manicandobsessive

[manicandobsessive]

LOL YES i 100% agree

i feel like doll maybeeee idk pet names are a rarity for him for sure

clark kent thoughts!!! bc i am so obsessed rn

i’m just wondering what kinda pet names you think he would give his S/O

me personally i think he’s a ‘baby’ type of guy and maybe even darling or sweetheart

but like he’s DEF not the person to just throw pet names out

same bestie i literally cannot stop thinking about him but tbh i’m not mad about it lol

oooh for pet names i def think he’d use honey (along with the others u mentioned)!!!

[manicandobsessive]

FUCK YESS MY GIRL

the logan to clark kent pipeline is so real

— bring me sunshine

clark kent x f!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: good things come in threes, smut with feelings, first time together, oral sex, multiple orgasms, reader mentions being on bc, bit of a size kink, PiV

a/n: in love with the thought of his clark kent-ing slipping because he’s so overcome 💕

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee. Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi.

Three days since your first date at Mo’s Cafe. Three hours since the third - conversations and texts spanning the time between.

And three minutes since you came against his tongue.

It’s been three months since Clark Kent first stepped into Jitters Coffee.

Standing a head taller than your regulars. Impossible to miss, and his smile quickly became a fixture in your daydreams.

Three weeks since you memorized his order - medium mocha, whipped cream, chocolate curls - and plucked up the courage to say hi.

Unable to help grinning at the way he leaned over the counter to shake your hand. Old school and sweet, and it stuck with you as much as he did.

Three days since your first date at Mo’s Cafe.

Your number inked carefully on the cup - he had called the second he saw it. Turning when he heard your voice answer, those blue eyes finding yours from across the street as he lingered outside the Daily Planet.

Smiles and salty fries dipped in milkshakes - long conversations lasting after close, Clark’s hands shoved deep in his pockets as he walked you home.

Three hours since the third - phone calls and snuck-in lunch breaks spanning the hours in-between.

Anticipation hummed beneath your skin this morning, as he turned and waved after grabbing his coffee. Heat pooling low, with lingering looks and fingers that brush, entwine, squeeze.

You’ve thought about it long before it happens.

The eager press of his mouth against yours. Already a hint of familiarity, in his touch and the way he gripped your waist. The warm curl of his cologne around you, and the way you parted so easily for him when he deepened the kiss.

His bulk blocking you from the street, feet following when your fingers finally twisted around his tie and tugged.

And three minutes since you came against his tongue.

That had been a surprise.

You hadn’t known what to expect from this corn-fed, Kansas man. Pretty eyes framed beneath dark curls. A kind mouth that smiles too easily.

Flushing at your own sweet words. Two fingers pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as his head ducked.

The kind of man you could open up to, when you were ready.

Not ready to pick at that knotted web that had lead you to Metropolis from Gotham. The job at Wayne Enterprises that you’re not even sure how to begin to put on your resume - but you think that if anyone would listen, you’d want it to be him.

So sure that you’d be corrupting him.

But there had been an assurance in the way his mouth met yours, as the front door shut behind you. The careful way he lead you through your house, as if he didn’t need the hushed directions murmured out against his lips. As if he already knew where to go.

Your clothes carefully peeled off - reverently, left folded on your bedside table.

“I don’t do this often.” He had confessed, in between kisses.

Between the flit of his tongue against yours. Lips pressed against your cheek, then your jaw. Hungry and unhurried.

Eyes shadowed by curls, when his mouth dragged against your collarbone. Too big for your mattress, having to fold himself to fit.

“Take girls to bed?” Your brow raised, amused -and his eyes had dropped.

“No.” His head shook, a huff. “Yes. Not just that-. Date, I guess.”

The words had sent a spark alighting in your chest. Radiating, filling up the cavern behind your ribs, tracing down your veins until it pulsed between your thighs.

“Too busy writing about what everyone else is doing?” Your lips tugged up at the corners. Fingers loosened his tie, traced along the buttons.

“Something like that.” Another look, before he added, “I just want you to know that I-“

It hung - open ended - but you were ready to fill this, if nothing else.

The first three button tugged free, and your hand pressed against his heart, “I like you too, Clark.”

Something in him loosened. A sigh and a soft smile. Glasses left folded on top of your sweater, as he inched down - your thighs parted around him.

