on the door frame and bite your lip when you come up empty. She said she’d be here. Rebecca wanted to go over the itinerary for an upcoming away game this weekend, leaving you barely enough time to get things scheduled.

You double check your watch with a sigh when a sound from the floor above catches your attention.

“Rebecca?” You call you curiously as you ascend the marble stairs. You pray it’s your imagination toying with you and that Rebecca will waltz through the front door any second.

A soft cry halts your movements just as you reach the bedroom door. You press your ear against the ajar door as breathy, muted moans rumble from the other side. From the slight view the open door gives you, you can see the foot of her Rebecca bed and her feet shifting under the sheets.

Your brain short circuits when you hear her cry out your name. Maybe she’s thinking of someone else with the exact same name? She moans again and your cunt clenches at the sinful sound.

You wish you could know what she looks like while she touches herself. You want to know what drives her mad and gets her off.

You’re so deep in the fantasy of picturing your boss sprawled out on her bed with her fingers buried in her cunt that you lean too far forward and fall through the door and into the room. You hit the carpeted floor with a bang making your boss scream and jump under the covers.

“It’s only me! It’s only me!” You shout and raise your hands in a fury.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?” The blonde huffs. Her naked chest heaves under the sheets as she holds them against her bosom.

“You said you wanted to go over the schedule for this weekend and I let myself in with the key and then I heard something and ran upstairs and tripped into your room.” You anxiously blabber and tug on the seam of your shirt.

“You heard what exactly?” Rebecca shakes her head going white as a ghost.

“Uhh, I mean, not much…but were you just masturbating?” A smirk tugs your lips.

“U-uh..no, I was just..” Rebecca stammers as she smooths out the silk bedsheets in a frenzied hurry. Her cheeks are flushed and her usually quaffed hair is a mess, falling perfectly and framing her face.

She looks stunning. So stunning you can’t help but take the chance you’ve been wishing and hoping for all these years even if means you could get sacked.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” You confess while dragging a finger up the curve of her silk covered calf.

The older woman freezes on the spot. Her wild blue eyes lock onto yours and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

“Want some help?” You offer with a quirked brow.

“I’m your boss. I should not be thinking about you this way.” Rebecca says, trying to reason with herself as you pull the duvet cover back and slide in beside her.

“What if I’ve been thinking the same way about you?” You say, demurely as you press your breasts into her arm and spoon your body into her naked side.

She holds your stare as your confession lingers in the thick haze of arousal that’s filling the room.

Rebecca tips your chin with a manicured finger and presses her soft lips to yours. The kiss is delicate and subtle with tinges of yearning as she swipes her tongue along your bottom lip. A moan tumbles from your throat as sticky warmth settles deep in your belly.

Rebecca’s hand cups the side of your face as she breaks the kiss. “Then I’d say we’re fucked.” She thumbs the apple of your cheek and you lean into her touch. “In a good way.”

#rebecca welton x reader #rebecca welton #10k birthday celebration #rebecca welton x you

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rukia-writes · 2 years

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hi rukia!!

I hope you're having a good day/night :) if it's not too much trouble I want to ask poseidon x goddess reader, how would he act if they had twin sons (just like poseidon) who don't let him spend time alone with the reader and they always want their mother's attention :) (with smut at the end if you want?) thanks in advance, and sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or something was not my intention :) ps: your writing is amazing you are definitely one of my writers favorites :) take care of yourself.

I ran with this 🏃🏼‍♀️

Warnings: fluff at first, 18+, no minors 🔞 , throne room sex, a dabble of touch starved Poseidon, Poseidon discovers he has a lactation kink,

Attention.

The tyrant of the oceans was quietly reading a book in his room, waiting for his wife to come join him after putting their twin sons to sleep. Poseidon, didn’t mind that his wife gave their sons all the attention but sometimes he wished she would spend more time with him as the twins constantly wanted their mother’s attention and alone time was rare.

A nanny was brought up by Poseidon, but was shot down by his wife.

