Apple Of His Eye

Apple of His Eye

Biker!Logan x Baker!Reader, please let me know if you like it and would want more parts!

Logan walked into the small bakery with his usual scowl, the early morning sun barely peeking over the horizon. The door jingled as he entered, the sound of it out of place in the quiet street. He didn’t bother to glance around; he knew the place by heart now. Instead, he made a beeline for the counter, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor.

He had been coming here every morning for months, always ordering the same thing—a steaming cup of black coffee and a slice of apple pie. It was a ritual, a brief moment of calm before he had to face the world outside again. The bakery was a stark contrast to his life—cozy, warm, and filled with the smell of fresh pastries.

And then there was you.

You were a vision in pastels and florals, the complete opposite of Logan in your soft colors and ever-present smile. While he wore his usual leather jacket and flannel, looking like he had just stepped out of a bar fight, you floated around the bakery in your light dresses, a ray of sunshine amidst the early morning gloom.

He had never expected to find comfort in such a place—or in such a person—but here he was, morning after morning. The thought of you, standing behind the counter with a smile, had become one of the few things he looked forward to.

“Good morning, Logan,” you greeted him with that bright smile of yours as he approached the counter. But something about your tone was different today—almost apologetic.

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he grunted in response, glancing at the display case. His usual slice of apple pie was conspicuously absent.

You noticed his gaze and bit your lip. “About the pie…I’m so sorry, Logan, but I had to stop making the apple pie you love. There just wasn’t enough demand, and I had to make room for other things.”

His frown deepened, disappointment flashing in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but you could tell he was more than a little let down. It wasn’t just the pie—though he did love it—but the whole routine. It was something steady in his otherwise chaotic life, and now that was gone too.

“I figured you’d be upset,” you continued, a hint of nervousness in your voice. “So…I did something. It’s a little silly, but…” You ducked behind the counter and emerged with a small, white box tied with a ribbon. “I made this for you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, taking the box from your hands. The weight of it, the warmth that radiated through the cardboard, was unmistakable. He opened it slowly, his usually rough hands surprisingly gentle as he revealed the contents.

Inside was a whole apple pie, golden and steaming as if it had just come out of the oven.

“It’s just for you,” you said quickly, almost shyly. “I’ll make one every morning if you want, and keep it here until you come in. It’s the least I can do after all the time you’ve spent coming here.”

Logan stared at the pie, then back at you, his usual scowl softening into something that looked almost like a smile—at least as close as Logan ever got to one. He nodded, a simple gesture that held more gratitude than he could put into words.

“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice gruff but sincere. He closed the box and set it aside, watching as you poured his coffee, the usual slice replaced by a whole pie that he knew would last him the day.

Just as you handed him his coffee, the bell above the door jingled again, and a group of men strolled in. Logan’s “brothers,” part of the biker gang he rode with. They were loud, rough around the edges, and completely out of place in your quaint little bakery.

“Morning, Logan!” one of them called out with a smirk, glancing at the box on the counter. “What’s that? Finally decided to sweeten up?”

Another laughed, nudging his friend. “Looks like Logan’s got himself a soft spot for the baker.”

Logan glared at them, his jaw clenching. “Shut it.”

But they were relentless, teasing him in the way that only old friends could. They pointed out the stark contrast between the two of you—Logan with his gruff demeanor and biker leathers, and you in your soft, floral dress, looking like you had stepped out of a fairy tale.

“Well, can’t say we blame him,” one of them chuckled, giving you an appreciative nod. “You’ve got good taste, Logan.”

Logan’s patience was wearing thin, but he knew better than to let their teasing get to him. He grabbed his coffee and the pie, shooting you a glance that was almost apologetic before turning back to his friends.

“Get your coffee and get out,” he growled at them. “Some of us have places to be.”

They laughed again, but they didn’t push it any further. They all ordered something quickly, and as they waited, you couldn’t help but notice the way Logan stayed close to the counter, his back to his friends as if shielding you from their teasing.