Struck by how blue his eyes were, when they flicked up to meet yours. You don’t know how you missed it the depth of them - a cloudless sky on a bright, summer day - as often as you looked.

But there’s something different about them.

About him, about the mouth that pressed against your hip. Against the elastic band of your underwear, then the damp spot against the silk.

About the deep groan - pitched low - when you arched into him. Breathless as his fingers hooked your underwear to the side. A murmured-out string of small-town interjection, as his thumb slid against slick skin.

As if you were truly seeing him for the first time.

There’s another murmur of his name - more instant - before he’d given in. Head ducking, letting his tongue flatten against your clit.

Groaning at your taste. Something tentative in his movements, until he caught the hitch in your breath, the way your hips moved to meet him.

A hand fitting against the curve of your ass, palm splaying wide, as it tipped you up to meet him. Slipping beneath later, until he could tease the tip of his middle finger between your thighs.

Pleas had tumbled from your lips. Your hand found his free one - flattened against your belly. Dragging it up to the swell of your tits, letting him cup you.

Your own had wound in his hair. Pushing back the thick curls as those eyes fluttered shut. A single one breaking free, dipping across his forehead as he slowly worked you open.

And as the pleasure swelled, your mind flicked back to before. Wondering how he could have you this close this quickly. If he was just a quick learner. Or if there was something more between you - if he felt that connection, too.

The thought left just as quickly. Too much - not enough room left for wondering as the orgasm crested inside. And then, breaking - crashing over you.

Letting your thighs clamp around his ears, and all he did was groan against you. Breathless and unyielding until you were boneless, legs finally splaying wide as stars burst behind closed eyelids.

And somewhere between then and now - in that timeless stretch of space - he wound up beneath you.

An easy shift as he had stretched out on the mattress - helping you hook a thigh over his hip, palms flattened out on his chest.

And it’s as you come back to yourself- you’re not sure how you missed this, either.

A slight twinge in your hips, as your thighs widen to straddle him. His dress shirt tugged fully open now, exposing a peek of his chest and the tight cling of the white undershirt.

Just how broad he is, beneath the ill-fitting clothes and the curl of his shoulders. Not cut, not exactly. You couldn’t picture him hitting the gym as dawn broke, with how busy he was. Just - solid. Impossibly so, as the muscles flexed beneath your spread-wide palms.

And as your eyes drag down - big.

You want him, and you’re not sure he realizes just how much. How the feel of his fingers, buried deep and crooking - the flick of his tongue and the way he was moaning into you - only made your hunger grow.

Nestled in your pillows, content. Smile loose and tasting of you, when you lean forward to kiss him - his arm quick to loop around, keep you close.

Feeling the sharp exhale against your cheek, when your hand drops to work at the silver belt buckle.

“Don’t have to.” He breathes, chasing your mouth when you lean back, “That, I mean, this is enough.”

But he does nothing to stop you. His hand warm, as it spans the back of your neck. Solid as it curves against your spine - the softest nudge until your forehead is pressing to his.

“You don’t want me to?” You coo - the button popped, zipper dragged down.

“Well-” It cuts off as your hand dips beneath - the groan after pitched low. Your fingers dragging down velvet skin, teasing across a thick vein.

The rest come in a rush, as you finally wrap around and squeeze. Marveling at the way he fills your hand, fingers stretching to meet, and you would swear you felt him throb in your grip.

“I definitely want whatever you want.”

You laugh, and he smiles back.

“I want to ride you.” You admit - something that you might have been shy about saying, if it was anyone else.

But the way he looks at you - has been, that little nod and the way his hips lift so you can free him - it sends a rush of boldness through you.

Enough that your hands reach behind. Loosening the pretty bra that you wore for him, the strap twisted against your shoulder. Lifting enough to peel the slick underwear down your thighs, kick them free.

Those eyes dark - stormy - when you’re pressed flush again. Your own admiring the parts of him you can see - flushed skin, the dark hair that leads down.

Human perfection, if there was such a thing.

“It’s been a while for me, too.” He’s nestled against you - thick and hard and warm, “I’m on birth control. Is this okay, or-?”

A roll of your hips against him - bare, and a sharp breath is inhaled through his nose. His eyes finally pulling away - bright, as they drag over you. Lingering on your abdomen, dropping to where he juts between your thighs.

