#Sentinel is a pain in the ass.

[nightblitz606]

Evil lil guy. Took 15 hours because hes that much of an attention wh*re. Messed about with shading too

[redyarns]

caught in the undertow

Chapter: 6/?

Part: 1/5

Rating: E

Relationship(s): Orion Pax/Megatron, Optimus Prime/Megatron, Sentinel Prime/Bumblebee

Summary:

When Megatron, leader of the rebellion, escaped from prison, everybot knew one thing, and one thing only: he stole an innocent with him.

---

"I'm not a sheep, how dare you!" Orion hissed, bristling at the insult.

"Oh, really?" Megatron drawled. His red optics glanced up again, and Orion's glossa went dry.

Scrap.

Who knew the cruel and ruthless leader of the blasphemous rebellion was so... handsome?

Special note: This is a ROUGH DRAFT. It will go through some changes before it is officially posted on AO3. The majority of the themes will remain the same, but please don't be alarmed if the final draft on AO3 reads differently.

Scene: START!

Act I, Scene XIV: Atropa belladonna

It took Sentinel several kliks of lying completely still in unfamiliar sheets before his processor began to urge him to at least open his optics. He groaned lightly, his voicebox hoarse and crackling with static. He winced at both the sound and the sensation of his throat clicking in pain, and he tried to raise a servo to rub at it, wondering why the hell he was so - 

His servo caught on something. He froze, feeling a bit dumbfounded when he realized that the prickling sensation of his arm wasn’t because of some residual injury from training, but instead because it had spent the last - he checked his chronometer - four joors tucked tightly underneath Elita’s frame. 

The aristocratic femme was recharging silently beside him, her spinal strut curled slightly inwards with her facial plates towards him. If he listened carefully, he could pick up on the soft, whirling pattern of her slow vents. She was snuggled close so that her nose was pressed to his chassis as his servo curled up and over her dorsal plate to touch her hip. 

The light of Helios streamed in gently through the two windows of the room, and Sentinel felt his helm hit the pillow again as he sniffed the air and his cheeks burned at the lingering scent of ozone and transfluid. The lune cycle had certainly been… something, his processor provided meekly, flashes of last night (the way she arched on top of him, his frantic servos scrabbling uselessly at her sides, his spike throbbing as he choked) running across his vision in a decidedly unhelpful manner. 

That had been - uh - good. Very good. A bit too good, actually, and he felt shame as well as guilt burn through his frame as he thought about the way he had gripped her waist so desperately that bruises had almost instantly bloomed. As if to prove his dreadful thoughts right, he hesitantly lifted his helm again, his gaze roaming her figure. 

His optics lingered on her midsection, where, just like he suspected, there was a distinct pattern of five, circular bruises that lined up too easily with the length and spread of his digits. He almost brushed his servo against them, his guilt gnawing at him as he let his helm fall with no small amount of regret. 

Slag. He shouldn’t have been so rough; he was always too unaware of himself and his extremities, especially since he hit fifteen vorns and practically shot up in height, frightening his carrier into thinking he was going to end up being a roller rather than a flier. 

He lifted a servo and stared at it, clenching and unclenching his digits. These digits hurt Elita, he thought to himself. He had gotten carried away, too enthralled by her and the scent of charge, his olfactory sensors tingling with her smell of jubiline, and in his naivety and eagerness, he had allowed himself to slip out of his careful control. 

It felt awful, the more he thought about it. He hadn’t lost control like that since the first time he attempted to fly with both Bee and Orion and ended up gripping them so tightly that they both had bruises around their waists for cycles. It had horrified him to the point he refused to fly with them for vorns after that. 

Keeping control was important. Crucial. Essential. 

“Control yourself. You’re unsightly, Sentinel,” Ultra Magnus had once said to him. When was that? Sentinel’s processor whirled, and he blinked slowly as he recalled the way energon had dripped slowly down from his forehelm and how he’d tried hastily to wipe it away with a shaky wrist. 

Ultra had taken one look at his shallow breaths, cracked plating, and had made an expression of such disgust that even now, Sentinel’s processor had a hard time bringing up that particular memory file. It was distorted and filled with static, almost like he couldn’t remember properly, which was ridiculous since it only happened a sol ago. 

As if on cue, something twinged smartly in his shoulder, and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching as his neural subsystem practically shouted at him that he was pinching something. He grunted, his entire frame jolting, and his pain bled into guilt as Elita shuffled from her position on top of his arm. 

“My Prime?” She muttered, her spinal strut arching slightly as she stretched, an effortlessly seductive look on her as she slowly onlined her optics. She blinked them several times before she smiled up at him. “What are you doing?” 

He gave her a hesitant smile, feeling rather defeated as the pain reluctantly subsided and instead left him with nothing but a sense of embarrassment. His cheeks were warm and no doubt blue with energon, and he mentally groaned as he struggled to provide an answer. 

He was as eager to tell her the truth as much as he wanted to stick his bare aft over an open flame, so not at all. Instead, his sluggish processor (something he found was common around her and her beauty… urgh) simply made him smile stupidly again, and he said, “uh… good morning.” 

She laughed, a light and airy sound that made his spark jolt as she rolled over, the top half of her now draping across his chassis as she winded her arms around his neck. Like this, the top of her helm brushed alarmingly close to his dermas, and he swallowed as she smirked and said, “good morning, my Prime. Did you recharge well?” 

Sentinel shifted his gaze to the side, clearing his throat as he muttered, “of course. It was - fine. What about you?” 

Elita tilted her helm and didn’t answer as he prayed she wouldn’t see through his lie. 

Though that hadn’t been the worst sleep he had ever gotten, it still hadn’t been good. He always had trouble recharging even before Ultra took over the majority of his training, and now, well… He considered himself lucky if he only had the one nightmare or two. 

“You seem distracted,” Elita said, staring up at him with her large optics as he hastily began to try and distract himself by going through the notifications he had missed last lune. When he didn’t reply right away, she pouted, a subtle push of her full dermas as she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his chin. “Busy already? We’ve been awake for less than ten kliks, my Prime.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, already feeling like he was messing up as he hesitantly reached down to peck her forehelm. It was apparently the right move, since she smiled widely up at him and giggled as he chuckled quietly. “There’s just a lot that I have to sort through. But as soon as I’m done then maybe we can spend the… spend the… uh…” 

He mumbled something incoherent as his processor pulled up the notification that had been bothering him up until now. He had made a note a long time ago that any message from Orion or Bee was to be marked as urgent, and he felt his spark lurch as he realized that this was the first time in vorns that he hadn’t managed to write back right away. 

He sat up, leaning against the headboard and mumbling a sorry to Elita when she protested, claiming she wanted to lie on him some more.

He felt dread gnaw at him from the inside out as he quickly began to slide through Orion’s messages, which started off well enough, but quickly devolved into frustration after Sentinel completely glossed over them. 

Private Comm Link (ID: #628317): Sentinel Prime? No, Sentinel Prick

Incoming message… 

DES: Orion Pax - ID: OP-001628

:: Sentinel! :: 

:: Look, Sen, I really need your help. I'm assuming you're still at the party, so could you get me Hot Rod's private comm line if you can? ::

:: I know it's a lot to ask but I seriously need to talk to him. :: 

:: … Sentinel? :: 

:: Sen, come on. Whatever happened between you and Bee, we can fix it. Don't be too upset. I seriously need you right now, buddy. :: 

:: Sen. :: 

:: Sentinel!!! ::

“Slag.” Sentinel swore quietly, running a servo down his face, his wings stiffening as they fluttered with his anxiety before he forcefully stopped them from moving so much. Primus, would he ever learn how to control them?

“What happened?” Elita asked.

“Nothing,” he said automatically. When she continued to stare at him in an unimpressed manner, he ex-vented slowly, and tried to think of what to say. “It’s - nothing. I promise. I guess I just forgot to reply to my friend last night, and… that hasn’t happened before.” 

Elita hummed. There was a glimmer to her optics as she leaned up and kissed him, the touch soft and coaxing, and he shuddered as he parted his dermas a little too eagerly and held her close when she traced the tip of her glossa against his bottom dentae. 

