If Your Husband Actually Signs The Divorce Papers You Gave Him You Might Just Need To Start An Apocalypse

sometimes babygirl is an almost 48 year old chilean actor

That’s his dad!!

who knew there’s room service on the astral plane?

i went to a tiny counterserve diner once and accidentally poured sugar instead of salt all over my hashbrowns and was eating them sadly anyways. the waitress took them away and started making me another one and I tried to protest, but she just snorted and said "we're not catholic here". now every time i'm doing something painful out of obligation i think about how that is not repenting, this body is not a catholic establishment, there is no nobility in suffering.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt a stronger urge to motorboat an old man😽

pussy inspection with old man logan.. and he’s wearing his reading glasses.. omfg

cw: smut (nsfw), implied age gap

it’s late in the evening. a small bedside lamp illuminates the faint rose blush on your cheeks caused by the scene in front of you. it’s logan. he’s right between your legs, the hairs on his beard tickling your inner thigh, his face so close to your bare pussy, you can feel his quiet breathing on your skin. he’s wearing his glasses, of course he is. 

with two fingers, he spreads your glistening folds and blows lightly on your clit, the action making you shiver and instinctively try to shut your legs. but he pries them open again, his whole frame now between your thighs. you’re forced to face him, you just can’t look away. this feeling of being splayed out for him like a meal, vulnerable and nude, is erotically nauseating, addicting.

“you’ve been a good girl, right?” logan asks, slicing the tension in the air. you swallow and nod with a quiet “mhm”, not trusting your voice to speak.

in response, he places a soft kiss on your clit, the action eliciting something wild in you, a feeling of obedience, an all-consuming thought that this is what you were made for. to please him and get rewarded.

the cool wind blows through the open windows, making the curtains sway lightly and goosebumps erupt on your legs. logan lifts his gaze, looking up at you through his glasses which were resting carefully on the bridge of his nose. he gently runs a reassuring hand up and down your thigh.

“let me warm you up, baby.” he speaks softly.

and you oblige, you give yourself to him. perhaps the unconventional dynamic of your relationship was unnerving, a little too much for such a young thing like you. but that’s exactly what he was here for - to help you. so he rushes to your aid, releasing all of your pent up tension for you. you mold like putty in his hands, his beard covered in your juices, your limbs limp by the end of the night, the only time you speak being when you come undone on his tongue, whispering his name like a prayer.

i was so scared for him