“I want to spend as much time as I can with my babies.”

Poseidon remembered her words and while he honored them he still thought getting a nanny was a good. Once an hour has passed Poseidon closed his book and made his way to their sons bedroom to find all three asleep. The twins were sleeping peacefully on their mother’s lap as (Name) was sitting on the couch they had, the sight was adorable but Poseidon decided to leave them. Not risking waking the small ones Poseidon turned the lights off and closed the door returning to his bedroom alone.

In the morning, it was always the same the twins liked to ride their small cars. Rather, (Name) had to push them constantly. Poseidon found his sons smiles rather cute but he just wanted some alone time with his wife. As if on cue, one of the twins had accidentally crashed into their dining room table hurting his head a bit. Rushing over (Name) comforted her small and young son who was crying with his brother gently patting his brother’s back saying “Pain, pain go away.” Which (Name) thought was adorable while Poseidon watched as his son ended his crying and rubbed his face on her chest to wipe his tears away.

Poseidon noted that.

Finally, the day arrived and there was an uproar in Poseidon’s castle as Hermes struggled to contain the twins in his arms. Zeus wanted to spend sometime with his nephews followed by Hades and the twins just wanted to stay home with their mother. Hermes tried to convince they would have fun but the twins wouldn’t hear it until Poseidon told the two simply “Behave yourselves. Stop your crying.” Both twins quickly stifled their crying and changed their tone as they waved bye to their mother and father.

When Poseidon, their father, was involved they seemed to be well behaved and listened more than they did with their mother. Night fell, and Zeus’ was in chaos as the twins couldn’t get a hold of their mother and we’re constantly crying. Zeus covered his ears and wanted anyone to stop their crying. As if on cue Hades had arrived and was the one to silence their cries with toys.

Lots of toys.

“Damn it, they’re spoiled enough!”

“So were you, don’t be a spoiled sport.”

Hermes noticed their crying had ceased completely as their attention was on their toys that Hades bought them. One was a rocket a launcher and accidentally pressing the button flew right into Ares’ eye as he had just arrived, watching Ares cry out in pain the twins apologized while stifling their laughter. Hades told the two boys they could also wrestle with Ares as he was the strongest in Valhalla. The twins took out their fake spears and chased Ares around the palace, Hermes noticed the twins were fast like their father.

“I wonder why (Name) didn’t answer our call.”

“She’s probably resting, I know I certainly would. Twins are a handful.”

“So true..but they are so cute. Just like Poseidon when he was younger.”

Hades took several pictures with his phone of the twins chasing after Ares, no one bothered to help Ares until Hercules showed up and the twins were preoccupied with Hercules lifting the twins with just his huge arms while they clung to them . Ares was eternally grateful to Hercules as was Zeus for being able to handle the twins. That’s what Zeus called them from that day forward as well, not their names just called them “the twins”.

There was a reason (Name) wasn’t able to accept Hermes call and that was because Poseidon finally received the attention he wanted as he had her sitting on his lap facing him as he rubbed her breasts while licking and teasing her nipples with his tongue as she moaned a loud in Poseidon’s throne room as she lightly pulled his beautiful blonde hair. Poseidon knew her nipples were sensitive still and he didn’t hesitate to cease the moment, he also loved the feel of her breasts as he rubbed them gently at first but the longer he did so the rougher he became.

Poseidon was fond of his beloved’s nipples as he would switch from right to left whenever he felt like it, he also teased her nipple with his free hand and played with her breast that he wasn’t tasting at the moment. (Name) tried to tell Poseidon that she was still sensitive but Poseidon didn’t acknowledge her in the slightest except for when a delightful moan escaped her lips and made his ears perk a bit at the beautiful sound.

However, not heeding (Name)’s constant warning Poseidon tasted her breasts milk for the first time, surprising both Poseidon and (Name). Even when (Name) tried to pull away Poseidon kept her in place as he kept licking and sucking her nipples for more as (Name) couldn’t handle anymore and reached her orgasm before Poseidon. Chuckling Poseidon gave one final slow lick to (Name)’s nipple before telling her that “The night is still young and we are far from finished.”