“Is this the same friend that Hot Rod reminded you of?” Elita muttered curiously, her small and nimble servos cradling his helm gently, like he was the most precious thing she had ever held. It melted him, and he felt his engine start to purr quietly in his chassis as Elita smiled into their kiss. 

“Hm?” He said dreamily, feeling rather off kilter as he tried to chase her when she broke contact and gently pushed him back, her legs swinging so that she was now straddling his lap as he fell onto the pillow again with a soft oof. It took him a few micro-kliks to try and remember what she was talking about, since, oh, Primus, she was a vision. “Oh, yes, that one. He’s very close to me, and I feel bad for not being able to respond right away.” 

“There’s no need to feel bad,” she said sympathetically, her digits fluttering across his collar plates and causing him to tremble slightly. His wings in particular were practically vibrating, and he gave up any pretense of controlling them when she stroked a particularly sensitive spot. “Your friend sounds like he’s difficult, don’t you think?” 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sentinel said rather hoarsely, his optics squeezing shut when she leaned down and bit gently at his neck cables. “Ah - he’s a great friend, he’s been there for me for vorns - oh, frag - “ 

Elita clicked her glossa gently, the sound both fond and exasperated. “If he’s really that precious of a friend, then shouldn’t he be understanding that you have your own life to live?” 

“Well… I mean…” he said, trailing off weakly as she stared at him pointedly and settled more in his lap, her wiggle pressing her interface panel right up against his as energon pumped wildly in his veins. 

It was difficult to think through the haze of charge that ran through him, though his processor did pause to whirl on what she said. It wasn’t like he was lying; Orion really was a great friend, and he and Bee had been the biggest pillars for Sentinel ever since they met as sparklings. There was very little Sentinel wouldn’t do for either of them, stuff that he wouldn’t do even for Ultra. 

But it did bother him, just the slightest bit, how Elita’s words resonated with him. Though he knew that Orion always had his reasons, sometimes those reasons were just so ridiculous that it caused him more stress or trouble than it was worth. He couldn’t think of one decent answer as to why Orion needed to speak with the newest to-be-named trailblazer, though some part of Sentinel dreaded the thought that he had an idea as to why. 

Megatron. These sols, every single thing that Orion did led to that blasted mech, and Sentinel honestly didn’t understand. Initially, he had indulged his friend because a tiny part of Sentinel had been curious, too. The names Megatron and his rebels had been more of a myth than reality at that point, and he’d feebly wondered what the real mech was like. 

After finding out, he had simply categorized Megatron as the criminal as he was. So when Orion had insisted on feeding the damn bot, and even worse, began to extend sympathy… Sentinel feared for his friend, he really did. There was only so much someone could play with a line before they fully crossed over. 

And Orion asking for the personal comm link of a mech who was about to climb the ranks and become an elite was definitely hopping over that line. Obliterating it, even. 

“I should text back, shouldn’t I?” Sentinel said in a small voice, now feeling more unsure than ever as Elita paused on top of him. 

She tilted her helm, and for a fleeting moment, her gaze sharpened. It was razor-thin and so quick that he began to doubt if it ever even happened, and when she spoke, it was still as sweet and soothing as ever. “If you want. Just tell him you were busy. He doesn’t need more than that.” 

Right. 

Right, because - because Sentinel had other things to do than just lounge around for Orion like some messed up pet waiting on its master. (Don’t you already do that? No, he didn’t. Really? Ultra only likes complete obedience from you. Because he was Sentinel’s mentor. Because you don’t deserve decency? Because you don’t deserve dignity? Fine, then. You're pathetic. Stop it. Why? Because you're ashamed? Some future Prime you are. You can't even protect yourself. How are you going to protect the world? Enough! So shameless. So selfish, stupid, nothing's ever enough - )

Private Comm Link (ID: #628317): Sentinel Prime? No, Sentinel Prick

Outgoing message… 

DES: Sentinel - ID: SN-402021

:: Sorry, I was… occupied.:: 

Almost immediately, Sentinel's communication chip pinged him that a call was coming through, and of course it was Orion. But before he even had a chance to acknowledge it properly, Elita was pressing down on him more insistently, and he felt like he was floating as she kissed him again. 

The call rang at the back of his mind, mixing into a hazy mix with the amount of notifications his charge was sending through his interface subsystem. He flailed slightly, still unused to any of this even after joors last night learning how to touch and be touched, but he had already ignored Orion for too long, he should at least pick this call up. 

… Right? 

“H - Hold on - “ Sentinel mumbled in between kisses, feeling rather disoriented and overwhelmed as Elita simply hummed and pressed closer. Already, her servo was dragging down his chassis, and he shivered at the touch, unable to stop himself from ignoring the hot, sweet sensation of her dermas, but also unable to completely snuff the comm call line, which was ringing insistently. “E-Elita, just - just one micro-klik, okay?” 

“I’m doing a bad job at this if you’re still thinking of taking that call.” Elita huffed, but her swollen intake was pulled into a smile as she let out a small, exasperated sigh and then fully draped herself over him, her arms crossed across his chassis as she tilted her helm and smirked. “Fine, then. Answer it, my Prime.” 

He gave her a shaky, nervous smile, his servos flexing with uncertainty on her warm hips as he cleared his throat, accepted the annoyingly insistent call, and hesitantly said out loud, “hello?”

“Sentinel!” Orion’s voice blasted through his processor at a decibel so high that he immediately flinched. He turned down the volume hastily, grateful that at the very least, Elita wouldn’t be able to hear Orion’s side of the conversation regardless of the noise. “Dude, why the hell didn’t you respond to my comms last lune?” 

“I do actually have a life outside of you, you know,” Sentinel said in exasperation, darting his gaze down and trying not to gulp when he saw and felt the way Elita began to trace loop shapes on his paint. Holy shit, he needed to wrap this call up yesterday. “Get on with it, O - “ 

He barely managed to bite back Orion’s name in time as Elita pressed a small, fleeting kiss to his collar. It was hard enough to keep his focus with her in the same room as him, but with her entire frame firmly on top of his, and worst of all, with her flirting… She was a temptress and knew just how weak he was for her. 

He needed to be careful. It was already a risk to accept Orion’s comm and have Elita listen to Sentinel’s part of the conversation. If he slipped up and revealed too much about who Orion actually was, then there was no doubt to Sentinel that Elita wouldn’t approve. 

Him, a high caste bot, but more than that, the future Prime, talking to a miner? And addressing him so kindly at that, as well? Dire consequences would surely follow. Sentinel still bore the marks and sting of the last time he had made that mistake in front of Ultra. His wrist twinged slightly as it rested against Elita’s waist. 

“I told you, I needed to speak with Hot Rod,” Orion said impatiently. Sentinel could practically see the way he must have looked at that moment; tilting his helm and rolling his optics because he was just that obnoxious when it came to getting what he wanted. “Please don’t tell me he’s already left.” 

“Why do you need to talk to him?” Sentinel forced out, placing a servo on the back of Elita’s helm in some poor attempt to both stop and encourage her as she began to nip at his neck cables. He coughed, a small amount of static running through his hoarse voice as he said, “you can’t just ask me for something and not tell me why. That’s not how this works. And I already told him good luck for you.” 

“Well, I was wrong. Luck has no place within the ceremony,” Orion said tightly. He sounded different, tense, and it was enough of a change that it made Sentinel frown, smile apologetically at Elita, and then sit up, gently wrapping his arm around her waist so she wouldn’t fall. 

Her optics narrowed and she was definitely displeased, but she still hooked her elbows around his shoulder plates and leaned her cheek onto one of them as he said, “what are you talking about?” 

There was no answer. 

Sentinel's face pinched as he went through a quick systems check with his processor, but everything was fine. It was already hard enough to shut Orion up over text comms, but verbal comms were a whole thing altogether. And Sentinel had known Orion since they were sparklings; maybe Sentinel even knew Orion more than he knew himself, so it was easy to pick up on the uneasiness of his tone. 

Something was wrong. 

