#and i hope you like this. mwah

[auricfog]

merry christmas @shellibisshe! 🎁🎄

[triona-tribblescore]

I cant stop thinking about them :'( 🩷🩷✨✨ drew my human designs for a wee change of pace uvu

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You made her cry, time to die.

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[tea-n-ink]

Homesickness is where the heart is

[hungharrington]

ok this is filth adjacent but would u ever write a lil blurb or fic about Steve with a gf whose super insecure about her stretch marks and body? And May be she doesn't want to disappoint Steve bc his exes seem prettier

would i ever! i love these type of requests i love ppl getting a little bit of respite and comfort through fic esp in smut! i hope this makes u feel even a little bit hotter babe <3 1.6k, afab!reader, and just filth adjacent sry! MDNI this entire blog is 18+

Steve's mouth is on your neck, his tongue hot where it teases against your skin, and his hands are searching your body with a lustful fervor.

Your head tips back. It's so easy to let him in, let him slide his body closer to yours, to get more of whatever he's giving. The hot press of his mouth on your neck feels damn good enough to make your blood sing—and heat travel between your thighs, wetness beginning to pool.

You want to rub your thighs together, if only for a little relief. Steve's toned thigh between them prevents it. You scrunch his polo between your hands instead, trying to wrestle the courage to slip your hands beneath it.

You're lying back on his bed, propped up lightly by the pile of pillows the two of you had stacked when the evening had begun. The television at the end of the bed runs a film idly in the background, completely unnoticed by this point.

"How we doin'?" Steve's voice rumbles out, barely parting his lips from your skin before he's swooping back in to nip at it again. The bastard.

Your hands flex again, finally mustering the nerve to dive beneath the fabric of his shirt. Steve's warm. You feel the muscles of his tummy shudder as you skim your fingers across it, a pleasurable shiver running down your spine at the trail of hair you can feel leading into his pants. Steve's breath hitches, close to your ear.

He nudges your jaw with his nose lovingly, planting another row of sloppy, wet kisses down the expanse of your neck.

"Hmm," He hums, questioningly. "Still doing good?"

You realise you hadn't exactly answered him and something glows in your chest at his insistent checks. Extremely reluctantly, you manage to drag your hands away from his torso, shifting them up to subtly nudge his face out the curve of your neck.

Steve's eyes dart up to your face as he pulls himself back, his expression turning dopey the moment your hands cup his jaw. His cheeks are flushed ruby and his hair has been mussed in all his steamy motions. He looks fucking delicious.

You kiss him — surging up to connect your mouths, warmth exploding in your chest and trickling down, down when Steve responds with a revere hunger. His plush lips scrape against yours filthily, his tongue always so perfectly teasing. You're gasping for air when you pull away.

"So good," You say breathily, finally answering the question.

Steve takes a moment longer to register what you've said—but that dopey look crosses his face the moment he does.

He plants his hands on the bed and shifts his weight back, sitting back on his heels. His thigh is still situated right between yours and you have to shove down the lustful urge to grind against it, lazy pleasure still pooling low in your gut. Though you're pretty sure Steve wouldn't oppose the idea.

Chest heaving lightly, you watch as Steve reaches for the edges of his polo and tugs upwards. It comes off in one smooth motion and you're rewarded with a fine sight. You're pretty sure your mouth actually waters in response. Tan chest, scattered moles, the smattering of hair. Oh god, you want to lick him.

Something in your face must give away your train of thought because Steve laughs. He leans back down, one hand moving to your waist, and nuzzles his nose against yours. He steals a kiss from your lips.

"See somethin' you like?" He says, the smirk evident in his tone. You feel like you might vibrate out of your skin.

"Shut up," You aim for fiesty and fall far, far short. You sound on the verge of a whine when you say, "You know I do."

Steve grins wider. His hand on your waist tucks under your shirt seamlessly, his thumb drawing maddening circles into the skin. Your breath catches, even as your arousal hikes.

"What about you?" He whispers the question between his kisses as he mouths along your jaw again, finding that same damn spot on your neck again. It'll be violet coloured by the morning. "Do I get to see something I'll like?"

He's asking permission. It takes a long moment to realise that—too distracted between the touch of his fingertips skating across your skin and the addicting feel of his lips against your pulse.

You nod without thinking.

