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love when fictional men are so devoted to their partner it makes them dangerous and insane. very slutty behavior keep it up king

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'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that

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I colored him a little bit

And add some more baby

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Mainly because I’m Batman.

that’s a lie i would rather die than lose my kids

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having thoughts about...

getting a place with jason and spoiling him with literature inspired household items. with no hesitation, you pile up your etsy cart with all the cutest candles and posters that contain the references you know he knows. the hit your bank account takes for your nerd is worth the small smile and warm hug he gives you.

as soon as you step inside the living room, the smell of cinnamon and fir hits you, one of the many candles that came with the sample pack you bought him. they all have names that reference the books jason had come to collect on your shelves. the one he seemed to burn to the bottom the quickest was a frankincense and pear with a wooden wick. you remind yourself to buy another once you get your paycheck. you catch him one evening trying to match the candle he wants to light with the book that corresponds, and you can't help but giggle. you eventually have to set some rules: no burning candles for more than two hours in a twenty four hour period. as much as you enjoy him enjoying his scents, and you have your favorites too, you can't deal with the headaches you've started to get with the constant change of strong smells.

for your anniversary, you purchased a big basket of self-care items for him, all literature themed of course. the bath-bombs and scented oils were for his special nights off, where you'd pamper him with a bath whist you read to him from a chair you drug into the bathroom, then give him a well needed massage while discussing what you two thought about the book. you love when he chooses a sparkly bath-bomb his sparkly skin gleaming with the low light of the bathroom lighting. of course, it's called "effervescent," of course.

you pick out an eau de parfume set for him after you finally figure out what scents he likes the most. you love it when you get close and smell a woodsy note or a more clean scent. sometimes he'll rub his pulse point against your neck, seemingly trying to rub his scent on you.

"i'm saving you money if we share the bottle."

"then just spray me with it."

"absolutely not. it's more efficient this way."

lowkey, expect him to start like a candle/scent (faceless) blog or youtube channel just reviewing stuff. and no doubt, he gets into some type of drama because he just has to have strong opinions about what top notes go with a coffee or vanilla base note.

a/n: i'm exposing how much i know about literature by not name dropping any books to put to items, except that twilight reference, iykyk. jason, baby pls. i can change for you. we can discuss deep topics (he tells me what he thinks the main theme is and i agree wholeheartedly without delay. who am i to argue with a bad bitch who's literate?)

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y'all mind... if i put the ice hockey jason agenda here.....

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having thoughts about...

it's only fair that you share your clothes with jason. after all, you get to wear all of his coziest articles of clothing, even when they swallow you whole. who's to say he doesn't like the snug fit of your hoodies and t-shirts on his larger frame?

the main thing that catches your eye is jason's big naturals when he tries to squeeze into your tops. not that you're a tiny person, but the sheer size of this man's boobs will make the fabric of any of your tops scream for help, the seams holding on for dear life with every upper-body movement.

"jace, no! you're gonna stretch it oooout!"

he laughs at your despair and smugly sticks his chest out further. you frown makes it clear you're not happy about it, even with the nice view of his tits. the scene would come off a lot more domestic if jason wasn't making the applique of your favourite video game character almost pop out of the fabric.

you murmur something that his keen ears can't quite make out, as you've turned your head and covered it with a pillow.

"sorry, sweetpea. y'gonna have to take that off your head so i can hear that pretty voice."

the bed dips at his weight applied on the mattress, making you roll over towards him. he lifts the pillow just enough to not muffle your words.

"you're buying me a new shirt if that one rips," you inform him. "forget 'robin'. you shoulda been named 'tit'."

and with that, he pushes the pillow back on your head and lightly shakes it, enough to make you protest and throw it at him.

"don't be so jealous that i'm the tits in the relationship."

"yeah, i think you have enough for the both of us." you look at him, eyes flitting down to where the little face of the character is smiling at you from between his pecs. "not that i'm complaining, i guess."

"i knew you'd come around to the idea."

he stretches his arms out to hug you– well, more like sprawl out on you and then transition to a hug. but the dreaded riiiiiip resounds through the bedroom. jason's body freezes at the sound, knowing exactly where it came from: your shirt.

"so... how many shirts did you want?"

"your big boobs are gonna be the death of me."

a/n: i'm living up to my blog tagline :3 i hope anyone who's read my works can discover how much build up i can fit into a fic just for the bit. also, what nicknames would jason call his partner? i went w "sweetpea" bc i have a fondness towards it. i ask these questions like i'm not deathly afraid of being perceived lol

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jason's talking to you about his death and resurrection, leading to him verbalizing the thought that you two could be fated, destined to be together. soul mates. a red string invisible to you wrapped tightly around both of you, no slack to wriggle out of the pull the string.

you don't wanna tread on him waxing poetic about your relationship. you love hearing every little thought on his mind. especially when he gets a tad bit mushy about it. your tough and dangerous jason wearing his heart on his sleeve only for you to see.

he's no longer speaking, and you take this as your turn to talk. slipping your hands into his, the rough callouses rub against your fingers. every shiny and off-color scar making your heart heavy. you bring his hand to your face and kiss his knuckles. the heat from his hand is different from his usual colder extremities. you lean into the warmth and kiss his palm. as you speak, you can't bring yourself to look at him, knowing you'd probably get emotional if you even met his eyes for a millisecond.