“Hey,” Sentinel said more gently this time, allowing his previous annoyance to soften into empathy. Though he couldn't deny that maybe Elita had been right in that Orion could be pushy, that didn't take away from the fact that he was still one of Sentinel's closest friends. “Come on, talk to me. What's going on?” 

“There's more to the ceremony than we know,” Orion finally said, his voice strained. It was gruffer than usual and there was a small shuffling noise on his end, like he was climbing something. What the hell? “Just - look. Is he still there or not?” 

Sentinel squinted up at the ceiling as he tried to make sense of whatever Orion was rambling about. His weird insistence to talk to Hot Rod was already a bit strange, but the ceremony on top of that… As far as Sentinel was aware, Orion had never been that interested in the Iacon 5000 or the subsequent trailblazer ceremony that followed. 

Why was he suddenly expressing such blatant regard for it now? 

“You mean Hot Rod?” Sentinel said after a klik of silence. Elita moved slightly on top of him, and when he glanced down at her, she gave him a look of what's going on? He tried to reassure her with a smile, but she simply nudged him, which he tried to brush off. “Of course not. I don't know where he is, he and Ultra left together last night I think.” 

“Fuck.” Orion swore. “He was my only chance! Shit. Okay, it's… okay. That's fine, it just means I have to go see Megatron sooner than I thought I would.” 

Okay. That was definitely not what Sentinel had expected nor wanted to hear. 

He practically leapt up from the berth, mouthing apologies to Elita, who was left sprawled on the sheets with an indignant expression twisting her pretty face. She huffed and draped herself more elegantly across the mesh as he hissed way too urgently, “what the frag are you talking about, you bucket of bolts? No! It's been less than a sol since you last saw him, are you fragging kidding me?” 

“He has the answers that I need, Sen!” Orion pushed back. “He's the only one who can help me figure out what's actually going on!” 

Sentinel felt like ripping the paint off his helm as he buried his face into his servos and tried to vent steadily. He couldn’t fucking believe this. All this trouble and flack for, what, Megatron? Again? Why was Orion like this? Why was he so obsessed with a mech like him? What could Megatron have possibly said to sway one of the best bots Sentinel knew? 

“You promised me that you weren’t compromised,” Sentinel said, his voice edging into something sharper, more dangerous. He paced steadily on the rug beside the berth, occasionally sparing Elita a glance whenever she made a small noise of inquiry, but he shoved away any distracting thought about her as he was mortified instead by the way Orion remained silent. “Answer me. Tell me that you aren’t actually starting to care for that - that - “ 

He couldn’t even say it. Not even because uttering it out loud would reveal too much to Elita, who continued to observe him with wide optics, but because Sentinel honestly felt sick as he realized that something had shifted. Whatever change had occurred, it started last night, when he was too occupied to be a proper friend and dissuade Orion from getting involved in something he very well could never get out of. 

“What’re you implying?” Orion snapped. He sounded agitated, on edge, and there was a muffled noise from his end of the comm, like he had just slammed a door shut. His words were tense and Sentinel didn’t understand. “Why’re you interrogating me, Sen? You know I never do anything without reason! Why’re you acting like this?”

Sentinel was floored, and he sat down abruptly on the edge of the berth, the force of him doing as much so impactful that it lightly bounced Elita on the sheets. His wings drooped on top of the mesh out of his shock, and he knew that he was staring directly at the bland painting hung on the wall across from him, but he couldn’t even begin to comprehend it as he tried to digest what Orion had just said to him. 

“What?” Sentinel said, his voice almost hysterical as he gripped his servos into fists and his wings began to tighten so much that they were practically flat against his spinal strut. “Why am I acting like this? Why the hell are you acting like this, you afthole? Are you trying to spin this and pin this onto me when I’m not the one who’s compromised? Huh? Don’t you fucking dare - “

“Primus, Sen! You’re seriously getting mad over something that isn’t a big deal - “

“It actually is a big deal, you’re literally asking me for another favor, again, and you won’t even - “ 

“It’s not a favor! Oh, for - it’s a freaking solid, and you and I always - “ 

“Always what?” Sentinel spat, and by this point he was shouting, his voice hoarse and crackling with static as he gripped his own patellas so hard that it was a wonder the armor didn’t crack. His helm was spinning and he couldn’t vent properly; had he ever yelled at Orion before? “Go on, say it! It’s always you and me, except it’s me getting dragged into another one of your master plans that ends up getting us in trouble in more ways than one!” 

“This is bigger than just you holding a petty grudge!” Orion hissed. It occurred to Sentinel just then that Orion was shouting, too. He had never heard it before, honestly, and it was jarring. Maybe a little scary. Not because Orion himself was a particularly menacing mech, but because they had never done this before. They had never… fought, and Sentinel felt sick. “Can’t you see that? I’m sorry that you have such a busy life, I’m sorry that you’re doing all your fucking aristocratic bullshit - “ 

“Aristocratic bullshit?” Sentinel cried out. He couldn’t tell if his vocalizer was cracking from the anger that boiled inside of him like magma, threatening to spill over and eagerly burn every part of this conversation, or worse, because of the tears that were starting to well up in his rapidly blinking optics. “You know it’s not like that! I’m working my fragging aft off so I can be a good Prime! So I can be a good Prime for you!” 

“For fuck’s sake, Sentinel, I never asked you to be Prime!” Orion shouted. 

Silence. 

Sentinel’s ragged venting filled the room, his breathing off and inconsistent as he stared dizzily at that damn painting, unable to make sense of its swirls and colors. He sat there, lost, hurt, angry, everything he had never felt for Orion, his dearest friend. Orion, his biggest supporter. Orion, his brother. 

Orion… 

Who had just told him he never wanted Sentinel to be Prime. Sentinel had never known anything but how to be one. He had been raised on this, told that this was his path, and that nothing could lead him astray. For a long time, he had believed Ultra who told him that everything, including friends, could be a distraction. But Sentinel had told himself that just this once, he could ignore Ultra. 

Just this once, he could pretend that he was a miner like Orion and Bee, who weren’t miserable even despite their ranks, and seemed happier than Sentinel, who felt like he was often carrying the weight of the world on just his shoulders alone. 

Just this once, he had allowed Orion liberties, taken him places he couldn’t, and let him do things that Sentinel would never allow anyone else because Orion had never once not told Sentinel with the uttermost confidence: “you’ll be a better Prime than any of the Thirteen were.” 

The tears fell. 

They were warm and soft on his cheekplates, and his hardly functional processor told him that he was running low on tear solvent. Of course he was running low on tear solvent. These weren’t the normal kind of tears he usually cried during moments of pain or frustration or even dramatic manipulation for when he needed one of the staff to do something for him and he wanted to appear extra pitiful. 

These were tears of hurt. 

A servo draped gently over his own. He watched blankly, his vision swimming and watery, as slowly, digits smaller than his own curled in between his and held them in a way they had never been held before. 

“Sentinel,” Elita said. He could barely focus on her. Her voice was like a phantom to him. “Enough.” 

Enough, Sentinel repeated. Enough of this. 

“Aren’t you tired?” 

I am. 

“Don’t you deserve better?” 

Do I?

“He isn’t worth anything.” 

That’s not right… 

“He’s nothing.” 

No, that’s… 

“Let it end.” 

But… 

“Stop.” 

“Stop,” Sentinel muttered. 

“You’re right,” Orion said after a brief pause. His voice was thicker, and he cleared his vocalizer. Almost like he was sorry. Was he, though? Was he sorry? Was he sorry for implying that Sentinel was only that, an aristocrat? Was he sorry for taking back all his support as Sentinel strived harder and harder to be a good Prime? What was he sorry for? Was he sorry at all? When did he and Sentinel stop talking? When had they been reduced to this? “I should have stopped. That - that was low of me. I’m - “ 

“Figure it out, Orion.” Sentinel interrupted. He stared at the painting. His voice was hard and cool, and there was no more room for argument. “I’m done saving you.” 

He ended the call with a soft click. He immediately blocked the notification of Orion trying to reconnect, and instead found himself blinking through his tears as Elita practically leapt into his lap, her engine purring something fierce in her chassis as she leaned up and began to smother him in kisses. 