Steve pulls your shirt up no more than a few inches before your brain catches back up. Your hand moves abruptly, grabbing his hand and yanking it and your shirt back down in a split second.

Steve's halting in an instant, pulling back from working lovebites on your neck to see what he's done wrong. There's a string of spit connecting his lips to your neck.

Steve frowns in concern, shifting his hand up wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, as he makes an effort to put a little distance between you.

"You okay?" He asks. You're still holding his wrist, which is still holding the edge of your shirt. "What happened?"

Your mouth opens uselessly and closes. You know precisely why you had stopped him and now you're facing up with the fact you have to tell him, lest Steve believe you're actually having second thoughts over being with him.

It's just... you've probably spent far too many hours in the mirror. You've seen it from every angle. Seen it in every lighting. You can't quite ever seem to make your body look good.

You don't look like any of the girls Steve's been with in the past.

Comparison is killer, you're aware of this, but infuriatingly you just can't seem to stop. You think of what Steve will see the moment he gets your shirt off, what he'll realise, and your hand tightens around his wrist subconsciously. Your throat tightens up too.

Steve's face melts into a softer expression, eyes big. "Hey, hey, it's totally fine if you said one thing and- and you realise that you didn't mean it, it's okay."

Words continue to evade you and humiliatingly, it feels more likely that tears will escape you before any explanation will. He's being so nice.

"But..." Steve continues, his tone wary as if aware he's treading on uneven ground. "You seemed like you were into it. Like, comfortable, I mean. Then it was like a flip switched and you froze."

"I-" You finally find your voice. You clear your throat as you try to find the right words, breaking Steve's intense gaze to study the ceiling.

This is worse. This has got to be worse that just Steve taking your shirt off and being disappointed because— because you're goddamn building up to it. Your eyes screw shut and you decide it's better to rip the band-aid off.

"I'm just," You can't quite keep the quiver out of your voice. "I'm not like- like girls you've dated before."

Steve makes a noise of confusion and it's enough to force your eyes open. You glance down, taking in Steve's adorably furrowed brow.

"Okay...?" He says, clearly still a bit confused.

"I mean, Steve," You say, voice a little steadier. Your hand around his wrist finally remembers to relax.

You release the hold on him and tuck your hand under your shirt discretely, covering the skin of your stomach you know is warped with stretch marks. "I don't look like the girls you've dated before. My- my body is different."

The wrinkle between Steve's brow shifts, moving from confused to something a little harsher.

"So?"

You blink. Of all the possibilities that you had run, not one of them had ended with Steve saying that.

"So?" You echo meekly. "So... so you might be like, I don't know, disappointed or think—mfh"

The words get smushed beneath Steve's fervent kiss, stealing one kiss off your lips and all your words with it. You blink up at him again, all your endless arguments of why Steve would be so disappointed suddenly silenced.

Steve grins, evidently pleased with his reaction.

Tentatively, moving slowly so you could intervene if you wished, he drags his hand along the sheets and onto your hip again. This time, however, he pushes the fabric of your shirt up and doesn't pause til it's bunched up, most of your torso on show.

Your nerves gather, gnawing at the edges of your chest. You can't bring yourself to move the hand that's trying to hide part of you, even if a dozen other stretch marks are visible now.

Then Steve leans down and he kisses your skin, right in the middle of your tummy.

"I think," He says, lips dragging across your skin and setting it aflame. He's looking up at your through his lashes, your gazes locked, his eyes dark. Another kiss, this time longer, with just a flash of tongue. "You're hot shit."

Instinct makes you want to scoff. But Steve says it so seriously that you almost believe him off the bat. Believe that he believes that.

He lowers himself onto his elbows, letting both of his large hands settle onto your waist, fingers pressing into the skin lightly. You shiver at the feeling and start to consider the possibility that he actually does think that.

"And I will gladly," He punctuates the word with another kiss, this one evolving into a soft, sensual lick up towards your breasts which peak lustfully in response. Your breath hitches. "Spend all the time needed if you need some convincing of that."

His hands move, sliding down til he's gently knocking yours aside, big warms hands spread across your hips. His thumbs are moving, drawing soft motions down, you realise, towards your waistband. Your pulse jumps between your legs, the heat in your body uncaring about the brief interruption.

Steve kisses your tummy again, further down this time. You acutely realise you've got Steve Harrington between your thighs, looking up at you with darkened eyes and promising filthy things with his fingers. Or mouth. Both if you're lucky.