From that day on Poseidon and his queen were a constant heat for one another, Poseidon newfound kink had (Name) on her back for hours as he enjoyed the taste of her milk while nearly fucking her into the mattress of course. Sometimes, Poseidon would slip up and say how he wanted another child just so he could pump his cum into her sweet cunt while draining the milk from her breasts.

It was a constant cycle of Poseidon fucking his wife on their bed and licking the milk afterwards. A constant cycle of fucking and licking, any position that allowed him to see her breasts and watching them bounce to the rhythm of his fucking was perfection to Poseidon. The feel her cunt was amazing to him as he knew her g-spot like the back of his hand as his cock would hit it constantly.

Sometimes, (Name) swore she heard Poseidon mutter “Mine” sometimes but she was too busy feeling the ecstasy of Poseidon’s fucking to catch it.

Once, the twins returned after being gone for two weeks Poseidon calmly told them that they would be spending more time with him from now and that “Mother needs to rest for a few days.” The twins didn’t complain as they constantly followed their father about and Poseidon didn’t seem to mind as he got his quality time with his sons.

But Poseidon knew on the horizon there would be another child joining them soon, it was only a matter of time and when the time came Poseidon wanted more milk…

Just for him and him alone.

🎀Rukia-Writes🎀

#Poseidon x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie x reader #record of ragnarok x reader

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choicesficwriterscreations · 1 year

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MC of the Month: Sawyer Brooks

Please welcome our third MC of the month! Each month, we will highlight one MC or OC that is currently on our Meet my MC / OC List. The MC / OC is selected randomly on the Wheel of Names, and eligibility requirements can be found here. We accept MC / OC profiles on an ongoing basis. Please feel free to send yours in!

This month's MC of the month is...

@cariantha ' s Sawyer Brooks

Learn more about Sawyer and her creator, Cari, below.

In your words, tell us what you like most about your MC.

Not only is Sawyer beautiful and talented, but she’s incredibly smart and ambitious. And she really could care less about bragging rights, fame, or glory.

Sawyer has never been the best at anything right out of the gate. She has had to work hard for everything she’s ever accomplished or achieved. She only ever wants to prove to herself that she can do anything she sets her mind to. It started when she was in grade school. She wasn’t the best test-taker back then and often placed into lower level classes, but within weeks advanced herself into gifted courses. When it came to athletics she had natural talent, but she didn’t have the advantage of other student athletes who could afford to play club sports year round. She worked hard each season, showing up and giving her all in every practice, which led to her earning a scholarship to play collegiate volleyball. And as we know, it took her a few weeks to find her way but she eventually climbed the ranks and took the top spot in the Edenbrook intern competition.

What’s her proudest personal accomplishment you might ask? You might think it was something huge like diagnosing Naveen, but it was actually discovering and claiming Dr. Ethan Ramsey’s heart.❤️ She jokes that after he dies, she will donate it to a museum.

Do you feel your MC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

Of all my Choices MCs, Sawyer is definitely the most like me. We share similar backgrounds, upbringings, interests, and personalities.

We are most alike in the sense that we make friends easily and enjoy the associations of many, but tend to keep our circle of trust pretty small. And we both hate conflict. If mad, we avoid or bottle things up rather than confront. I know, I know, it’s not exactly healthy. We’re both working on it.

As far as differences, Sawyer is more forward. More willing to take risks. She’s more playful and affectionate. And she’s much more comfortable in her own skin - she knows she looks good naked.🏃🏼‍♀️ Sawyer could be on the cover of a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.😉 Hence all the bikini thirst traps on her Pictagram.

What is most important to your MC? What is their motivation in life?

Being true to herself. It wasn’t until she started applying for residency programs that she realized she needed to start making choices based on what she wanted, not what others expected of her. Being the oldest child in her family, and the most successful academically, she felt a lot of pressure to set an example and make her parents proud. When she finally started making decisions based on her own happiness and not the expectations of others, she felt so free and content.