“You did so well, my Prime.” Elita practically purred, her optics gleaming and her touch purposeful as she stroked his audials, then his cheeks, and rubbing away any of his tears with a surprisingly firm nudge. “You don’t need the likes of Orion. You’re the next Prime. You’re the most intelligent. The strongest. The best. You don’t need anyone.” 

Oh, Sentinel thought to himself dully, slowly leaning down to press a kiss to Elita’s eagerly waiting dermas, though for the life of him, he couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder, right at that framed painting that he had been staring at the entire time. Except it wasn’t a painting. 

It’s a mirror, he realized. 

For a moment, he thought he saw Ultra in his place. 

Just for a moment.

Scene: END!

Next scene: coming soon!

[bumpscosity]

speaking of being a defender of star wars stuff nobody cares about i started playing hunters and ngl its pretty fun

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

New life - worst!Logan x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Logan tries to live his new life in solitarity with peace and quiet. However, it all changes when you move in next to him.

Pairing: worst!Logan x reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, inexperienced (but not a virgin) reader, Wade Wilson. SMUT, hot shower sex, eating out for both So please do not interract if you're under 18.

AN: So I had this story sitting and waiting to be published. This is probably the most smutty thing I have ever written. But I hope you will enjoy it ;) No beta read all the mistakes are my own...

Words: 24 220 (oops)

Logan sat on the porch of the small cabin, his rough hands wrapped around a bottle of cheap beer, staring out at the thick woods that surrounded him. The world was quiet, too quiet for a man like him. It wasn’t just the silence of the woods, but the kind of silence that stretched into the very core of his existence, making him feel like a ghost—a relic in a world that had moved on without him. 

He had seen it all. Hell, he’d lived it all. Fought battles that would break most men, lost more people than he cared to remember, and survived wars that had been meant to end him. Yet here he was, in this new reality, a world stitched together from the broken pieces of his past and fragments of a future that wasn’t supposed to be.

And then there was Wade. 

Logan took a long drink, letting the beer burn its way down his throat. Wade Wilson—Deadpool—was a walking contradiction. The bastard was a thorn in Logan’s side, an immortal jester who seemed to mock the seriousness of life with every breath he took. Wade’s idea of fun was throwing himself headfirst into a fight just to see how many pieces he’d end up in. And somehow, by some twisted stroke of fate, Wade had followed Logan into this new world. 

It wasn’t just Wade, either. Laura was here, too. His daughter, if he could call her that. X-23. She was tough, capable, and deadly. More like him than anyone else, and that’s what scared him the most. 

Logan had always thought that isolation was his fate. He’d always believed he was doomed to walk the world alone, leaving destruction in his wake. But now…now he wasn’t so sure. 

In this strange new place, with Wade and Laura nearby, Logan found himself struggling to make sense of it all. And the worst part? He couldn’t decide if he hated the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore—or if he secretly loved it.

---

The world they found themselves in wasn’t exactly like the one Logan had known before. There were no Sentinels hunting mutants down. There were no endless wars between mutants and humans. It was… quieter. Softer. And it made Logan feel restless, like a caged animal pacing inside a zoo enclosure too small for his needs.

This world was full of people living normal lives—people who didn’t know about the blood Logan had on his hands, the wars he had fought, or the pain that clawed at his insides every time he closed his eyes. They didn’t know who he was. And he wanted to keep it that way. 

But there were still reminders of the past, flickers of the world he’d left behind. Wade, for one. The bastard had somehow adapted to this new reality like a fish to water, making sarcastic jokes about “timeline anomalies” and “multiverse etiquette” while Logan tried not to punch him in the face.

It wasn’t that Logan hated Wade. No, he knew Wade had been through his own version of hell. It was just that Wade had a way of poking at the deepest parts of Logan’s soul, the parts he didn’t want anyone messing with. Like Wade knew exactly how to find the cracks in Logan’s armor and jab at them with a grin on his face.

Yet despite that, Wade was here. And Laura. And something about that gnawed at Logan in ways he couldn’t explain. 

Wade’s presence wasn’t just an annoyance. It was a reminder that Logan wasn’t alone. That even in this fractured world, there were still people around him. People who gave a damn. Wade might be a pain in the ass, but Logan couldn’t deny that the man had his back when it counted.

And Laura—she was tougher than nails, just like him. The kid had been through more than anyone her age should have to endure. In many ways, she was his mirror: fierce, stubborn, carrying the weight of violence in her bones. But where Logan was tired, worn down by the decades, Laura still had fire in her. She hadn’t lost that part of herself yet.

God, he hoped she wouldn’t.

---

Logan had spent his life running from his past. It was the one thing he was good at. He had been the lone wolf for so long, keeping people at arm’s length, pushing them away the moment they got too close. He’d lost count of how many times he had built walls around himself, thicker and higher each time. He’d perfected the art of being alone.

But this time, the past felt closer than ever. 

In his quiet moments—those rare seconds when Wade wasn’t around, spouting off ridiculous commentary about “crossing universes” or “rebooting franchises”—Logan found his mind drifting back to the things he couldn’t forget. The people. The places. The blood.

The world around him might have changed, but his memories hadn’t.

He remembered the sound of Charles’ voice, the way the professor’s mind had felt inside his own, guiding him when everything else was chaos. He remembered Jean, her face twisted with power and pain, and how he had been the one to end it. To end her. He remembered the wars, the endless wars, and the way they had ripped him apart inside, piece by piece.

Logan’s hands clenched around the neck of the bottle, his knuckles turning white. It wasn’t fair. The memories weren’t fair. They were all ghosts now, haunting him in the quiet of this new world. He had outlived them all, and sometimes he wondered if that was the worst part—being the last one standing.

Laura was the only one who could understand, even if she didn’t say it out loud. She had the same memories, the same scars. They were alike in that way, bound together by the violence of their creation. 

Yet she still looked at the world with a glimmer of hope. 

Logan envied her for that.

---

What tore at him the most—what kept Logan up at night, staring at the ceiling, his chest heavy with the weight of it—was the gnawing feeling that maybe he didn’t want to be alone. Not anymore. 

For years, Logan had convinced himself that solitude was his destiny. That he was too dangerous, too broken to be close to anyone. He had lost too much, and losing again wasn’t something he could handle. It was easier to keep the world at a distance. To fight alone. To bleed alone. 

But now, sitting here in the middle of nowhere with Wade making bad jokes and Laura not too far away, Logan found himself facing a truth he didn’t know how to accept.

He cared about them. 

He’d never say it out loud, of course. That wasn’t his style. But it was there, gnawing at the back of his mind every time Wade dragged him into some ridiculous situation or Laura reminded him, with a single sharp look, that she was capable of handling herself. 

In some messed-up way, these people had become his pack. His family.

Logan didn’t do family. Not after all the ones he had lost. But now, against all odds, there was Wade with his incessant humor, and Laura with her silent strength. And, whether he liked it or not, Logan found himself caring.

Maybe too much.

That was the real problem, wasn’t it? He couldn’t afford to care. He had spent his whole life losing the people he loved, and he didn’t want to go through that again. But this world—this strange new reality—was forcing him to face a future he hadn’t expected. A future where he wasn’t alone.

And it scared the hell out of him.

---

Logan felt the beast stirring inside him every day. The anger, the rage—it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an excuse to tear its way out. In the old world, there had always been something to fight. Someone to kill. That’s what kept him going: the battles, the endless battles.

But here? 

Here, in this quiet world, the beast had no outlet. There were no enemies to hunt, no wars to fight. And that scared him more than anything, because without the violence to drown in, Logan was left with the one thing he had spent his entire life avoiding: himself.

He didn’t know how to live without the fight. Didn’t know how to be the man people wanted him to be in this strange new life. 

And yet, for the first time in years, Logan could feel something else stirring inside him. Something softer. It was a terrifying feeling—one that made him feel exposed and vulnerable in a way no battle ever had. It was the feeling of wanting something more.

Of wanting someone to come home to.