“Yeah.” Clark husks, “Yeah, baby.”

He’s called you other things. Your name - laughing, exasperated, blushing. A soft ‘hey, sunshine’, in greeting in the weeks that had passed, with the way you grin so bright and so early for him.

But this - baby - how soft and sweet and possessive it sounds-

Something inside you flips.

And you think - you just might be falling.

His thumb brushes against your hip, “That’s good. Uh, great. I mean-”

A self-deprecating huff.

“Yes, please.”

Another hushed laugh, your teeth biting down against your bottom lip as you lift up.

Hovering, then - the head of his cock slick, as it rubs against you. Inhaling a breath, preparing to drop down - to take him - when his eyes make an effort to pull up.

Hands moving before you can process them. Catching around your waist, holding you in place.

“Wait, sunshine.” His fingers pinch, voice strained, “Hold on.”

“Clark.” It comes out short. A shift of your hips as a very human impatience thrums through you both, but it’s fruitless. It’s like pushing against a man of steel, impossibly strong.

“I know,” He breathes, “I know. Just, please-”

You slacken, at that. At the way his lips part, the press of his fingers, denting your skin.

Letting him take over. Achingly slow in the way he lowers you down. Your gasp rattling through your chest at how he sinks inside you for the first time - the slick slide and the pressure as you make room for him.

And then, back up.

Only to repeat, again.

A whine ripping free as you take another inch. Lifted, his cock left shining and glossy and a heartbeat of a minute where you’re so painfully empty - before you’re stretched around him again.

Moving you like a doll. You might have more thoughts about that if your head wasn’t so blissfully blank and so wholly consumed, all at once. Eyes snagging on his - how he hasn’t looked away, hasn’t blinked, once.

Fixed on your face. Every expression flicking across it, even the dip of your eyes when you hadn’t been able to help it. Dropping down, needing to see how he looks, half-nestled inside you.

Every second of pleasure that flits across your face, it is caught and captured. And when he shifts you - angling your hips, sinking deeper - it drags him across a space inside you that feels otherworldly.

Your fingers wrap around his wrists, as you beg him not to stop. That experimental bounce becoming intentional. Focused, until you can feel that tension winding deep inside you. Knees pressing into the bed as you try to move with him, that burn in your thighs melding with the mind-numbing pleasure.

Head tipping back, eyes closing when it becomes too much. When you’re left, muscles stringing tight - his name coming in a rush as you clench down hard around him.

His answer comes - breathless and lost as your world closes in around you.

“Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

It’s so different than the first.

You don’t know if you’ve ever come this quickly or felt this full - his pace slowing as your nails dig into his skin. Panting through the waves of bliss that wash from your spine to your toes.

Clark’s breathed out “That was, oh my gosh-“ would make you laugh, if it didn’t feel like he was taking up the space between your lungs.

If your mind wasn’t fuzzy, clinging to him as you lost your rhythm - depending on him to keep moving you through it.

And it’s this, that finally has his eyes dropping. Lingering on the slow bounce of your breasts. Caught on the soaked, slick shine against his curls and the base of his cock - the tight pulse as your pleasure wanes and the clenching promise to take every drop he gives you.

Letting you take over, now. That control loosening with the way you take him to the hilt, molded around him. Your hands lowering to his chest. Feeling the thundering of his heart, a pace that matches yours.

Letting your hips roll. Letting himself watch, stretched out beneath you and just as enchanted as before.

An encouraging sound when your hands lift to tease your tits. His cock jerking inside you, another bitten back curse when a hand drifts down.

His tongue dragging across his lower lip - a rough, bitten-back groan as you part yourself. Fingers splitting to feel him, dragging through your slick. Circling two fingers against your clit.

“You’re beautiful.” He says it so plainly, so suddenly, that you can’t help but believe him, “Should’ve done this before.”

You smile, “Should have given you my number sooner, huh?”

He can only nod, and it only spurns you on.

The third tears through you, soon after - brought on with the with press of your fingers and the slow rock of your hips. His own palms flat against the mattress soon after your second, the tips digging into the sheets.

Teeth gritted like he’s in pain, the rough exhale of breath each time you shift up on your knees.

Drop back down.

Holding himself back, for just a little longer. Until he could feel you squeeze around his cock a second time.

He doesn’t make it long. That thread of self control fraying, snapping.