Finally, they were ready to leave, but not before one of them clapped Logan on the back, saying loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t let her get away, old man. You might not find another who bakes you a whole pie every day.”

Logan rolled his eyes, muttering a string of curses under his breath, but there was a hint of color in his cheeks as he grabbed the pie box and headed for the door.

Before he left, though, he paused. For a moment, he looked back at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a rough sort of tenderness, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the ovens. “I’ll have your pie ready.”

Logan nodded, his lips twitching into that almost-smile again before he turned and walked out, the door jingling behind him.

As he mounted his bike and started it up, the teasing continued, but Logan ignored them. His thoughts were back in the bakery, with the soft colors and the smell of sugar and cinnamon. It wasn’t just the pie that kept him coming back every morning—it was you.

And as he rode off with the pie in tow, he couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—the softness of your world was exactly what he needed to balance out the rough edges of his own.

Hey, so I noticed that you were asking for requests, and I was wondering what your stance is with Dad!Din parenting a teen reader? It’s just that I have so many ideas based around the concept compared to just a regular Din/Reader, so I just wanted to ask if you’re ok with writing that type of thing, for any character really, not just Din.

Ad’ika

pairing: the mandalorian x teen reader (platonic!!!)

wc: 4.8K

warnings: mild violence, cursing, adult language/humor

a/n: at the end!!

-

Being an orphan deprived of maternal affection is a common thing to come across in this galaxy.

Most of us are left witnessing our parents demise at the hands of their owners. Yes, owners.

On the planet Kessel, adults are worked tirelessly into the ground and when they didn’t comply with the rules or too exhausted to do so— they’re killed. Simple as that.

Some are lucky enough to be born into wealth; to live the lavish lifestyle of not having to be a slave to another species.

You’re honestly not even sure why your parents decided to pro-create.

Who would want their child to experience the same thing? Probably an accident—Didn’t pull out in time.

Once you found out your parents had disappeared, you weren’t surprised. They were always disobeying orders and were caught up in some shady shit with some nasty people.

You ran and kept running because you knew those fuckers were coming for you next. Why would they want a useless kid? Who knows, but you knew your ass would be grass if you didn’t.

So you snuck onto a freighting ship and left your old life behind. Everything. All you had was your worn backpack, an old dusty picture of your family and a barely filled water canteen.

You conceal yourself behind a large package, next to a small port-hole like window as you look down to watch the planet below you grow smaller. The ship accelerates into hyper-speed and your vision of the only home you’ve known is gone.

Slowly, your eyelids grow heavy and your body goes limp from exhaustion. A quick nap won’t hurt right?

It seems as if only a few minutes went by... The ship trembles as it lands on a rocky planet, shaking you awake. By the squeaks of the foreign language the pilots are speaking, the planet is named Nevarro. You’ve picked up a few languages living on Kessel.

When the ships ramp finally settles into the ground, your eyes dart around the empty dirt field. It’s now or never.

You bolt for the exit, your legs picking up speed as the protests of the alien pilots yell after you.

After solely surviving on adrenaline, you make it to a little town as the big-headed blue skinned things chase you through a gigantic archway. You weave and bob through the crowd, gasps leave the people’s mouths as they scatter out of your path. “Sorry!” You yelp out as you shoot by.

As you glance behind you to attempt to find the pursuers in the crowd, your legs continue moving yourself forward. “Aha! Bye!” You wave your fingers tauntingly.

Just as you whip your head back around to look forward, all you see is metallic silver and then the sky.

Ouch.

You groan as you rub your head, the instant thumping tells you that you must have a concussion.

“What did I just hit?” You grumble groggily.

The crowd disperses from the area slowly, whispering and continuing with their day as if this is a normal reoccurrence. 

The pilots finally catch up to you, screaming obscenities with their blasters flailing in their hands dramatically.

“Calm down.” A modulated voice rasps out in their language.

Either you’re really hurt and your brain is bleeding or the person talking has a really weird voice.

You blink as your vision clears, the silver blob focusing into view. What the fuck is that?