"So," Steve murmurs, voice raspy and low. His thumbs slip beneath your waistband, just an inch. "You gonna let me convince you?"

You're feeling pretty damn lucky.

[userautumn]

#something something instead of being her replacement abby is the one who mentored maddie when she started working at dispatch.#they became friends outside of work which is how maddie and tommy meet. long after abby leaves los angeles maddie and tommy remain friends#maddie is there when tommy comes out. tommy is there when maddie gets kidnapped#(and personally gives howie his endorsement. he's a good guy and he thinks he's perfect for maddie)#but somehow his path doesn't really cross with buck until after everything with doug. maddie's in the hospital and tommys lingering outside#her room and sees this kid sitting on the hospital floor. he's shaking and crying and doesn't look like he's aware of either of those thing#he's all bloodied up and tommy *aches*. so he goes over and sits next to him. doesn't say anything. just sits and offers support to this#person who is technically a stranger but who *feels* familiar#and buck holds it together for five seconds more before he's leaning toward tommy and sobbing on his shoulder.#it's one of those intimate moments with strangers that are supposed to happen and then become a memory.#neither of them are supposed to see the other again and they don't think they will because they don't exchange names or anything.#but then there's a welcome home party for maddie and chimney at bobby and athena's house and tommy sees him across the room#and it's like magnets pulling them together. they're inseparable for the rest of their lives after that#tv: 911#otp: eye of the storm

can we please have more of this?????? i am on my hands and knees. i am begging. even if it's just bullet points. it's soooooooooooooo.

you asked so nicely, i will give you anything. <3

so. as i was saying. tommy sees buck across the room, and he doesn't... really know how to react. that memory of him, of them, sitting together feels like something precious. it's something he holds in the palms of his hands and looks at during nights when he's feeling fragile and alone and he doesn't really understand why. or. well. he kind of does. no one has ever... needed him for things like that. no one's ever really needed him at all, but no one's ever sought him out for comfort. no one's ever thought he was made of gentle things, that he could be a comforting presence.

so seeing this kid across the room feels... disarming. it also, irrationally, feels unfair. because tommy was so caught up in his feelings about the memory that he almost forgot it's a memory he shares with someone else.

someone who, apparently, can just show up in his life whenever they want.

he ducks away before the kid can see him. they're outside on the patio. he touches maddie's arm - gently, because he can't shake the sight of her in a hospital bed - and nods toward the house where the kid is still visible through the glass doors.

"who is that?"

her brow furrows. she follows his line of sight and the way her face breaks open into the softest, most loving smile tells him everything he needs to know.

"that's your brother," he says before she can.

"yeah." she turns toward him. "wait, have i never introduced you guys before?" tommy's eyes widen as she waves a hand. "buck, come here."

"oh." tommy is panicking. "oh, we don't... we don't really have to do that."

"hush, it's fine."

and that's all she's able to say before buck appears at her side. tommy clocks the moment he recognizes him. it happens the minute buck lays eyes on him. his face turns this beautiful shade of pink that has tommy's heart practically wrenching in his chest. he swallows, his hand tightening around his soda can.

"tommy, this is my little brother. buck, this is tommy." she looks between them. "it's kind of weird how you guys have never met before."

and all tommy can think of is the weight of this kid against his side. the smell of his cologne twining with the copper stench of blood. the protective arm tommy had curled around his shoulders as if daring the world to try to pop the bubble they'd built around themselves.

"yeah." tommy's laugh is thin, brittle. "weird."

buck recovers first and far faster than tommy himself. he holds out a hand. "evan."

tommy shakes his. "tommy."

maddie raises an eyebrow but before she can ask, her attention is being called away by someone or something else. evan nods his head toward the house, and tommy follows. it's quiet inside, everyone except the kids crammed out onto the cement and grass.

here in the kitchen, alone, it kind of feels like their bubble has made a return. it makes the atmosphere far too close, far too intimate for someone tommy's only shared a combined total of fifteen minutes with.

his breath catches in his chest when evan looks at him.

"so," evan says.

"so."

evan ducks his head. oh, he's shy. without the barrier of maddie's kidnapping looming over them, evan is awkward, and so damn sweet he could rot right through tommy's teeth. his heart twists again.

"yeah, so, listen, about the other day..."