“Fuck.” It punches from him like a bullet, unexpected and ragged and harsh through soft lips, “You feel so good, baby. I think I’m gonna-”

His hands shift. Feather-light against your hips, like he can’t help but touch you again. Needing an anchor.

A shake of his head, as if retracting his previous statement - amending it.

“You’re going to make me come.”

Goosebumps prickle across your skin, and it only makes you double your efforts. The pleasure still an echoing memory each time your hips bounce against his, each time he rubs against that spot inside you again.

“Want you to, Clark.” It’s breathless, “Please-”

And it’s only now, on the brink, that he moves. Thrusts that stay shallow, deep and grinding inside you as his jaw tightens. The scrape of nails against your skin, muscles strung tight.

And then your name is on his lips in a soft moan. Tugging you down and flush, taking every inch as Clark spills inside you - your name a drawn-own gasp that lingers in the air, after.

It has your back arching, the fullness. The heavy jerk and throb, the panting breath and the leaded, sex-drunk weight of your limbs. Bringing you down to meet him, as his arms envelope you. Hips rocking together, until he finally goes still.

There’s a prolonged and blissful moment, after.

His head tipped back, with you spread out over him. Face nestled in the curve where neck meet shoulder - lips at his throat, feeling the fluttering thrum of his heartbeat as his fingers trace senseless patterns along your spine.

The warmth of him flooding inside you, leaking out - and it almost feels like you’re weightless. Hovering above the mattress. Frozen in time and space.

But then, it becomes more than just a feeling. The soft drag of your toes against the bedsheets, the bent curve of your legs lengthening.

Your eyes slipping open to see how his shirt pools beneath, gravity pulling the fabric down to the bed below.

“Clark?”

His eyes open, and then - you’re falling.

No more than a short distance - a foot or two at best - but your heart is leaping to your throat, and the sound of his back colliding with the mattress sends a shudder through the room.

A groan, and then the worn particle board is cracking in its frame. The legs beneath the footboard snapping, tilting the bed on its axis for a terrifying second before the headboard follows - sending the bed crashing against your rug.

You’re left staring at him, wide-eyed.

His expression matching your own, and it’s so unexpected and his face is so comical that you can’t help the laugh that’s barked out - your palm slapping over your mouth to muffle the sound.

“Oh no.” He gasps - a hand sheepishly drawing over his face, “Oh golly. I’m so sorry. I-”

The briefest hesitation, but then your mouth is tipping to his. Stealing a kiss - too chaste, after everything - and red blooms across his cheeks.

A small grin, as he finishes.

“I can explain.”

I saw superman this week and oh my god clark was so sweet I couldn’t stand it 💖 thank you so much for reading and I really hope you like this!

[manicandobsessive]

he has no business looking this fine 😭???

[manicandobsessive]

ALSO

can we talk about how he drinks cocoa when he’s upset

i could die

[manicandobsessive]

i LOVE logan that man is my husband but…

clark kent..

i’m infatuated genuinely i can’t stop

[manicandobsessive]

i need him so bad its concerning at this point

[manicandobsessive]

i just saw superman….. i feel the hyper fixation taking over my soul

[manicandobsessive]

OHHHHH I COULD CRYYYYYYYYYYY

full body chills

LOVESICK

clark kent x journalist!reader | note: clark is a lovesick, obsessed puppy in this (just how i like them😛) also, this may be one of my favorite writings ever

clark kent didn’t consider himself a yearner. he wasn’t one of those tragic types who were moon-eyed and love-drunk, penning sonnets in the margins of his notepad. no, he was practical, maybe quiet. a man with responsibilities bigger than himself. but then there was you and suddenly he was bringing two coffees to the office each morning just in case you hadn’t had time. suddenly he was standing every time you entered a room. suddenly he was rearranging his schedule around yours without a second thought, following the sound of your laugh like it was a goddamn north star.

lois called it whipped; jimmy called it pathetic; clark just called it tuesday.

he could hear the click of your shoes from downstairs. he pauses writing mid stroke, eyes zeroed in onto the floor. using his x-ray vision, he saw you tap the elevator door. his chair spun as he sprung out of it. he moved fast—not super-speed fast, not cape-and-crisis fast, but fast enough that jimmy raised a brow from the bullpen and muttered something under his breath about puppy dogs and lost causes. clark ignored him. he straightened his tie (even though it was already straight), swiped the extra coffee off his desk, and positioned himself at your workspace with the same intensity most people reserved for emergency landings. by the time the elevator dinged, he looked casual and effortless. like he hadn’t just rerouted the last five minutes of his life to be exactly where you were about to be.