Logan shook his head, trying to shake the thought loose. He was too old for this. Too worn out, too broken. There was no place in his life for softness. No place for—

A voice cut through the silence. “Hey, old man, you brooding again? Don’t worry, I brought beer! And chimichangas!”

Wade.

Logan growled low in his throat, but deep down, a part of him—the part he refused to acknowledge—was relieved. 

---

As the sun set over the trees, casting long shadows across the ground, Logan leaned back in his chair, listening to Wade’s footsteps approaching. In another life, in another world, this would’ve been the kind of thing that set him on edge.

***

Logan could hear you long before he saw you.

It was a sunny afternoon—too damn sunny for his taste—when the sound of boxes being shuffled, a car door slamming, and a string of cheerful humming broke the usual quiet of his secluded little corner of the world. Logan’s brows furrowed as he sat on his porch, a cigar clamped between his teeth. He could feel the change, the shift in his surroundings, like the arrival of an unwanted storm. 

He wasn’t expecting anyone new to move in. He didn’t need neighbors. Hell, he barely tolerated the company of Wade, and that bastard was like a cockroach, impossible to get rid of. But the sounds continued, grating on his nerves.

Logan tried to ignore it. He took a deep drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl around him like a protective shield. He wasn’t in the mood for people. Never was. 

But then he heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway leading up to his cabin.

“Hey there!” a bright voice called out, too damn chipper for the likes of him.

Logan squinted into the sunlight, his gaze landing on the source of the intrusion.

A woman— with a wide smile and way too much energy—was making her way toward him, waving as if they were old friends. She had a box tucked under one arm, and her other hand flailed in his direction like she hadn’t quite mastered the art of walking and greeting someone at the same time. 

Logan’s first thought was to retreat, to grumble some excuse and disappear into his cabin, lock the door, and hope she’d get the hint.

But then she was there, standing at the edge of his porch, her eyes bright with curiosity and excitement. Logan could practically feel her energy radiating off her, and it made his skin itch.

“Hi! Nice to meet ya,” you said, holding out a hand as if you two were meeting at some friendly town gathering. “I just moved in next door! Well, not exactly next door, but you know, close enough. Over there.” You pointed vaguely in the direction of the small house a few yards down the gravel road, the one that had been vacant for months. “I thought I’d come by and introduce myself!”

Logan stared at you, his mouth clamped shut around the cigar, saying nothing. He didn’t want to shake your hand. Hell, he didn’t even want to look at you, but there you were—bright, bubbly, and apparently oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t the neighborly type.

Your hand hovered in the air for a moment longer before you dropped it, unfazed by his lack of response. You were smiling at him like you had all the time in the world, eyes sparkling with some kind of optimism that made Logan’s stomach twist.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you said, cocking your head to the side, studying him like he was some kind of puzzle you were eager to figure out.

Logan grunted, the only sound he could manage. He wasn’t about to engage in small talk with some stranger, let alone one as annoyingly cheerful as this one.

You didn’t seem bothered by his silence. In fact, you didn’t seem bothered by anything. You just kept talking, as if his gruff demeanor was nothing more than a speed bump on the road of your conversation.

“I’m opening a coffee shop!” you announced, her face lighting up even more, which Logan hadn’t thought was possible. “Right down the street, actually. It’s called Beans of Heaven—cute, right? I thought it was clever. It’s gonna be small, but cozy. You should stop by sometime. I make the best coffee. Seriously, the *best*. You’re not one of those ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ types, are you? ’Cause I can fix that. I’ve got all sorts of flavors, too. But if you’re more of a black coffee, no sugar, no fuss kind of guy, I can do that, too.”

You paused just long enough to take a breath, and Logan couldn’t help but feel a little bit of admiration for the fact that you hadn’t passed out from lack of oxygen. Damn, you could talk.

“I bet you’re a black coffee type,” you said, giving him a wink like you’d just solved some great mystery. “Strong, no nonsense. That’s you, right?”

Logan grunted again, this time out of sheer disbelief. Were you for real?

You smiled wider—how, he didn’t know—and clapped your hands together. “I knew it! Okay, well, I just wanted to say hi and let you know that I’m around. If you ever need anything, just holler! Or, you know, come by the shop. First cup’s on the house!”

Before Logan could tell you to leave, you waved one last time and turned on your heel, bouncing back toward the car like the world was made of sunshine and rainbows. 

Logan stared after you, feeling a mix of irritation and confusion swirling in his gut. You were too much. Too loud. Too… happy. A part of him wanted to destroy that happiness, to crush it beneath the weight of his own darkness, just to see how long your smile would last.

But another part of him—the part that still hadn’t learned to let go of the things he’d lost—wanted to hold on to it. To be a part of it. Maybe even protect it.

He crushed those thoughts as soon as they appeared. That wasn’t him. Not anymore.

No, the loudest part of him wanted to stay far away from you and that relentless energy. He didn’t need that kind of brightness in his life. He’d learned long ago that everything bright eventually dimmed. And Logan was no good at keeping things alive.

---

It didn’t take long for you to open the shop.

Within a week, there was a new sign on the old building just down the road, a colorful thing that read Bean of Heaven in bold, cheerful letters. The place had been empty for as long as Logan could remember, just another relic of a town that was slowly dying. But you had breathed life into it, just like you had with everything else you touched.

Logan had no intention of visiting. He wasn’t about to walk into a place where he’d have to sit and listen to your nonstop chatter. But fate, or maybe just bad luck, had other plans.

He ran out of beer.

There were no bars nearby, and the nearest liquor store was a half-hour drive. He’d been sitting on his porch, staring at the empty bottle in his hand, when the smell hit him—rich, dark, the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting down the street from your shop. His stomach growled, and despite himself, Logan found his feet moving toward the source.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside, and there you were—standing behind the counter, pouring coffee with the same level of enthusiasm most people reserved for winning the lottery. Your head snapped up when you saw him, and your face lit up with that damn smile again.

“Neighbour! You made it!” you said, like you’d been expecting him all along. “I knew you’d come by eventually.”

Logan grunted, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. He didn’t respond, just made his way to the counter, eyes scanning the shop. It was cozy, like you’d said—lots of wooden tables, warm lighting, and shelves lined with plants and knickknacks. It didn’t feel like a place that belonged in his world. 

You handed him a cup, black coffee, no sugar, no cream—just how he liked it. He took a sip, the warmth flooding through him, and he couldn’t help but let out a small sound of approval.

It was the best damn coffee he’d ever had.

“You like it, huh?” You asked, eyes twinkling with pride. “Told you I make the best coffee. You’re gonna be hooked, I promise.”

Logan didn’t answer, just took another sip, letting the coffee do the talking for him.

You leaned on the counter, your head resting in your hands, watching him like he was the most interesting thing in the world. “So,” you said, breaking the silence, “you’re kind of a mystery, aren’t you?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like being a mystery to anyone. Especially not someone like you, who seemed intent on figuring him out.

��I bet you’ve got all sorts of stories,” you continued, undeterred by his silence. “I mean, you’ve got that whole ‘lone wolf’ vibe going on. You know, the brooding guy with the mysterious past? People eat that stuff up.”

Logan grunted, trying to ignore you, but you didn’t seem to get the hint. You just kept talking, words bouncing around the shop like they had a life of their own.

“You ever think about opening up? I mean, I’m sure you’ve been through a lot. Everyone’s got their demons, right? And I get it, you don’t want to talk about it. That’s fine. But, you know, sometimes it helps to have someone to talk to. Not that I’m saying you need to talk to me or anything, but—”

Logan shot you a look, one that usually shut people up pretty fast. But you? You just smiled, like he hadn’t even glared at you.

“You’re not much for conversation, huh?”

***

The first few weeks after Logan’s initial trip to Beans of Heaven passed in a haze of routine. Every morning, like clockwork, he’d walk down the road to the small coffee shop. The sun was always just barely creeping over the horizon, and the air was still crisp with the night’s lingering chill. The smell of freshly brewed coffee would hit him the moment he opened the door, mingling with the scent of cinnamon rolls and other pastries you had undoubtedly baked before dawn.