"we don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." evan looks up, eyes wide and surprised. did he think tommy was going to make him? "i mean it. we can just forget about it if you want."

"no. i-i mean, i don't... want. i mean." evan huffs in a way that's supposed to be a laugh but falls flat and circles around to uncomfortable, unsure. "it's - my captain, bobby, he's... he wasn't answering his phone that day. and he's... he's more than just my captain, he's like... he's kind of like my dad, i guess. and he wasn't answering his phone. eddie wasn't answering his phone. my sister almost died -" his tongue trips over the word even now "- and i... i needed somebody. and you were there." he looks up at tommy and meets his gaze head-on, and it's at that moment that tommy learns that evan is, was, and always will be braver than he will ever be. "so, thank you."

tommy's soda can has gone warm in his hand. he knocks back the rest of it, if only for want of something to do, and sets the empty can on the counter.

evan watches him throughout the entire thing.

"i don't - i mean - it was nothing. i was just... doing what anyone else would do."

evan turns his head, a little half-shake like it's an argument he wants to have but won't. together, they look out toward the patio. howie sits beside maddie, his arm thrown over her shoulder, her hand on his thigh. they treat each other so gently, like they're both fragile things that deserve to be cradled. it's beautiful. tommy wants that one day.

when he turns, evan is already looking at him.

evan nudges his shoulder with his knuckle. "well, thanks, is all i wanted to say."

tommy shakes his head before the words are even finished leaving his mouth. "you don't ever have to thank me for that." it scares him how much he means it. "but, thank you for..." for letting me hold you, for letting me take care of you, even if just for a moment. thank you for letting me be the type of person i've always tried to be. tommy clears his throat. "just thank you."

evan's mouth turns up into a tiny little smile. he changes his voice to mimic tommy's and says, "you don't ever have to thank me for that."

tommy laughs. oh this one's sweeter than pure sugar, isn't he?

they look back out over the party for only a moment before bobby peeks his head in.

"cake time," he says before he disappears back outside.

cake time it is, then.

tommy gestures for evan to go ahead of him and, halfway to the backdoor, evan turns to make sure he's still following him. how silly. of course tommy's still following him. he's starting to think that this is becoming a recurring theme in his life. evan will march somewhere, and tommy will follow close behind. he winks and gives him a small smile, one that evan returns before he turns around again.

the cake is half-chocolate, half-vanilla, quite literally split in two because maddie and howie are the same in all the ways that matter and vastly different in all the ways that don't. evan hovers at his back and takes a paper plate when tommy offers it. they stick to each other's sides like saran wrap until the evening blends from dusk to nightfall, barely speaking to one another but never straying far from each other's orbits.

it's the damndest thing. years later, tommy still won't be able to explain it. when asked, the only word he comes up with is magnetism, something fundamental and cosmic that always, always pulled them back to each other.

they're the last to leave at the end of the night.

tommy watches from the driveway while evan hugs bobby and his wife goodbye, and then they're alone. it's not awkward, it can't possibly be when they've shared so much yet so little. but it feels... weighted. warm. heavy and scary, like holding a ten pound weight while balancing at the edge of a cliff. one wrong move, and you fall, and fall, and fall...

evan leans against the side of his jeep and faces him. "well."

"well."

"it's getting late, i guess i better leave."

"i guess so."

neither of them move. in both of their hands are tupperware full of cake and enough food that tommy won't have to cook for at least two days. having his hands full is not conducive for what he wants to do. what he wants to do is lean in, breathe evan's air, drag his nose along the line of his neck, and jaw. press his lips to evan's to see if they really are as soft as they look. but. well. he can't kiss someone he's just met.

can he?

"listen." tommy finds his mouth moving without his own permission. "i work down at harbor. you should come by sometime, i would love to show you around."

evan's eyes brighten. "really?"

"yeah. maybe i can even take you up in the air."

"i - yeah. yes, that sounds awesome, i -" he softens. "i would love that."

tommy swallows. his heart hammers in his chest. he clears his throat. "so, ah. it's a... it's a date then?"

evan's cheeks flush that lovely pink again.

"yeah. yeah, i - i guess it is."

a beat passes. tommy really does have to go. his hands are cramping from holding his goodies and he's got work in the morning. but before he can say as much and take his leave, evan swoops in. he presses a quick, barely there kiss to his cheek and then steps back. his eyes are wide, like he's surprised by himself, but he looks giddy. mischievous. precious.

he nods his head back toward his jeep. "okay. i'm going to go now."

tommy nods. his face is on fire. "okay."