“hey, clark,” your voice was enough to make him feel lightheaded. he turned his head to meet your gaze and the world shifted under him. you were clad in kitten heels and those pants that accentuated your curves. his jaw fell slack. “is this for me?” you smile, motioning to the coffee in his hand.

he blinked, caught in the orbit of your mouth, your eyes, the way sunlight caught in the strands of your hair. “uh—yeah.” his voice cracked like a teenager’s. he cleared his throat. “yes. i mean, if you want it.”

your smile deepened. “i always want it.” your fingers brush his as you grab the cup. he feels an electric bolt where you touched. “you’re the best.” he swore his knees buckled a little. he didn’t even respond. he just stared at you with that dazed, lovesick look—eyes soft and dreamy, mouth parted and cheeks red. lois, somewhere behind him, let out a very loud jesus christ.

as you put the cup to your lips, it became harder to watch. he swallowed hard, watching your lips wrap around the lid like it was the most important review of his life. you hum in approval, lipstick staining the paper, and clark had to look away before he did something humiliating. like sigh or propose.

“y/n, can i get your opinion on this headline?” lois called from across the office, already spinning her monitor toward where you stood. you turned your head, casual as anything, but clark swore—swore—there was a breeze that hit just right. your hair moved like you were walking off a film set, backlit and glowing, and the smile you tossed over your shoulder nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“of course,” you said. and just before you turned, your eyes caught his again. one last glance. “bye, clark.” two words. simple and completely harmless. yet, they landed like a truck.

“b-bye,” he stammered, too fast, too breathy. “yeah. see you—later. or, uh in five minutes. depending—probably.”

you laughed—you laughed—and kept walking. jimmy snorted so hard he nearly choked on his granola bar. “dude.”

lois didn’t even look up. “we get it, clark.”

he sank back into his chair, cheeks burning, heart thudding out some ridiculous rhythm he was pretty sure wasn’t FDA-approved. but still, he smiled. you’d said goodbye like it meant something and he’d spend the rest of the day pretending it wasn’t the best part of his morning.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04 @kelbrave @bebebambs @leviathan0000 @yolgart @jkmylove97 @blushhbambi @lightreadingty @bewitchedarchive @yelqze

[manicandobsessive]

Superman isn't woke. You're just so evil that you see a man doing acts of kindness and you think it's a targeted political agenda

[manicandobsessive]

ADOREABLE

headcanons for a reader who’s lowk like intimidating to look at but like secretly such a softie and wants love with logan howlett ofc

✧ logan howlett x intimidating-looking!reader headcanons

notes: I hope you like it and that it's what you wanted!! I think I got a little carried away and it ended up being too long, but yea...

First Impressions:

✷ The first time Logan lays eyes on you, he thinks you’re so controlled and have such strong body language that he feels intrigued by your presence. You carry yourself with power—your gaze cuts, your posture screams confidence, and people get out of your way when you walk by. ✷ Logan always notices you the second you walk in a room — not because you’re flashy or loud, but because you’ve got presence. ✷ There’s something about your posture, the way your eyes sweep a space. You’re not scaring anyone — just… untouchable. Regal. Unreadable. You’ve got that look that makes people sit up straighter. ✷ People don’t mess with you. You don’t invite small talk. Even when you say something kind, people take a second to realize you were being kind. ✷ He respects it. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, but you can feel the caution in his stare. That low growl of curiosity. ✷ The students act differently around you. They scatter when you walk through the mansion halls, partly because of your intense presence, partly because of how silent and shadow-like you move. ✷ You don’t smile easily. Not because you’re angry—but because your resting face is unreadable. It makes people nervous. You’re calm. Composed. And undeniably striking. ✷ Logan doesn’t think you’re dangerous—he thinks you're sharp. A little hard to read. Mysterious. And he likes that. ✷ He doesn’t get intimidated often, but something about how effortlessly cool you look? Yeah. It makes him glance twice. ✷ Logan jokes to Scott that he has finally met someone who looks meaner than him. He’s interested.