You, for your part, had made a habit of greeting him the same way every day, with a wide smile that seemed to stretch across your entire face. “Logan! Black coffee, no frills, coming right up!”

At first, he just grunted in response, as usual. But there was something about you—something relentless, something he couldn’t quite figure out. Most people would’ve taken the hint after a few days of silence from him, maybe decided to stop talking altogether. But not you. No, you kept at it, talking about everything and nothing, filling the air with words while Logan sat at his usual table in the back corner, sipping his coffee.

He didn’t respond. Not really. But there was a part of him that started to look forward to it, the way your voice would fill the shop, the way you laughed at your own jokes. It was ridiculous, how much energy you had. And even more ridiculous how much it didn’t annoy him as much as it should’ve.

---

It happened one day, without him even meaning to.

Logan had been sitting at his usual spot, staring out the window, watching the way the morning light filtered through the trees. You were behind the counter, humming some cheerful tune while you wiped down the espresso machine. You hadn’t started talking to him yet that morning—maybe you’d finally realized he wasn’t much for conversation.

But then, out of nowhere, you blurted out, “You ever play hockey, Logan?”

His eyes flicked up to you, and for a split second, he almost ignored the question, like he always did. But something inside him cracked, maybe because it was such a random thing to ask, or maybe because he hadn’t been asked about hockey in a long time.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough like gravel. “A long time ago.”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, you looked like you weren't sure if you’d imagined his response or not. But then, just as quickly, you beamed at him. “I knew it! You’ve got that ‘gritty, fight-anyone-who-looks-at-you-wrong’ vibe. Bet you were one of those enforcers, huh? Knocking people’s teeth out?”

Logan snorted, a sound that surprised even him. He hadn’t meant to make it, but there it was. “Something like that.”

You practically bounced on your heels, grinning like you’d just unlocked some great mystery. “That’s awesome! You’ll have to teach me some moves one day. I mean, I’m not a hockey player, but I do love watching the games. Fast-paced, brutal—right up your alley, I bet.”

Logan didn’t respond, but something about the way you said it—about how easily you talked to him, how you didn’t flinch at his gruffness—made him feel… different. Not in a bad way, but in a way that was unfamiliar. 

It felt comfortable. And that was terrifying.

---

After that day, something shifted between you two. It wasn’t drastic, but it was there—a slow, almost imperceptible change. Logan found himself responding more often, if only with a few words here and there. You, in turn, seemed to take his gruff replies as victories, your laughter growing warmer every time he said something back.

You still talked a lot. About your shop, about the town, about random things you found amusing. Logan didn’t mind, though. Your voice became part of the background, something that made the shop feel… alive.

And then, one Sunday, you hit him with the invitation that he hadn’t seen coming.

“Hey, Logan?” you called from behind the counter as you wiped down the tables after the last customer of the day had left.

He looked up from his coffee, raising an eyebrow in question.

“So, I was thinking… I’ve got this Sunday dinner tradition, and I usually eat alone, which is fine, but it’d be way more fun if you joined me,” you said, words spilling out in that usual rapid-fire way you had. “I’m making lasagna—well, trying to, anyway. It’s kind of a work in progress, but it’s edible, I promise.”

Logan stared at you for a moment, trying to figure out if you were serious. Dinner? With him? It was the kind of thing people did when they were friends, or at least something close to it. 

He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. But the look on your face—hopeful, yet casual, like you weren't pressuring him—made it hard to say no. You weren't asking much. Just dinner.

“I don’t do lasagna,” he said gruffly, setting his mug down.

You blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Oh… okay. Well, what do you do? I can make something else—anything you like.”

He sighed, knowing he was walking right into the trap. “Steak. Rare.”

Your face lit up like Christmas had come early. “Steak it is! Sunday, six o’clock. Don’t be late!”

And just like that, Logan found himself sitting at your table a few days later, cutting into a steak that was cooked almost perfectly, and listening to you ramble on about some small-town drama that he didn’t care about in the slightest. But he listened anyway, because for the first time in longer than he could remember, he didn’t mind the noise.

It was… nice. And that unsettled him more than anything.

---

Sunday dinners became a thing. He didn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly, every Sunday at six, Logan found himself sitting at your table, eating whatever meal you’d decided to cook that week. 

In return, he invited you over one evening to watch a hockey game. He wasn’t much of a TV guy, but the game was on, and he figured if you liked hockey as much as you said you did, it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to sit in silence with while the action played out on the screen.

But, of course, silence wasn’t part of the deal with you.

“Oh my God, that hit was brutal!” you exclaimed, clutching the edge of the couch as one of the players was slammed into the boards. “Is it bad that I kind of love that part?”

Logan chuckled, a sound he was still getting used to making around you. “That’s the best part.”

They watched the rest of the game, and by the end of it, you were nearly bouncing off the couch with excitement, throwing out commentary as if you were one of the analysts. Logan didn’t mind. It reminded him of the old days, of sitting in dingy bars with teammates, knocking back beers after a hard fight. It felt good. Comfortable.

Too comfortable.

---

That comfort was the problem. The more time Logan spent with you, the more he found himself settling into a routine—a dangerous routine. Sunday dinners. Hockey nights. Coffee in the mornings, with your cheerful voice filling the air as you teased him about his gruffness.

He could feel himself relaxing around you, letting his guard down in ways he hadn’t done in years. And that scared the hell out of him.

Logan had learned long ago that comfort didn’t last. It couldn’t. People left. People died. He was a walking reminder of that. The more comfortable he got, the harder it would be when it all inevitably fell apart. And it would fall apart. It always did.

So he started to pull away.

It wasn’t drastic at first. Just little things. He stopped responding as much when you talked to him. He’d grunt instead of offering actual words. He’d sit in the shop for shorter amounts of time, finishing his coffee faster so he didn’t have to linger in your presence.

You noticed, of course. You weren’t oblivious.

“You okay?” you asked one morning, your usual smile faltering just a little as you set his coffee down in front of him.

Logan didn’t meet your gaze. “Yeah. Fine.”

But he wasn’t fine, and you both knew it.

The following week, he didn’t show up for Sunday dinner. He didn’t even call to cancel—he didn’t have your number anyway. He figured you’d get the message. You didn’t need him complicating your life. You didn’t need his baggage, his darkness. 

And he sure as hell didn’t need to get attached to someone who would eventually leave, one way or another.

Days passed, and Logan avoided the coffee shop altogether. He holed up in his cabin, kept to himself, buried his feelings under layers of gruff silence. He told himself it was for the best. He was saving both of them from whatever disaster was waiting down the road. 

But the silence that followed his absence was unbearable.

---

You had always been good at reading people, even if they didn’t want to be read. And Logan? He was the kind of guy who had ‘walls’ written all over him, the kind of guy who didn’t let people in easily

***

Logan sat in his small living room, the faint crackle of the fireplace the only sound in the cabin. He had a beer in his hand and an ever-present scowl on his face. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in shadows, but he didn’t bother to turn on any lights. There was no point. Darkness suited him just fine.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, and Logan grunted, already knowing who it was without checking. Wade had been pestering him all week, leaving voice messages filled with his usual barrage of nonsense, bad jokes, and bizarre references. Most days, Logan ignored him. But tonight, for reasons he couldn’t quite figure out, he picked up.

“What do you want, Wade?” Logan grumbled as he hit the video call button.

The screen flickered to life, and there was Wade Wilson—Deadpool—grinning like an idiot, wearing what looked like a unicorn onesie, complete with a rainbow mane on the hood.

“Logan!” Wade exclaimed, way too loudly. “My favorite grumpy Canadian! How’s life in the great wide wilderness? Have you finally turned into a lumberjack or are you just planning on brooding yourself into oblivion?”

Logan rolled his eyes, already regretting answering. “What the hell do you want, Wade?”

“What do I want?” Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “What do I want? Just to check in on my best buddy, that’s all! It’s been ages. I’m just making sure you haven’t gotten yourself eaten by a bear or, you know, spontaneously combusted from sheer grumpiness.”

“I’m fine,” Logan said flatly, taking a long pull from his beer.