"okay. i - bye."

tommy's face softens into a smile. "bye, evan."

he steps back while evan wrestles with his car keys. evan all but tosses his goodies into the passenger seat and then waves goodbye. tommy watches as he backs out of the driveway, watches as evan waves again before he pulls off. and then tommy's left in the still silence of a los angeles night, a feeling in his gut like something is pulling, tugging, drawing him toward the brake lights at the end of the street.

something like magnetism, isn't it?

[obstinateson]

and tell them i was loved

that you always loved me

i know you didn't

but spare them the vision

[spearxwind]

✦ Tfw your killer AI gets himself stuck in fucking orbit, somehow still manages to be a nuisance ✦

I've had this idea in mind for a few years and finally drew it, but since I've missed doing actual comic pages and I really wanted to start messing with more creative paneling I thought I'd use it as an excuse to experiment instead of just doing a little strip like usual >:] so enjoy this shitpost in 4k ultra HD edition

[daenerys-targaryen]

...and the life I gave away

lyrical parallels (fifteen | midnight rain) for Hannah!

[triona-tribblescore]

UH- UM- MY HAND SLIPPED-

Tw// suggestive material

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ i just want to sit on his lap FUCK || MDNI

The crackle of the fire plays a soft counterpoint to Joel's slow, steady breaths. You've been perched on his lap for who knows how long by this point, your back pressed against his broad chest, his strong arms wrapped around you in that possessive way that always makes you feel entirely his.

The warmth of him has seeped into your skin through the thin layer of your top, his rough palms sliding up and down the soft expanse of your inner thighs as they're draped over his own, spread so wide it has your muscles aching.

"Quit your wrigglin', baby," he mutters, voice gravelly against your ear. He nips at the shell of it lightly, his beard scraping along your jaw. "Keep 'em spread for me."

You gasp as his fingers slip through the mess of wetness between your thighs, his touch calloused and rough against the throbbing bud of your clit. Your hands grab desperately at the scratchy fabric of his jeans, palming the thick muscle underneath.

You try to stop the tremor of your thighs threatening to snap shut around his wrist, but it's all in vain. It's been minutes since he pulled the soaked fabric of your panties aside to expose your slick pussy to the cool air of the cabin, and every passing second since has left you teetering closer and closer to the edge.

Joel's only been toying with you—rubbing tortuously slow circles over your puffy clit, dragging his fingers through your drenched folds to press against your clenching hole but never enough to delve inside, all the while whispering filth directly into your ear with that low, smoky, rumbling tone that drives you crazy. The tone that pounds through you like a second heartbeat.

He's brought you to the brink over and over again, just to deny you when you're finally straddling the line of your own sweet release.

Your hips buck up against his hand impatiently, chasing the friction Joel insists on cruelly rationing out. You let out a frustrated whimper, the sound swallowed by the steady snap of the fire and the deep chuckle reverberating through his chest.

Your hands grip his thighs tighter, nails biting into the denim as if the sting might tether you to sanity. "Joel."

His name slips from your lips in a plea that feels both helpless and demanding.

"What's that, honey?" His lips brush the curve of your jaw as he speaks, his tone bordering on mocking. "You gotta use your words for me if you want somethin', you know that."

The smugness in his voice should irritate you, but it only sends another rush of heat pooling between your legs. "Please,” you beg, your voice trembling as much as your thighs. “Please, Joel, I–”

He hums breezily, the deep vibration sinking into your bones as he finally moves his hand with intent. Two fingers dip into your aching hole, thick and unyielding and stretching you deliciously as they sink knuckle-deep.

The sudden fullness knocks the breath out of you, a devastatingly desperate noise bursting from your lips as your head falls back against his shoulder. 

“That what you needed, pretty?” Joel soothes, curling his fingers to brush up against that spongy spot just behind your clit. “Christ, you’re fuckin’ tight. Strangling my goddamn fingers.”

He shifts slightly, spreading his knees to angle you impossibly wider. His other hand comes up, tugging at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up so his warm, rough palm could roam over your stomach. He was everywhere at once—teasing, stroking, claiming.

"Such a messy pussy," he drawls, his fingers speeding up inside you. "She’s gettin’ my hand all wet. You like when your old man touches you down here, darlin'?"