Your feet scramble to push yourself away from the... robot person thing? The holes in your boots fill up with the dirt your pushing around in attempt to flee. You advance backward too far and you’re now too close to the aliens who want to kill you. Fuck!

Their oddly long slender fingers grip your forearms to pull you to your feet, “Get off of me, you assholes!” You scream as you attempt to shake them off but their grip is too tight.

“You don’t have to hurt the kid... I understand, I understand... I’ll take care of it... How much?” He hisses out in their language.

You’re finally able to stare at the towering thing who is attempting to reason your actions. The black visor turns toward you now, knowing the thing underneath must be glaring at you.

The aliens loud voices slowly die down, the grip loosens on your skin which makes you yank yourself away from them. You scoff and brush off your shoulder as if they were the ones who were dirty.

The silver man takes a step toward you, making you squeak and tense up. Instead, he slides past you and slips a few credits into their slimy hands.

That’s when you notice the oddest thing of all. A small fuzzy green child peeks out from the sack hanging on the side of the man. A rare smiles breaks through your dusty face when a tiny hand reaches out for you. Just as you reach out, the tin man interrupts

“Come on.” He speaks regularly now, his gloved hand grips your arm to pull you forward.

“Why does everyone manhandle me as if I’m some sort of child?” You scoff obnoxiously and roll your eyes.

“You are.” He says simply which makes your upper lip curl in annoyance.

“I’m sixteen.” You bite back, “A teen-nay-ger.” You sound out the word as if the man was too stupid to understand.

He doesn’t respond.

“Is that Beskar you’re wearing?” You mumble into the awkward silence, staring at your dirty reflection in the surface.

“Yes.”

You grumble under your breath as you look over him once more. The built in weaponry, the shining armor, the jet pack...

Then the ship. It all clicks into place.

The tin-man presses something on his forearm, causing a ramp to lower itself from the side and settle into the ground with a swoosh. He guides you up the surface, his grip still tight on your upper arm.

“You’re a Mandalorian!” You gasp in awe.

“That took you long enough to figure out.” He almost let’s out a chuckle.

“And now you’re kidnapping me? Great.” You cross your arms as you look at the inside of the ship. Messy, yet somehow organized.

“Not kidnapping— Saving. You could’ve gotten yourself killed back there. I saved your ass.” He busies himself with the little toddler, tucking the sleeping thing into a compartment then closing it. His feet slide over to a work station, busying himself with unloading his weapons.

“What is that thing?” You swiftly change the subject.

“Not sure. All I know is that I have to protect him and keep him safe.”

You hum sarcastically in response with a little eye roll. It’s almost as if he has eyes on the back of his head.

His motions still as his helmet turns to the side to stare at you. “Stop that.” He grumbles about your attitude then continues with what he’s doing. “Whatever.” You huff.

Since the Mandalorian is busy, you take the free time to look around. Infinite weaponry and ammo, then you click a button and revolving carbonite blocks appear from inside the wall. “Frozen people in walls? Cool.” You chuckle as you walk around more.

You pick up some knick-knacks, examining the other-worldly objects. “Stop touching everything.”

He mumbles incoherently under his breath, which sounds like static coming from his helmet as he moves to climb up the ladder. Most likely to the cockpit.

So you follow, of course. The windows expand across the front, the engines growl and whirl as he clicks bright buttons on the dash.

“Where are you taking me?” Your voice croaks out as the ship rises into the air.

“Back to Kessel. I’m not getting chased by whoever you’re fleeing from. You need to deal with your own problems.”

The statement sends a chill through your whole body, “But— no. You can’t. I’ll die. I’ll be killed. Come on, just like you said, I’m just a kid...” Your hands grip the back of his seat to steady yourself as the ship rises into the air.

“Sit down.” The ship levels so you could safely move to a seat.

You can feel the emotions overcome you, unable to hold them back as you buckle yourself in.

“I’d rather be thrown out of an airlock then go back there.” You mumble to yourself.