Wade squinted at him through the screen. “You sure about that, pal? You look like you’ve been chewing on nails and spitting out iron filings. You’re not even gonna give me a smile? Not even a little one?”

Logan grunted. “Don’t push it.”

Wade wiggled his eyebrows. “So, how’s the new reality treating you? You’re all settled in, yeah? Got your cabin, got your woods, got your mysterious brooding vibe going strong. You must be in paradise.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, trying to get comfortable, but Wade’s incessant cheer made it impossible. “It’s fine. Quiet. Just how I like it.”

“Oh sure, I bet,” Wade said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sure you’re just living the dream out there, all by yourself, surrounded by nothing but trees and loneliness. Except…wait a minute…” He leaned in close to the camera, his eyes narrowing. “What about that neighbor you mentioned once or twice? What was her name?”

Logan answered before he could stop himself.

Wade’s face lit up with a devilish grin. “Ah! That’s the one! Sooo… how’s she doing? Is she still making you that delicious, life-changing coffee?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not with Wade. Not with anyone.

“It’s nothing,” Logan muttered, his voice low. “She’s just… a neighbor.”

Wade leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “Just the neighbor, huh? You sure about that? ‘Cause from what I’ve gathered, you’ve been spending a lot of time over at that little coffee shop of hers. And I don’t think it’s just because she makes a killer latte.”

Logan’s grip on the beer bottle tightened. “I go there for the coffee. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh,” Wade said, nodding slowly, his eyes wide with fake innocence. “So, no other reason, huh? Not even a teensy, tiny bit of interest in just her? You’re not, I dunno, secretly enjoying her bubbly personality? Maybe even starting to like the fact that she talks your ear off every morning?”

Logan growled, a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. “I told you, Wade. She’s nothing special. Just an annoying, overly cheerful neighbor who won’t leave me alone.”

Wade’s grin faltered for a second, but Logan didn’t notice. He was too caught up in his own frustration, the words spilling out faster than he could stop them.

“She talks too much. Laughs too damn much. Always smiling, always trying to drag me into these pointless conversations,” Logan snapped, his voice rising. “And she’s always… happy. Like, ridiculously happy. It’s like she’s never had a bad day in her life, and it’s just… it’s too much. I don’t need that. I don’t want that.”

Wade held up a hand, trying to interject, but Logan kept going, his anger building with each word.

“She’s not even a friend. Just this… annoying bother who stumbled into my life and won’t let go. She doesn’t get it—she doesn’t get me. She’s… she’s a distraction. A useless, loud, irritating distraction.”

“Logan—” Wade tried to say, his voice quieter now, but Logan didn’t hear him.

“And what’s worse is, no matter how much I try to push her away, she just keeps coming back. With her damn coffee and her stupid smile and her endless chatter. I don’t need that kind of noise in my life. I don’t need her. I don’t need anyone.”

“Logan—” Wade said again, this time more urgently, his eyes flicking to something off-screen. But Logan wasn’t paying attention.

“I just want to be left alone, Wade. That’s it. Alone.”

There was a beat of silence. The fire crackled in the background, and Logan took a deep breath, his anger slowly ebbing as he realized how much he’d said. He hadn’t meant to go off like that, but once he’d started, the floodgates had opened.

Wade cleared his throat. “Uh… Logan, buddy. You might wanna turn around.”

Logan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Wade pointed over Logan’s shoulder, a tight, uncomfortable smile on his face. “Turn. Around.”

Logan’s body went rigid. Slowly, he turned in his chair, the weight of Wade’s words sinking into his chest. His heart pounded as his gaze landed on the porch.

And there, standing in the fading light, was you.

You were holding a tray with two cups of coffee and a box—probably filled with some homemade baked goods, knowing you. Your face was pale, eyes wide with shock and hurt. You looked frozen in place, as if you couldn’t quite believe what you’d just heard.

Logan’s mouth went dry, a sinking feeling settling deep in his gut.

You blinked, smile weak, forced, like you were trying to hold it together. “I, uh… I’m sorry,” you said, your voice so soft it barely reached him. “I didn’t mean to… overhear. I just… I brought you some coffee and… and a little something to eat.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, to explain, but no words came. He was trapped, frozen by the weight of his own mistakes, of everything he’d just said.

Your eyes flicked to the ground, and you set the tray down on the porch railing, hands shaking just slightly. “I’ll… I’ll just go.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond. You didn’t say anything else. You just turned and walked away, the sound of footsteps fading as you disappeared down the gravel road toward your house.

Logan stood there, staring at the tray you’d left behind, a hollow ache spreading through his chest. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do.

He’d hurt you. The one thing he’d tried so hard not to do, and he’d done it anyway.

Behind him, Wade’s voice broke the heavy silence. “Well, Logan, you really stepped in it this time.”

Logan didn’t respond. He just stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, watching the spot where you had been moments before, his mind racing with all the things he wished he could take back.

But it was too late.

You were gone.

***

You could still remember the day you first saw him—the man who seemed to be carved out of stone, with a permanent scowl etched on his face and eyes that carried the weight of the world. He’d been sitting on the porch of his small, weather-beaten cabin, a cigar clamped between his teeth, exuding an aura of "stay the hell away." And yet, there was something about him that drew you in. Maybe it was because, despite that gruff exterior, you sensed something familiar. Something like loneliness.

You had just moved into your new home, a quaint little place down the road. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. After years of drifting from place to place, trying to find somewhere that felt like home, You had finally found this sleepy little town. It had charm, history, and enough distance from your past to feel like a fresh start. 

Your coffee shop, Beans of Heaven, had been a dream for years, and now it was finally real. You poured your heart into the place—every morning waking up early to bake pastries, grind fresh coffee beans, and create an atmosphere that felt warm and welcoming. But something was missing. Maybe someone was missing.

Then there was Logan, your grumpy, brooding neighbor who never smiled and hardly ever spoke. He intrigued you in ways you couldn’t explain, but more than that, he reminded you of something you had been missing for a long time: companionship. And though you knew he was the type of man who would rather chew glass than have a heartfelt conversation, you wanted to get to know him. You wanted to be his friend.

---

The first time you approached Logan, you were filled with usual optimism. You had introduced yourself with a wide smile, carrying a box of fresh pastries and two cups of coffee—hoping that a bit of kindness might crack through his tough exterior. His reaction, or lack thereof, had been exactly what you’d expected: a grunt, a nod, and nothing more.

Most people would’ve given up after that first encounter. You weren’t most people.

You didn’t let Logan’s cold demeanor deter you. Day after day, you greeted him at the shop with the same enthusiasm, offering him a free coffee or some fresh-baked cookies. He never accepted anything beyond his usual black coffee, and most of the time he’d just sit in silence, staring out the window. But still, he came back, and that was enough to encourage you.

You had always been the “bubbly” one. The girl with too much energy, too much cheer. It was part of who you were, and you liked to believe that this positivity could rub off on others. But in reality, making friends has never been easy for you. People would be drawn to the warmth and laughter at first, but eventually, they’d drift away. Your constant need for connection, endless talking, enthusiasm—it all became too much for them.

You’d had friends in the past—plenty of them, in fact—but they never stayed for long. They would start to roll their eyes when you laughed too hard or sigh when you talked too much. Slowly, subtly, they’d pull away, leaving you feeling like you were always too much. Too much of a handful. Too much energy. Too much emotion.

So when Logan accepted your invitation to Sunday dinner for the first time, you had been over the moon. He had seemed so closed off, so unreachable, that you hadn’t expected him to agree. And yet, there he was, sitting at your table, cutting into a steak and grumbling his way through dinner. He wasn’t exactly the picture of warmth, but just having him there, sharing a meal with you, felt like a small victory.

Then came the hockey night. Logan had invited you over, and for once, it wasn’t you doing all the pushing. You’d sit on his couch, cheering on the players, feeling more alive than you had in a long time. For a while, everything felt… comfortable. 

It was strange to feel so at ease around someone like Logan, but that was the thing—despite his grumpiness, despite his silence—he made you feel safe. You didn’t feel the need to tone yourself down or apologize for being “too much.” With Logan, you could be herself, and that feeling was rare.