A loud moan tears its way out of your throat, your back arching off his chest as Joel sets a relentless pace. 

He’s right, you’re so fucking wet. The squelch of your pussy around his fingers makes your ears burn, shame mixed with arousal churning through your core at the filthy, wet sounds that fill the room. Your juices drench his palm, dripping down his wrist to trail along the skin of his forearm where it seeps into the fabric of his rolled up flannel sleeve.

Your cheeks warm at the idea of your essence staining his shirt, at the idea of Joel wanting that. Your claim on him as he patrols, as he helps Tommy finish patching up the cabin's roof, as he cleans his guns in the living room–a dirty secret only the two of you know about.

It has your whole body tensing, sparks shooting up your spine, lighting up each notch of vertebrae on its way to burst bright white through your brain. The spring inside of you coils tighter and tighter, threatening to snap any second.

‘’That’s it, baby,” Joel growls, his voice molten in your ear. “You gonna come for me? I can feel how she’s clenchin’ up, desperate thing.”

He pulls his fingers out suddenly, not even giving you any time to protest before he’s sliding them over the wet expanse of your pussy, from your clit down to your abused hole in quick succession.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, phantom flames licking at every inch of exposed skin. Your nails dig into Joel’s thighs even more fiercely than before as you feel the signs of your release building from deep within you.

Joel’s hand is a blur between your legs, slick fingers slipping over your swollen, puffy pussy fast enough to send your head reeling. His name falls from your lips in a breathless chant, and he chuckles against your skin, dark and smug.

The spray of your release around the flat of his fingers is sudden, a gush that washes over his hand and the couches upholstery. 

Your body trembles uncontrollably, your hips bucking against his hand as every nerve feels like it’s sparking to life. The pleasure floods through you, dizzying and relentless, blurring everything but the feeling of Joel’s touch.

Joel groans like he’s the one soaking the floor, his lips pressed to the crown of your skull. He doesn’t stop. His fingers never slow, circling and tweaking until your thighs finally clamp shut around his hand. The wetness of your orgasm coats his skin, slick and messy, and his growl of satisfaction is the only thing that pierces through the white noise rushing in your ears. 

It takes a few long moments for your breath to even out, for the aftershocks to stop rippling through your limbs. Joel finally takes pity on you, his touch gentling as he withdraws his fingers with care, his hand stroking your thigh in lazy circles.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, his tone brimming with pride as he lifts his slick-coated fingers into the firelight, letting the evidence of your pleasure glisten before his eyes. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

Your cheeks burn, a mix of exhaustion and lingering desire blooming across your skin as you slump against his chest, turning your head to meet his gaze. Joel’s eyes are dark, hungry, and so utterly possessive it makes your stomach flip.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low hum of satisfaction.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says, his lips curling into a smirk. “Reckon I’ll need to have another bite soon.”

Your body trembles in response, knowing damn well he’ll make good on that promise before the night is over.

mini nat's note: idk i was in a mood...fill out my taglist if you want more joel content :)

[dokjaism]

Stay close to me, don’t go away — アリア《離れずにそばにいて》

happy belated birthday gaby (˶ > ₃ < ˶)♡ @kimdokjas

[aeb-art]

i thought it'd be cute 🥺💕

[hungharrington]

i’m almost 22 and have never even kissed a boy (which i’m chronically insecure about). it’s made me feel very nervous regarding intimacy or “doing it wrong”. i feel like steve would be great coach and reassure the reader it’s okay and that they’re doing great. nothing to embarrassed about. (my soul needs this so bad)

hi honey !! i think you r so right & steve would be the perfect guy to give all the assurances <3 i hope u know that kisses don’t matter too much til they’re with someone you’re rlly sweet on so i wouldn’t sweat it angel x this one is sfw! wowzer!

You’re on your couch and in Steve’s lap and worried about just about everything. 

Steve’s being sweet about it, his hands resting gently on either side of your waist, his thumbs swiping up and down to comfort you. He’s watching you closely, unaware he’s just taken your first, second, and third ever kisses. How could he know? you think, on the side of insecurity— it seems everybody else your age has already kissed someone. 

“You okay?” He asks, hazel eyes tracing over the soft features of your face. He loves your nose and the shape of your bottom lip— strange things to like perhaps, but Steve doesn’t care. 