Happiness is Sawyer’s motivation. She knows the pursuit of happiness is not always easy, but if the end goal is something that will bring her joy or make her feel good about herself, then she’s going to give it her all and push through.

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes?

Sawyer’s a compulsive neat freak. When she’s stressed, she can’t rest until everything is tidy and in order. She has a lot of pet peeves related to things that might disturb that order. One of the most irritating ones is dirty dishes left in the sink when there is a perfectly good dishwasher nearby. Even if the dishwasher is full, she thinks you should at least rinse the grime off the dishes. Also, clothes that hang over the side of the laundry basket. She thinks it’s just lazy to not push them all the way in. Oh, and whiskers all over the sink. Luckily, Ethan shaves in the shower. And the fact that he has a housekeeper come regularly to help maintain order keeps her from going off the deep end when she’s had a rough day.

She was never more irritated than intern year when she was stressed to the max and living with four roommates. She was so relieved on the nights she could go hang out at Ethan’s and work on Naveen’s case.

If your MC could change one thing - anything - what would it be?

Other than all the wrongs in the world, Sawyer would change her voice. She wishes she could sing. She loves and finds so much comfort in music. She’ll sing in the shower and in the car when she’s alone. It’s not awful, but it’s not exactly great. Singing karaoke with her friends gives her a lot of anxiety.

What is your MC’s favorite quote or song?

Sawyer’s favorite song is Here Tonight by Brett Young. She discovers it shortly after Miami and has it on repeat for weeks afterward. The lyrics describe exactly how she felt on the balcony that night with Ethan, the night when everything changed for them. Fast forward to Year 3 and they talk about what they would choose for “their song.” Sawyer plays it for Ethan, and he immediately agrees it’s the one.

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC:

Sawyer is my daily dose of medicine. When I first joined the fandom, I seriously thought I would just create some fun edits about her journey through residency. Getting lost in the details of editing, believe it or not, was a major stress reliever. Channeling Ethan Ramsey here...I was able to control what I could control. But I quickly caught the writing bug. It felt amazing to try something new, and it felt even better when it was positively received by OH fans. I probably have a very unhealthy addiction to Tumblr now, but this fandom brings me so much joy. Writing for Sawyer and Ethan gives me something to always look forward to.

Thank you for sharing Sawyer with us, Cari! You can learn more about Sawyer Brooks here!

#cfwc mc of the month #mc of the month #sawyer brooks #cariantha #open heart #choices fanfic #playchoices fanfic #choices fic writers creations

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authorchan · 1 year

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Pairings ❁ Tanjiro x Female Reader

Requested @saminacardigan on Wattpad

✎ a/n: Tanjiro and reader have known each other for a while. His feelings for her have been building within him but he is trying to focus on his goals. Except he can not stop thinking about y/n.

Also, after I got this request I was running 🏃🏼‍♀️ to start writing because my heart is fluttering.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

Laying our nichirin blades down as I sit beside my comrade. She smiles at me which makes breath hitch.

"Aoi made this lunch for us. She really is nice."

Looking down at the meal I agree with her, "That is nice."

While eating I can't help but look at my dear friend. We have been together for a couple of years now fighting against the demons. Her sweet scent filling the space around me has me feeling distracted.

Stealing more secret glances as I admire her beauty. She has no clue that I have have feelings for her. Not only is she the most beautiful person I have seen but she truly is my best friend. I don't trust anymore else the way I do her.

Finishing the last of her food she lays her hand beside her while tilting her head back, "Delicious as always!"

I want to hold her hand...

Resting my hand beside her hand as the edge of my finger tips just barely touch her. I struggle to just take ahold of her hand. Meanwhile her gaze is now focusing on my own hand waiting for me to make a move. I am completely unaware of her intentions.

Then I notice the blisters on the edge of my finger. The feeling of self doubt plagues my mind.

Pulling my hand away from her. Slowly I rotate it to glance at my palms.