"even if we weren't meant to be together in the beginning, i swear to you, i'd find you. and i'd love you on purpose. just as i'm doing now."

A/N: based on that one quote. idk what it is but if you've been on this webbed-site for too long, iykyk. still probably o.o.c. for jason... i can't fix him, but i can comfort him damn it.

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having thoughts about...

the past few days have had your back screaming out in agony. but that's nothing your man can't fix. with his own aching body, yelling out for some reprieve, trust that jason has his own arsenal of solutions that he's more than willing to try out on you. anything to help his beloved.

of course you can hog the heated pad for tonight. the drizzle that gotham is accustomed to has upgraded to an absolute downpour that has his own bones aching, so he knows how it is.

did his comparatively larger hand feel nice on your lower back? yeah, he can keep it there – in fact, he'll include the other and massage your back in tandem if that will help the pain.

on one particularly crappy day, you can't control the grunts and winces of pain when you twist a certain way your back can't take. it's the worst it's been since it started a few weeks ago. jason can tell.

not like that's saying much– he's attentive to your every emotion: every tired sigh you don't think too much about in the moment, the stink-eye you give the lady at the bodega for cutting in front of you, the sparkle in your eye when he plants a big one on your cheek as he passes by and you pull him right back to return the action three-fold.

you're on your phone when he comes through the front door and stops in his tracks. it's not uncommon for you to be scrolling through a random app's feed but the position you chose to put yourself is: upside down with your legs outstretched, resting on the wall.

"how's the weather down there?" his question holds a different meaning behind it, unlike his normal quips about the height difference between you two.

"it was good 'til it wasn't," you groan, dropping your phone and slithering off the couch head first. your legs are still planted on the seat of the couch, and the new position makes jason's back hurt looking at you.

you make grabby hands at him, which he feels he cannot legally deny in any circumstance. he squats down to reach your hands, squeezing to make sure you had a good grip on him and were ready for the force of him lifting/pulling.

with a grunt, jason snaps up from his semi-squat position and drags you with him. the amount of force he uses with you has been carefully calibrated over the time you've known each other.

a yelp has his heart in his throat. there's no way he hurt you, right?

"you okay?"

he's quick to put you down and check your shoulders and arms for any acute injuries. the last thing he needs is to hurt you. he'd feel too guilty to touch you again in that way if he did, which would make performing his previous maneuver at your behest difficult.

you're silent as he firmly grabs at places that could have been injured. as jason faces your front, he notices your silence is paired with a very out-of-it expression. he never hit your head on anything, did he?

"baby? you okay–"

"my back."

his eyes widen with concern. you're still standing but...

"did i make it worse?" your eyes focus in on him, now taking in the worry evident on his face.

"i... think you might have popped something." your hand reaches for his to reassure him. "something good, i promise. wasn't expecting that to happen, so it scared me silent, i guess."

he let's out a breath and squeezes your hand, relieved that he didn't cause any more pain.

"i need you to do something for me. and don't try to talk me out of it. this is for science."

"science is only when you write stuff down."

you scoff at him.

"stop quoting myth busters at me, you absolute nerd."

"it seems like i'm being summoned somewhere else." he pretends to check his phone, making sure to rip his hand away from you. "yeah, definitely something significantly more important than whatever "science" you're doing."

"fine. i'm sorry. you're not a nerd." your pause makes jason think you're about to tell him your idea. "you're a huge nerd. like, physically and quantitatively."

his dead stare at you has your facade cracking, a sputtered laugh falling from your lips. you grab at his hands with great difficulty, as he swats at you and tries to stuff them in his jeans.

"okay, okay. you're my huge nerd. better?"

you give up on trying to pull his hands from where he's planted them, instead reaching around his neck to pull him closer to you. you know jason can't stop his hands from grabbing your lower back to pull you even closer, making you grin. you rub your nose to his when he's close enough.

"not at all."

"just– help me out, please?"

you hold his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to look at you as you look at him with puppy dog eyes, a small pout on your lips. he rolls his eyes and you know you got him.

"thank you, jaybird!" you plant a kiss on his cheek with a loud, exaggerated smooching noise.