A soft raspy laugh leaves the helmet.

“Really? An airlock? Who is chasing you anyway?”

You sniffle as you wipe your tears and runny nose on your sleeve.

“I don’t know. My parents... They were caught up in some sketchy shit, they were killed... or they went missing, I’m not even sure, but I was left alone to fend for myself. I escaped before... whoever got them came looking for me.”

The Mandalorian lets out a pitiful sigh, “Look... I don’t have any room for you. No bed, no clothes. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

He clicks a few buttons to let the ship hover between outer space and the planets atmosphere below. He turns his seat to stare at the shaking, fearful teenager.

He notices how your arms are wrapped around yourself in a way of comfort, your inflamed nose, watery eyes, and your quivering bottom lip. You remind him of himself as a child.

Just by the image in front of him, he mentally battled himself to made a vow to protect you. Just how the Mandalorians did for him.

He’s unsure how to comfort in this situation, so he swivels back around to steer the ship into space. He clicks a few buttons which causes everything to shake as it shoots forward into blue swirls.

“Wow.” He hears you whisper softly behind him. He couldn’t help but crack a smile under his armor.

Silence radiates through the bridge of the ship. It’s awkward and tense.

You think you’re going to be dropped off on Kessel to encounter the impending doom of your death, to be worked until exhaustion catches up to you.

The Mandalorian finally breaks the silence as he stands tall from his seat and down the ladder. You squirm uncomfortably in your own as your eyes dart around the small area.

Once he returns, he’s followed with coos and babbles from the big-eared fuzzy adorable baby. He slides past your seat into his.

“Do you want to hold him?” He breaks the tension as his chair rotates around so he’s facing you again.

A subtle ray of happiness bursts through your chest as you nod and reach for him. The baby also reaches for you as the Mandalorian hands him over to you.

He’s much heavier than you expected. His little green hand comes to rest on your cheek, making your bottom lip begin to quiver even more. It makes an odd noise of approval then settles into your lap.

He makes grabby hands for something. You watch as the Mandalorian unscrews a metal ball from a lever to hand to the kid.

It suddenly flies from his gloved hand into his green ones like an invisible force brought it to him.

The energy in the room buzzes with excitement and goosebumps tickle the surface of your skin. “What was that?” You mumble in astonishment. Your lips part in surprise as you look between the magic child in your lap and the tin-man.

“Not sure. I just know that he’s special. He does that sometimes.” He says nonchalantly through his mask, his shoulders rise and drop as if it was nothing.

The pitch black visor eyes you for a few more moments before turning to direct his attention to the dashboard.

The kid allows you to take the ball and gently toss it into the air so he could let it float down slowly to him. You watch in awe, eyes twinkling with amazement.

You’ve heard of such powers, but you didn’t know if it was just a folktale.

After playing with the metal ball and his powers, he relaxes against your body with the ball secured between his tiny fists.

“I’m not bringing you back to Kessel.” His modulated voice breaks through the silence. His words make your chest swell with hope.

“It’s going to be rough... Staying here. Only for the time being, until I can find you somewhere safer and more comfortable to live.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you as he talks, but it doesn’t even matter. At least you’ll have protection. “Thank you.” You muster up a croak and he responds with a curt nod.

The ship drops out of hyperspace, a spherical giant in view as he closes in on the atmosphere of the new planet.

He lands the ship smoothly in a loading bay, droids clamber around the ship below to work on it. You watch as an older lady with very curly hair waltz into view.

“Stay here.” He orders as he stands to his feet and disappears down the ladder. The child squeaks as he watches his caretaker leave him with you.

You almost wince as you prepare for a tantrum, but it never comes. The baby settles into your lap once again with a tiny yawn.

You couldn’t help but grow suspicious as you stand with the child on your hip to look out the front window. You instantly spot the shiny armor and the woman talking to him. Her arms are obviously expressing her feelings as they flail around her.

Then her eyes dart from him to you, she squints. Then the Mandalorian takes notice of her divided attention. He whips around and stares through his black visor. Even if you can’t see his face, you read his body language that he’s a bit upset.