You nod but don’t say anything. The motion is a bit jerky. Your hands are planted on his shoulders, holding them probably a bit too tight. Exhaling a breath, you nod again and pretend the fondness in his gaze isn’t making you shy.

“Yeah,” you finally speak, voice smaller than you intend. “Just- just wanna like—“ you swallow, eyes darting to the ceiling for a moment, if only to avoid his intense eyes. “I wanna get this right.” 

A car engine drones by outside in the dusky evening. Steve gives a little chuckle and his hands on your waist tug forward, pulling your attention down and your body an inch closer to his. It’s warm— every part of him is glowing warm. 

“I don’t think there’s any way you can get this wrong,” He admits, awfully sincere about it. 

It’s the truth. Steve likes you a lot. You could probably bite his lip too hard and make it bleed and he’d still find it pleasant. You have that effect on him. 

You don’t know that though. So, every stress seems very, very real. Are you kissing firm enough? Too firm? God, are your lips too dry? 

Your tongue flicks out to wet them, your hands giving his shoulders a nervous, minuscule squeeze. In your chest, your heart is torn between rabbiting in its anxiety or shrivelling in insecurity. 

“I mean,” you laugh a little, if only to cover your embarrassment. You duck your head to avoid his face, murmuring, “If there is, I’m sure I’ll find it. I haven’t, uh, exactly done this… too much.”

“That’s fine,” Steve says instantly. His warm, large hands give a tender squish on your waist, before sliding up and around to curl snugly around your body. He sits up a little straighter, his nose nudging against yours. 

“No, Steve,” you say, cheeks a touch heated. You count his eyelashes so you can avoid his eyes, you voice dropping volume towards the end of your sentence. “I mean, like… like ever.” 

Surprise flashes in his eyes for only a moment. His gaze darts down to your lips quickly but then he’s smiling, nudging closer, and stealing a quick kiss off your lips. Now he’s taken your fourth kiss too. 

You flush, something warm pinging its way up your spine. 

“That’s okay,” He murmurs, sounding like he really means it. 

“It is?” 

“It’s great. You’re great.” He kisses you again—your fifth— so sweet it tastes like sugar on your lips, his arms around you pulling you in closer. You drown in it, enamoured by how it feels to have his lips against yours. God, he makes you dizzy. 

Steve breaks the kiss but stays close, his arms pulling you closer still so you’re straddling him properly. He’s warm, so warm— and so freakin’ nice to you. 

“You don’t find it weird?” You can’t help but whisper. Your eyes crush closed, unable to face him. 

“Weird?” Steve echoes. “Are you kidding me? It’ll take more than that to freak me out.” 

One of his hands shifts up, moving up off your waist to cradle your jaw gently in his large palm. He peppers a string of kisses along your cheek and jaw, beginning to suck a sweet spot beneath your ear. Your hips shift before you realising, subtly grinding down into his. Flames begin to burn in your stomach. 

“It’s—I mean it’s kind of, like, a little embarrassing, don’t you think?” You continue, voice a little breathier than before. You’re not sure what you’re trying to convince of him of— you certainly don’t want him to stop. 

Steve’s lips brush over the barely forming bruise on your skin and your breath hitches. 

“Are you feeling embarrassed?” 

One slow kiss against your neck, his plush lips accompanied by the heat of his tongue. You squirm in his lap but don’t answer, fearful of being too truthful. You are and you aren’t. He isn’t making you embarrassed but you are, just a little. 

Your silence makes Steve pause, digging his face out of your neck to meet your eyes. “Hey. You shouldn’t be embarrassed- if you are for some other reason, we can— we can like stop—“ 

“No.” You cut in, God, now you’re seriously giving him the wrong idea. “No, oh my god, I sound so stupid- it’s not you— Steve—“ 

He cuts you off with another kiss, your sixth, and steals your runaway thoughts. It blissfully chases away your nerves for just a moment. 

“Great.” He smiles against your mouth, giving another squeeze of your waist. “Cos you don’t need to be.” He kisses your mouth again, seven. “All you need to be is enjoying yourself, okay? 

You like the sound of that— adore the way he’s so seamlessly finds the thing that sets your nerves alight and soothes it so easily. You whisper back, “Okay,” and gift him your eighth kiss, sweet and fierce. 

[soda-pop-kandy-krush]

gerard way + rosy ronkey // nadja + doll nadja