(back during your first month or two with him, you tried to find out how much moisture on your lips would have him wiping away at his cheek or mouth. turns out, there was no way in hell jason was going to do that. wipe off your kiss? that you specifically gave to him? you're outta your damn mind.)

you get jason to help you scoot the coffee table out of the way for a more spacious floor to work with. you guide him into the spot you envisioned, closing one eye and telling him "a little more to the left".

"okay. i'm gonna cartwheel in front of you." you point at him. "you're gonna catch my legs."

as the son and protege of a detective, the cogs in his head are turning with the instructions you've given him. he never was the fastest at deducing motives or criminal reasoning when he first started, but now he's pretty good with the experience under his belt.

you move quicker than the detective his mind, swinging a leg up and then the other in front of him.

"now pull me up by my legs!" you shout, not currently being able to register how loud you are when the blood is rushing to your head and you're nowhere close to jason's ears that are more than six feet away from your head. "not fast! just enough to stretch me out!"

he's not for sure on whether this will help your back at all, more just going along for the ride at this point. but like the caring boyfriend he is, he grasps both of you legs with his arms and slowly moves you enough so that you're dangling from his hold.

a loud 'pop' sounds out from your spine, causing you to yelp in surprise.

"i'm okay! that was a good pop!" you learned from your last pop to tell him if it hurt. "i think that's all i'm gonna get out of it today. please put me down!"

jason maneuvers you gently to the ground and your feet away from him. your face is flushed from being upside down and you stumble into his chest, both his arms coming to grab you before you fell.

"i'd offer you the same treatment, but..." you wrap your arms around him and can just only get your hands together in an s-grip. "you're too big a nerd."

with a groan, he effortlessly hoists you up underneath your armpits and throws you before catching you. not wanting to risk a fall, you wrap your arms and legs around him quickly. if you had claws, he's sure you'd be stuck on his shirt. not that he'd mind.

"remind me why i let you bully me."

"because... i'll let you lay on me and rub your shoulders and back like you want?"

"you're lucky you know me so well."

and with that, he traps you under the lumpy couch that you swore you'd replace like a few months ago. true to your word, you take your time massaging his tense shoulders and rubbing and scratching his back to let him feel some relief. besides–

"you're my big nerd."

A/N: didn't think this would be so long, but i always like to stretch a bit for waaaay longer than it should. i'm a new jason todd stan as of like, a month ago. so jason might be o.o.c. but i wanted to get this to the masses asap

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must... get out scenarios... plaguing my head...

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play fighting is so fucking hot, oh no I got pinned down by you on the bed we better not fuck or anything that would be crazy

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so what if I sucked his dick. his knuckles were split and bloody from defending my safety and my honour what else was I supposed to do

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jason headbutts you- not aggressively, but like a cat who’s requesting affection. youll just be laying in bed with him and he just bumps his head against yours.

“yeah, baby?” you hum, smiling at your dork of a boyfriend. “don’t make me say it.” he mutters against your cheek. “c’mon big guy, use your words.” jason rolls his eyes and pulls you close to him, kissing your nose. “can you play with my hair, please?” you tap your chin in mock thought, and he pokes your side. of course you give in, look at him. his eyes flutter shut when your hands finally comb through his hair, head resting against your chest. “can y’just read my mind next time?”

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"pathetic" is almost the hottest thing a man can be, second only to "in pain"

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Kitty

Fandom: Marvel; X-Men Pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine / Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: M Tags: Suggestive, Logan's cat ear hair, Teasing

Synopsis: Sleep-addled and maybe a little horny, you ask Logan if he does his hair like that on purpose.

A/N: Fun fact about this one - you could replace reader with Deadpool and the fic would probably be the exact same (but probably with more stabbing). Enjoy! Also I almost titled it Kittyuuuuuhhhh but decided against it LMAO. Is this good? No. But I needed to expel it like some kind of demon. Anyway-

You made a soft pleased noise, arching your back as you stretched as far as you could under the thin sheet of your shared bed. Muscled warmed, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, blinking blearily against the morning light that filtered in through the curtains.

You smiled - sleepy and sweet - as you propped yourself on your elbows to see the figure sat at the foot of your bed. Logan was already awake and halfway dressed, jeans hugging his hips as he leaned over to tug on his boots. Meanwhile, here you were - still in the oversized T-shirt you used as pajamas, your hair messy from sleep.

On that thought, your eyes drifted from where they had been admiring the taunt planes of his back, to Logan's own styled hair. He'd already brushed it, those little tufts that curled into what looked like tiny devil horns neatly defined in the soft morning light.

You frowned. Hmm, no, devil horns wasn't quite right. Not really.

You sat up, a hazy plan dancing through your mind as you crawled your way to the end of the bed. Logan glanced back at you - your heart flipped at the soft smile he offered you, making no effort to shy away from your touch.