I guess he didn’t want you to be seen yet.

The lady turns back to him and it seems as if she’s scolding him. His shoulders drop a bit then his hand raises to beckon you to come down.

Excitement rises in your chest as you slowly, and carefully, make your way down the ladder with the child. When your feet hit the metal flooring, you hear footsteps ascend the ramp.

With a gulp and a rise in your anxiety, you turn around to look at him and the lady staring at you. The child makes a noise of happiness when he spots her and she smiles in awe when he reaches for her.

As the lady walks up to grab the child, she smiles at you. “Hi, I’m Peli.” She gently scoops the child from your arms. “He told me a lot about you.” She points her thumb behind her to motion toward him.

“Hi.” You mumble, a bit guarded by her being a stranger. 

Peli moves to walk down the ramp, your eyes go wide as you point at her. “She’s taking him!” You yelp as you go to run after her but his arm juts out to scoop you up.

Your legs kick as you’re lifted from the ground, a grunt falls from your lips. “Let go of me!”

“Stop it. I trust her. You should too. She watches him for me when I’m busy doing other things.” His grip loosens from your waist once your fierce demeanor sizzles out.

You wriggle away from him, annoyance evident on your features as you glare at him. Although, you’re secretly glad he caught you before you got to her.

“Come on. We’re going into town.”

“We?” You squeak with wild eyes as you watch him tread down the ramp.

Not wanting to stay in the ship by yourself, you follow him. Your eyes scan the area for anybody else, but it’s only you, him, the lady, her droids, and the kid.

He leads you up some stairs into a bustling market above the ship stations, “So, what’s your name? Or nickname? What should I call you?” You ramble as you walk side by side with him.

You can’t help but take notice to everyone scurrying out of his path.

“My name...” He mumbles hesitatingly, “My name is Din. You can also call me Mando, I guess. Some people call me that.”

“Din... Mando...” You mumble softly, letting the words roll off your tongue experimentally. “Cool, I like it.”

“What should I call you?” He questions softly, almost as if he isn’t sure you’ll want to tell him, but you do. You reveal your name to him, as well as some nicknames. Even the not-so-nice ones your mother called you when you were in trouble.

Suddenly, the sweetest, most delicious smell wafts by and you can’t help but suddenly search for where it’s coming from. Your stomach lets out an animalistic growl, even making the Mandalorian comment on it.

“Hungry?” He puts a hand between your shoulders to aid in weaving you through the crowd to the food stand. The smell gets stronger once you spot it.

“What do you want? Get anything.” His own helmet moves as he looks over the menu.

“Anything..?” You breathe out in surprise as you look up at him. You’ve never been offered that, not even by your own parents. Din looks down at you and nods.

“I want... That, and that. Also that.” You point to a spiraled fried blue spotted vegetable on a skewer, as well as a sugar coated donut and a fizzy drink.

He hands over a few credits as the vendor slides the food over to you. You mumble a grateful thanks and instantly dig in.

Mando leads you down the alleyway in the market as you eat, you can feel his eyes on you since you’re not really watching where you’re going. Too occupied.

He stops at another stand, this one has clothing. You swallow your food thickly, “Are you seriously buying me clothes too?” You almost cough out from a piece of food getting stuck in your throat.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re a bit dirty. Don’t know if you knew that.”

His words make your cheeks heat up, sending a death glare toward him.

“Obviously.” You huff sassily as you eye the clothing hanging up behind the elderly lady.

You pick out two pairs of pants and a few shirts, “Don’t worry, pick out some more, I’ll be right back.” His hand rests on your shoulder for a moment, his other hand plops a bag into your bag on your back. “That should cover everything.” Then he just disappears away into the crowd. 

You didn’t even get time to respond, you’re left alone, your mouth open with food sitting inside. You realize the old lady grimaces at the view of the chewed food so you swallow it and continue shopping. 