Logan Sees Through It:

✷ Logan’s been around enough to know the difference between mean and guarded. You don’t glare — you just observe. You don’t sneer — you just don’t waste expressions. That’s not rudeness. That’s discipline. ✷ He catches on pretty quick that the image doesn’t match what’s underneath. ✷ He hears you humming softly while making tea alone. ✷ You pause to hold open a door for students and actually whisper “You’re okay, sweetheart” when one of them trips. ✷ You talk tough, but Logan sees how your eyes soften when someone’s hurting—even if you don’t say much. ✷ The moment that cracks him is the way you talk to animals. A stray cat shows up near the X-Mansion and you crouch down so carefully, calling it with the softest voice. ✷ You think no one’s watching, but Logan sees it all from the window. You scratch the cat’s ears and whisper, “You don’t have to be scared.” He blinks, surprised at how sweet you look.

The Real You:

✷ You overthink everything. Especially love. Especially Logan. ✷ You don’t know how to show softness without feeling exposed. But god, you want to. You crave touch. Quiet. Belonging. ✷ You write letters you never send. You keep things that remind you of good moments. You replay compliments in your head because you’re starving for them, even if you pretend you’re not. ✷ You’re gentle in private. Logan’s the first person who gets to see the way you whisper good mornings like they’re a secret, or how you carefully fold his flannel when you borrow it. ✷ You cry once. It takes everything in you to not apologize for it. Logan’s thumb swipes over your cheek, “Ain’t nothing weak about feelin’ things. Least of all you.” ✷ The first time he calls you “soft,” you stiffen like you’re insulted. Then he leans down and murmurs, “Didn’t say weak, darlin’. Just said soft.” And you melt. ✷ You have a “stoic face” but Logan lives for the tiny shifts—eyebrow quirks, lip twitches, the soft focus in your eyes when you're half-asleep leaning on his shoulder. ✷ You pretend you’re fine after missions. Logan sees right through it. When you’re hurt, he growls, “Stop acting like you don’t need help. I wanna take care of you.”

Your Relationship:

✷ Sunshine/grumpy? Nope. You’re both grumpy. But deep down, you're just as soft, if not softer, than him. ✷ He calls you things like “tough girl,” “heartbreaker"— teasing names that only he’s allowed to use. ✷ Logan never underestimates you, but he never lets you overextend yourself either. "You’re strong. I know. You don’t have to prove that to me, ever." ✷ You two are the kind of couple people are scared to approach but also whisper about—“they’re scary… but have you seen the way they look at each other?” ✷ He calls you intimidating, but never in a mocking way. It's respect. "You walk like you own the room, sweetheart. Can’t blame people for being a little nervous." ✷ He loves that you’re tough-looking. He thinks you look hot as hell when you spar, when you walk through the halls, when you stand behind him with arms crossed like you’ll kill for him. ✷ But his favorite look is when you’re in his shirt, barefoot, blinking sleepily, asking if he wants pancakes. ✷ To everyone else, you two look like a power couple and even more intimidating together: composed, guarded, silent, strong. ✷ But behind closed doors, you're curled up in his lap with your face buried in his chest. He strokes your hair, calls you “soft thing” and “my girl” in that low, raspy voice. ✷ He gets used to you being shy about asking for affection. So he learns to offer it before you have to say anything. ✷ He adores that you only soften for him. That the world sees steel, but he gets all the honey.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

taglist: @cruel-as-sin @logaenhowlett @kvntonq @tinas111 @mcrdvcks (if you want to be added or removed let me know <3)

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INNITTTTTTTTTTTT

𝟐𝟓 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐀𝐠𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞!!!

And X-men Premiered In Theaters!

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BARK BARK BARK

Happy birthday to the first X-Men (2000) ya'll the real ones for giving us live action pookie

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Part 2 for this

Logan kept it up for months. He knew you'd get sick of him eventually, knew you'd want more. He was actually, honestly surprised at how long you lasted.

One night, as he came to you, knocking on your bedroom door and not letting you speak as his mouth overtook yours, you pulled away, furrowing your eyebrows and shaking your head.

“No? No what?” he asks, frowning.

“I don’t want this ‘nymore,” you say quietly, pretty eyes glistening with tears. “I can’t keep loving you, Lo, you only hurt me.”