"Hey, you don't have to get up because of me," he chided. You didn't listen - instead, you draped your arms around his warm shoulders, leaned in to pepper little kisses along his jaw, even if his beard caught most of them. You didn't mind how it tickled.

"But you're wearing my favorite outfit," you insisted, doing your best not to chuckle. You did like him in worn out jeans and no shirt. It looked good on him. Everything looked good on the man, though.

"I'm wearing half an outfit," he replied, turning just enough so that he could press a proper kiss to your lips. You sighed, pillowing your head on his shoulder as his lips met yours - lazy, gentle. Those weren't words you'd use to describe his kisses at any other time of day, really. This was special.

"I know," you replied, offering him a silly smile as you leaned against his shoulder, arm around his chest preventing him from dressing any further. He didn't seem to mind, though, as your free hand carefully carded your way through his hair - making sure not to displace any of his hard work.

"But something I don't know..." you continued, twirling a finger around the tip of one of the tufts. "Is why your hair ends up like this. Do you do it on purpose?"

"Do I do what on purpose?" he asked. It was laced with a chuckle, like he thought this was one of your half-awake musings. And, perhaps it was, in a way. You were, technically half-awake. But you weren't making things up. It was a real question that had crossed your mind on several separate occasions.

"You know-" you insisted, releasing that little bit of hair from your grasp. "The kitty ears."

"The what?"

He laughed it, pulled away from you if only to make sure you caught a glance of his expression - a mixture of shock and amusement that telegraphed to you that he still wasn't taking you seriously.

You rolled your eyes at him, removing your hand from around his shoulders to scratch along his scalp, up to that little tuft of curled hair. He closed his eyes, made a low rumbling noise in his throat that only seemed to further the illusion that he was really just some big cat in disguise.

"The kitty ears," you insisted, "do you or do you not purposefully style your hair so you have these little kitty ear things?"

You sat up on your knees, reaching both your hands up to curl in the tufts - tugging them just hard enough to make his eyes flutter open as he looked up at you.

"Cat ears," he deadpanned, doubt lacing his words. "You think my hair looks like cat ears."

"Kitty ears," you clarified, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "And you didn't answer my question, which means you absolutely do it on purpose."

"No-" Logan started, tone exasperated. But, unfortunately for him, he was already in too deep.

"Nope, sorry-" you laughed, sitting down behind him to wrap your arms around his bare chest, brushing through the downy hair there. "You're my little kitty now."

"Jesus Christ-" he groaned, rolling his eyes as you kissed his cheek. You made to kiss the corner of his lips next, but he turned his head ever so slightly, trying his best to quell the smile that was spreading. He'd just wanted you to pay attention as he insisted:

"I'm not a fucking cat."

"Why not?" you teased, kissing just under his ear with a little smile. "You've got the ears..."

You snaked a hand up to card through his hair again - making sure to rake your blunt nails along his scalp like you knew he loved. And, despite his dismissive tone, you caught his eyes fluttering closed, his lips parting ever so slightly.

"The claws..." you teased, punctuating each word with a new open-mouthed kiss to his neck - the last dotted with a touch of teeth that issued a sweet rumble from low in his throat.

"The fur-" your free hand slid down his chest - down the dips and curves of his defined abs, to tangle in the thicker hair that disappeared below the waistline of his jeans.

"And, I know how to make you purr," you chuckled, fingers dancing at the edge of his belt as your other hand weaved through one of those silly little kitty ears.

Logan wasn't immune to the way you touched him - when he laughed at your ridiculous comments, it was a bit breathless, even if he sounded absolutely exhausted with your antics.

"I have to get dressed," he insisted, his hand drawing over your own where you'd just started to wiggle your fingers under the tight denim. "And you're being ridiculous."

"Hmm," you hummed, nipping at the junction of his neck and shoulder. The muscles there jumped, tensed, then relaxed - and where he'd been grasping at your hand, your fingers briefly intertwined.

"If I remember correctly..." you pondered, nuzzling against his neck. "Kitties don't wear clothes."

"Oh, come on-" he groaned, laughing as he leaned back against your chest, his head pillowed on your shoulder. You grinned down at him. "How long are you gonna keep this shit up?"

"Until you're sick of it," you promised, kissing the corner of his mouth. He rolled his eyes. "Or, you take your pants off."

"We both know you'll keep saying it even if I take my pants off," he countered, his hold on your hand the only thing preventing you from inching your way into his pants.

"Touché. But -" you bargained. "I'd be distracted."

He laughed, loud and full, and your smile grew even more. That - that's what you really liked. When you could finally get some honest joy out of him. He looked so pretty when he smiled like that, even if it was brief. His hand squeezed over yours - soft, possessive, loving. That made your heart flutter even more than the thought of getting him undressed.

But he was right - you were never going to let him live this down.