Once you have armfuls of outfits picked out, some new boots, and your food wrappers are strewn around various places of the shop, it’s time to cash out. 

After laying your pile of clothing on the counter, you fish for money in your pack, listening for the jingle of credits. The old lady keeps an eye on you suspiciously, but of course you’re oblivious to her stares. 

She packs everything into two canvas totes and croaks out the price. Your eyes bulge wildly as you search for the correct amount to hand to her. The Mandalorian had given you way more than enough. 

Why is he trusting you with this much money?

After you slide over the amount, you quickly seal up his bag and slide it back into your pack. You shoot her a smile when she hands you the bags, but she doesn’t reciprocate the same positive energy. 

Swiftly, you snatch the bags to hang them on your arms and gather the garbage you left around to throw in the nearby trash can. Where could he have gone? 

Your eyes search the crowd for his infamous beskar armor, hoping you catch the gleam of it in the sea of people. 

You start to grow nervous. He wouldn’t desert you on this planet right? He said he was going to find you a safe place to live. He got you food, clothing, and gave you money...

Your heart drops. He did. He’s left you here to fend for yourself. Suddenly your brain goes into flight or fight mode and cranks with ideas to survive the night. 

The credits he gave you could easily get you comfortable lodging, you could shower and then tomorrow morning you could hop on someone’s ship. 

Tears prick at your eyes. You’re going to miss that fuzzy baby. Anger whirls through your body when you think of the back-stabbing Mandalorian. 

Then you stop in your tracks, sniffing loudly when you realize you’ve been walking away from the shop. You don’t even know where you are right now. 

A few people curse at you to move out of the way of traffic. A hand grips the pack hanging on your back, causing your small frame to stumble backward. You yelp fearfully when you look behind you, seeing a cloaked man attempting to rob you.

No, no, no, no. 

You drop your shopping bags to defend yourself without the heavy clothing weighing you down. You throw a mean right hook, hitting the person right on the jaw. The thump into your knuckles instantly begins, but you choke down the grimace on your face.

“Don’t make this hard on you, kid. Just give me the damn money.” Their hand extends in attempt to grab you again but you swiftly dodge out of their reach. 

Your eyes frantically search the people around who seem to not care you’re getting robbed. “Just leave me alone. You don’t want to do this. My dad is a Mandalorian, he’ll rip you to fucking shreds.” You spit out furiously. 

Dad? Why did you just say he was your father?

The person under the cloak chuckles, showing off their rotten teeth, a switchblade opens at their side. “A Mandalorian? Ha. Well, where is he right now?” 

“He’s right here.” The familiar modulated voice sounds from above you, a smile instantly breaks across your face as Din floats down, his jet-pack whirring with life.

A wire shoots out of his arm, wrapping itself around the thug’s ankles. The jet-pack accelerates upward, bringing the man with him. Now hanging upside down in the air. 

He lets out the most horrified scream as they shoot upward into the sky, the only thing you can make out is the fire flowing from Mando’s back. 

“Get him! Yes!” You cheer as the wire swings him in circles and finally retracts, making the man fly out of your vision in the air. Hopefully to his death. 

Mando slowly makes his way back down to the ground, landing away from you. He picks up your totes full of clothing off the sandy ground, his black visor stares a hole through you as he marches toward you. 

You couldn’t help but feel bad for him hearing you call him dad, you don’t want to put that responsibility on him. Then anger beats through your veins, your hands instinctively push against his chest but he doesn’t budge. 

“You left me! Why did you leave me?! I thought you fucking dropped me off and ditched me! You gave me food, clothing and money. What else was I supposed to think?!” You screeched as you ball your fists at your sides. Realizing soon enough that your outburst was not needed, nor is his silence.

“I’m sorry. Thank you for saving me, but why?” You mumble, your eyes drop to look down at your shoes as you attempt to calm the fire burning in your chest.

“I didn’t think you’d roam around and get into trouble. I went back to the shop and the old lady was gone, the shop was closed. I had a feeling something was wrong.” He took another step toward you, “So I went into the skies and then I found you.” 