His heart sinks. He has to admit, part of him hoped you’d never leave. “What’re you sayin’? You done with me just ‘cause I didn’t say I loved you?”

You sniffle, hugging yourself, and Logan realizes that’s exactly what happened.

He scoffs softly, his ego bruised, that hurt turning to anger. “You agreed to only physical,” he reminds you, as if that would convince you to take him back. “You knew what you were getting into, bub.”

You just shake your head again. “I can’t keep doing this, it hurts too much.”

He clenches his jaw. He hates himself for hurting you, for using you, for making you fall in love with him only to break your heart. He wants to yell, punch the walls, grab you by your shoulders and shake you until you see reason. He wants to throw you onto the bed, fuck you just how he knows you like so you realize how much you need him.

Instead, he takes a deep breath. “’kay,” he says quietly, and then he’s walking out of your room.

The days that follow without you convince Logan a hell exists. He’s angry—angrier—all the time. His head hurts. His nerves on edge. If someone so much as glances at him, he wants to murder them. The entirety of the X mansion avoids him; the adults get out of his way without a word, the kids run off with wide eyes and racing hearts. He’s a force of nature this angry, something dark that destroys everything it touches, hurts and breaks all.

Including you.

No amount of alcohol helps. No amount of random women at bars helps. No amount of cigarettes helps. He feels like he’s withering from the inside and nothing can stop it.

He finds himself at your bedroom door, late one night, after hours of standing in front of his mirror, just him and his thoughts. He’s come to terms with it, and he hopes you will too.

He doesn’t knock, just barges in. He finds you sitting on your bed in your pajamas, book in hand, hair down. You look up, frowning at him. “I told you—”

“I know what you said, bub. I heard you fine,” he grumbles, shutting the door after himself. “I heard you fine.”

You get off the bed, cross your arms. “Then why are you here?” You’re pouting, putting on this tough-girl façade, but he can hear your heart racing and your breathing grow quicker. You’re nervous, uneasy. He can smell it.

“Because I’m sorry,” he says quietly, sitting on the edge of your bed. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot.” His hand traces the pattern on your duvet. “I had you and I pushed you away because I thought I could keep my heart shut out.”

He glances up at you. Your eyes study him, deciding whether or not to believe him. You wouldn’t put it past him to lie to you only to fuck you again.

“Baby, I’m a fuckin’ moron. I had it all with you. A gorgeous, sweet, kind girl, and I lost it all ‘cause I was too proud to admit I’m in love too.”

He hears your breathing hitch, your eyes widen. “You’re lying,” you say, but your voice is quiet, lacks the snark it should carry.

He shakes his head. “I’m a dick, but I ain’t lyin’ bout this, bub. I ain’t. I love you too, I was just too stupid to see it before.”

He sees in your eyes the moment your walls crumble, and you’re back in his arms. “You love me?” you whisper, allowing him to tug you closer.

“I love you,” he confirms, pulling you to the bed, lying you down gently.

This time, it’s different. There’s no roughness to his movements, only a tender care that makes your body feel alight with warmth and careful desire.

He eats you out like he’s worshipping you, like he needs you to live. And when he fucks you, he does it slow.

Every roll of his hips has you seeing stars, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly rocks in and out of you. His forehead presses against yours, breaths mixing. He kisses your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, feeling like his body will melt against yours, like his soul and yours are intertwining.

And then, when he comes in you, he keeps his cock in you, hoping to keep his cum in you, hoping you’ll give him a family, hoping you’ll let him stay because he doesn’t deserve to love you, but he’ll damn well try.

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Taglist

@tinawantstobeadoll @whyamistillontumbler @strawberrylore @ronin-111 @paarthurnax59 @mrsfrogandtoad @newwavesylviaplath

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Logan masterlist

[manicandobsessive]

other than the fact that it drains my wallet completely and annoys the shit out of my friends i don’t mind HAHA

just watched superman, pls send me your clark kent recs

[manicandobsessive]

this is bi panic if you ask me (a certified horny bisexual)

EMMA MOOOVEEEEE

[manicandobsessive]

i am so terrified i am going to see superman with my dad and brother tmrw night and the last time we saw a movie together it was deadpool and wolverine and well.. look where we ended up

just watched superman, pls send me your clark kent recs

[manicandobsessive]

the guy on tiktok who does hugh jackman singing impressions is killing me