The callouses and tiny scars covering my entire hand from the years of harsh training. They are rough and undesirable.

What if she hates how I feel?

I am unworthy of her.

My head lowers as I look over the blisters and scars with sorrow. Thinking about how she deserves better than me. After all it isn't just my hands. I have scars over my body. Especially across my chest.

She has smooth and beautiful skin.

Everything about her is truly -

"Tanjiro? Are you okay?"

Her voice shakes away the thoughts as I nervously give a smile. Heat rushing to my face, "Sure. I am okay."

It isn't a lie.

I am unharmed physically.

Her pretty e/c eyes look me over as if she can see right though me. A worried expression on her face as she glances at my palm that I was looking over. I quickly tuck my hands behind me.

Trying to lighten the mood I smile big for her, "You were really amazing during Training! Your breathing technique is always improving."

"Tanjiro..."

"Yeah?" I am still giving a huge smile as I rub the back of my head.

"You have always be a horrible liar. I have known you long enough to know when you are being dismissive too."

My eyes widen as my smile fades. Feeling a warm sensation rush through my body at her words.

She knows me that well, huh?

"What is bothering you? Is your hand okay?"

She grabs for my hand but I lean away from her trying to avoid her touch. Watching as she puffs up her cheeks and reaches again. Quickly this becomes a playful game of keep away. Without asking for permission she finally snags my wrist.

A proud look of winning on her face before she begins to examine my hand. Searching for any sign of injury. Unaware of my true intentions.

Except... she has my hand resting against hers as her opposite hand's fingers trail over my palm. Leaving a tingly sensation everywhere she touches.

Just as I expected,

Her hands are soft, gentle and warm.

My cheeks and the tips of my ears burn hot with a blush as I keep my gaze on her pretty face. Concern covering her features as she keeps searching for what has me upset.

Unaware that I just want to hold her hand. That she is currently giving me what I secretly desired. Her gentleness with me has my heart beating quickly I swear I can hear the thuds.

“I don’t see any injuries, does your hand ache?”

“No.”

“Then what is wrong Tanjiro? Don’t you trust me?”

That last question hits me hard as I finally give in, “I am ashamed of my scars.”

Hearing this her gaze softens as she watches me carefully, “You shouldn’t be. They are evidence of your strength. A permanent reminder that you have gone through something really challenging but are still here.”

The back of my hand is still resting against her palm as I lose focus on my total concentration breathing, “You are really wise Y/N.”

“I am surprised that you feel this way. Are you sure something else isn’t bothering you?”

The way she is looking at me, as if there is something really special about me to look at.

Taking a deep breath for courage, "Y/N would it be alright if I- ... Hold your hand?"

"Mine? Why..."

A lump quickly builds in my throat and I barely get the words out, "Honestly, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

Hearing a faint squealing sound come from her has my heart pounding faster which makes my words rush together.

"I thought it would be nice to hold your hand. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. Just forget this, okay? I should get back to training-"

"Wait."

The power a single word from her has over me. My body tensed up as I hold very still. Slowly my gaze returns to her stunning facial features.

"Yes, Tanjiro . I want you to hold my hand."

My mouth feels dry. Moving my hand incredibly slow as if I will frighten her away. Keeping my eyes focused on our hands.

Pushing my fingers between hers as I intertwine them before pressing my callouses palm against her softness.

“Honestly. I was worried that you wouldn’t want to hold my rough and scared hands… that you deserve someone bet-”

“That is what you were doing. Oh Tanjiro… I am really happy that you told me this. Do you feel this? My hand fits perfectly in yours. Which means there is always room for you to hold my hand.”

"Thank you, y/n. I like how this feels.”

“I do too. Please don’t ever be ashamed of your scars. I am proud of you and I admire every scar on your body. It means you are still alive and can be with me.”

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

#tanjiro romance #kamado tanjiro #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro kamado #demon slayer fanfic #tanjiro #tanjiro fluff #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro fanfic #tanjiroxy/n

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