The Mandalorian knew deep down that he had some kind of maternal instinct take over him to protect you once he saw you crying in his ship, but when you called him dad he suddenly got emotional under his layers of armor. “I’m... sorry. I won’t let you out of my sight. Ever again.”

His arm rises to rest on your shoulder comfortingly as he watches you break down slowly in front of him again. 

It started with your bottom lip quivering, your arms instinctively wrap around your body in attempt to console yourself. Your shoulders cave forward as a sob wracks through your body. 

Din hesitantly pulls you into his metal chest, unsure on how to comfort but he guesses a hug could help. 

And it did. 

His secure arms that are wrapped around you makes you feel safe, like the tin-man really is the father figure you never truly had. As your tears steam up his beskar chest plate, his hands gently pat your back reassuringly. 

The universe finally felt as if it was on your side. As if everything has clicked perfectly into place and this is where you’re meant to be.

“Let’s go back to the ship, ad’ika. I bet the little one will be excited to see us. You can get cleaned up too.” A soft relieved sigh falls from your lips when he mentions the green baby and a shower. 

Yep, if this is what the universe has planned for you— You won’t complain. 

-

a/n: um i don’t usually write stuff like this, but i had so much fun with this one. y'all know i love romance and angst, but this is so good. i’m proud of myself. hope u liked it!!!

wolverine is absolutely not hip with the kids inspired by this post

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH 🌈💐👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

I love that everyone has agreed that Logan refuses to call her blind al but will call her Althea instead like we all just agreed he is a gentleman

Random Jason Todd headcanons that I think about too much. Heavy on bookworm!Jason cause I love bookworm!Jason.

Calls you his backpack, when he gives you a ride on the back of his bike.

Lets you personalise his spare helmet, and does not care when his siblings/other passangers complain about having to wear whatever you've created with stickers and gemstones, or whatever you're into.

If there are two seats available, he’ll sit in one then put his feet up in the other, or otherwise occupy the second seat so you’re forced to sit in his lap. He doesn’t care how much you weigh; he just wants you as close as possible, wants to feel you against him, put his hands on you.

Even if they’re not his kind of book, he’ll still read and annotate your favourites.

He doesn’t really have guilty pleasures. He’ll happily binge watch 90s chick-flics, or barbie films without shame, if that’s what you’re into.

Buys you pill dispensers for your meds/vitamins/whatevers, and leaves you little reminders to take them along with other things like – ‘don’t forget to eat some protein today x’ or ‘if you’re gonna rot in front of the TV all day, OPEN A WINDOW ♡’

Will respond to your texts with the most out of pocket stuff that knocks you off your feet, some fun, some romantic, often book quotes.

23:58: Jay, when are you coming home. I miss kisses xx 00:04: Soon, you should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how. Xx

02:03: You should be asleep, but in case you’re not, sleep well babe x 06:15: Good morning my heart, my life, my one and only thought x

17:45: What do you want to eat tonight? Xx 17:58: You xx 18:00: You can’t eat me, I’m not a substantial meal! x 18:06: Don’t talk bad about yourself like that xx 18:06: I ate you last night, I would eat you every night if I could xx 18:09: Your choices are pasta or take out x 18:16: 😔 18:18: Fine, you can eat me, but you have to have real food first x 18:18: I’ll pick up thai food on the way xx

Buys you gas station flowers, or candies, or books by your favourite authors, whenever he sees them, wherever he is, just cause they make him think of you.

Likes it when you massage his muscles, when you gently ghost your fingertips over his scars.

Loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp and behind his ears.

When you pull his hair, oh boy. Pull his hair.

You’re hot when you’re angry. Not that he would ever intentionally try to wind you up.

You’re hot when you’re bossy too.

Complains when you steal his t-shirts and hoodies, but if he sees you deciding between one of his jackets and one of your own, and you don’t pick his, he’ll get mad about it.

You're one of very few people he lets wear the brown jacket, because he couldn't say no to you if he tried.