Its My Birthday I Can No Longer Say Im A Teenager
it’s my birthday 😛 i can no longer say i’m a teenager
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uh oh, suddenly my legs are spread and my pants are gone???? he’s so fucking hot im so sick over these id climb him like a tree if i could
WTH WTH WTH
HIS NEW SELFIE IM LITERALLY GOING TO COMBUST??????? ONE CHANCE PLEASE ITS ALL IM ASKING DINNER WILL BE COOKED BREAKFAST WILL BE SERVED THE HOUSE WILL BE CLEANED YOUR CLOTHES WILL BE IRONED PLSSSS OH MYGODDD
logan howlett’s got a lot on his plate. he often comes home silently, dropping himself on the bed with the full weight of his day and his burdens and his goddamn life— and like a prayer answered by the gods, you settle yourself on top of him: brows furrowed, worried eyes searching his, careful fingers hurrying to brush the fallen pieces of hair framing his face. his body aches, aches for you, and so he can only feel relief when you lower yourself, as if he’s trained you to— like it was routine, to mouth over his neck, down his chest. he'll feel you up like it's his god given right, squeezing and bruising all his favorite parts of you, from the back of your thighs, over your ass, your hips, waist, breasts.
you have the time of your life, when he's like this. he'll let you do anything if he's tired enough. just as long as his sweet girl is loving on him. lets you spread him out, thick arms stretching deliciously so you can kiss on his biceps and up his forearms, right to his wrists and fingertips until you're suckling them atop of him. he loves the view, his hands in your mouth and your body on display for him. you make such a show for him. teeth grazing his chest, tongue poking out to feel the ridges of his abdomen, tracing the veins down and down and further down where it gets sensitive. that vein he's got that sticks out like it needs to be seen, the sharp edges of his pelvis you love to dig your nails into— it gets him so damn drunk on you all he can do is sigh words of praise and caress the top of your hair incessantly, like you're driving him crazy. he needs something to ground himself, remind himself he's real, he's here, with you, and he can let go.
he'll let you do just about anything when you treat him like this, and you feel the same. you're aching for him to touch you like you are him, but it doesn't matter to you now. the only thing that matters, is the way his soft hold on your head turns into a grip, the way he thrusts himself up into your throat without remorse, bottoming himself out on your lips over and over and over again. the way your name falls so delicately from his mouth each time like a prayer. you'd do it all over again if he asked you to, just to hear the gentle sounds of your lover once more.