---

As the weeks went by, you found herself growing closer to Logan, though “closer” in Logan’s world didn’t mean much. He still grumbled more than he spoke, and he rarely shared anything personal. But the fact that he kept showing up—whether it was for coffee in the mornings, or Sunday dinners at your place—meant more to you than you could ever express.

And somewhere along the way, your feelings started to change. 

It wasn’t just friendship you were after anymore. No, it had become something much deeper than that. 

You were falling for Logan. Fast and hard.

You hadn’t meant to. It wasn’t like you had planned on it. But there was something about him—something in the way he was so guarded, so rough around the edges, yet kind in the smallest of ways—that made your heart ache. You had seen glimpses of who he really was beneath that tough exterior, and those glimpses made you want to know more. Made you want him.

It was the little things that got to you. Like the way he’d sit quietly and actually listen to you, even when you rambled on about random things. Or how he’d sometimes mutter a sarcastic comment that made you laugh, even when you knew he was trying to sound annoyed. There was a softness to him, buried deep down, and you wanted to uncover it. You wanted to make him smile.

But Logan was a hard man to read, and just when you thought they were becoming friends, just when you thought there might be something more between them, he started pulling away.

---

It wasn’t drastic at first. Just small changes. Logan became quieter, more distant. He stopped responding as much when you talked, going back to his old ways of grunting and nodding instead of giving those rare, short responses you had come to appreciate.

Then, he started spending less time at the coffee shop. He’d come in, get his coffee, and leave without saying much. The conversations you both used to have, no matter how one-sided, seemed to dwindle, replaced by a heavy silence that you didn’t know how to break.

It hurt. You didn’t want to admit it, but it did. After all the time they’d spent together, after all the dinners and the quiet moments, you had started to believe that maybe—just maybe—Logan felt the same way about you as you did about him.

But his distance told you otherwise. 

You had never been good at confrontation. You hated the idea of pushing someone into talking about something they didn’t want to. But with Logan, it was different. You didn’t want to lose whatever connection you had. You didn’t want to be just another person who drifted away from him.

So, one evening, you made up your mind. You were going to talk to him. Maybe even… ask him out. You had never been this nervous before, not with anyone else. But Logan was different. He mattered.

You baked his favorite dessert—black olive brownies, not too sweet, just like he liked them. It was something he had mentioned in passing once, a rare glimpse into the things he enjoyed. You had never heard of anyone liking such a strange combination, but you had found a recipe and made it work. You wanted it to be perfect.

Logan had given you a key to his cabin a while ago—“Just in case,” he had said, gruffly, one day after dinner. He’d made it sound like no big deal, but to you, it had meant everything. He trusted you, at least in some small way.

---

That evening, you decided you’d surprise him. Show up with the brownies and some coffee, and just… talk. Maybe you’d tell him how you felt. Maybe you wouldn’t. But at the very least, you wanted to clear the air between you two. You didn’t want to lose him.

You walked up the gravel path to his cabin, your heart pounding in your chest, the tray of brownies carefully balanced in your hands. You were nervous—more nervous than you’d ever been—but you told yourself that everything would be fine. Logan wasn’t the type of man who would just shut you out completely. He wouldn’t hurt you. Not intentionally.

But as you reached the porch, you heard voices. 

Logan’s voice, deep and rough, coming from inside the cabin. And someone else—someone familiar.

You paused just before you reached the door, your hand halfway to the knob. It was Wade’s voice. You smiled to herself, remembering the way Logan would grumble about Wade’s constant calls and visits. He’d only ever mentioned Wade a few times, but you could tell the two of them had a complicated friendship.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You didn’t want to. But something in Logan’s tone stopped you in her tracks.

“…she’s just an annoying, overly cheerful neighbor who won’t leave me alone.”

You froze.

Your heart clenched in your chest as the words sunk in, cutting through you like a knife. You told yourself you must have misheard, that maybe Logan was talking about someone else, but then he continued.

“She’s not even a friend. Just this… annoying bother who stumbled into my life and won’t let go. She doesn’t get it—she doesn’t get me. She’s a distraction. A useless, loud, irritating distraction.”

You felt your hands start to shake, the tray of brownies wobbling in your grasp. You could hear Wade trying to interrupt him, trying to stop him, but Logan’s voice kept going, his words growing harsher, more defensive.

“I just want to be left alone, Wade. That’s it. Alone.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as you stood there, frozen on the porch. Your mind raced, your heart pounding so loud you could barely hear anything else. You had come here to talk to him, to open yourself up in a way you hadn’t done in years. You had thought—no, had hoped—that maybe Logan cared about you, even in his gruff, distant way.

But now, standing there, hearing him tear you apart with his words, you realized how wrong you had been.

You had always been too much for people. Too much energy. Too much positivity. Too much… everything. And now, once again, you have pushed someone away without even realizing it. 

Your stupid, foolish heart had fallen for someone who didn’t want you. Who didn’t even see you as a friend. You had been a distraction to him—nothing more than a nuisance he had tolerated out of some sense of politeness.

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away. You wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not now.

You set the tray of brownies down on the porch railing, Your hands trembling as you adjusted the coffee cups next to them. You stood there for a moment, staring at the door at Logan, when he turned around. 

Taking a deep breath, you forced a weak smile onto your face. It was a habit. Something you did when you needed to hold yourself together.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, to Logan. “I didn’t mean to… bother you.”

With that, you turned and walked away, your heart breaking with every step. 

---

You had always been the type of person who saw the best in people. You believed in second chances, in redemption, in the idea that everyone deserves kindness. But now, as you walked back to your little house down the road, you felt that familiar ache settling deep in your chest—the one you had felt too many times before.

You had been too much for Logan. Just like you had been too much for everyone else in your life. Friends, acquaintances, even your family—they had all grown tired of you eventually. Of your laughter, energy, the need to connect with people. You had tried so hard to fit in, to make yourself smaller, to be less of a burden. But it never worked.

And now, Logan—the one person you had thought might be different—had proven you wrong.

You were destined to be alone. To always be too much for people to handle. 

Logan had made it clear how he felt. 

He wanted to be alone, and you would respect that. You wouldn’t bother him anymore. You wouldn’t force your way into his life, trying to make him laugh or smile or feel anything at all. You would leave him alone, just like he wanted.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d learn to live with that.

***

Logan hadn’t planned on hurting you. Hell, he hadn’t planned on any of it. He’d only been trying to keep you at arm’s length—just like he did with everyone else. It wasn’t like he was good with people. He’d learned that a long time ago, that anyone who got close to him ended up hurt one way or another. He was a mess of scars and guilt, haunted by too many lifetimes of pain. He was trying to save you from that.

But now, sitting alone in his cabin, the familiar quiet pressing in on him from all sides, Logan realized just how wrong he’d been. The stillness, the silence—it wasn’t the peace he’d been craving. It was suffocating.

He had driven you away.

It had been days since you’d heard him call you “an annoying, overly cheerful neighbor who wouldn’t leave him alone.” Days since you’d heard him say you weren’t even a friend, that you were just a distraction, a bother. Days since he’d noticed the way your smile had faltered, the way your shoulders had slumped ever so slightly before you quietly left, your tray of coffee and brownies left behind like a sad reminder of what he’d done.

At first, Logan had convinced himself it was for the best. You’d get over it, move on with your life, and he’d go back to the way things were before you’d stumbled into his world. Before you’d made him laugh—actually laugh—or shared your endless supply of kindness, even when he’d done nothing to deserve it.

But that wasn’t how it went.

You didn’t bounce back like you usually did. You didn’t come by the cabin the next day, or the day after that. And the longer the days stretched without you, the heavier Logan’s chest felt. The realization hit him slowly but forcefully: he didn’t want to go back to how things were before.

He missed you.

***

Logan hadn’t stepped foot in your shop since that night, but after nearly a week of dodging the place, he finally couldn’t stand it anymore. So he went. The bell above the door jingled as he walked in, and the familiar scent of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air. But something was off. Something that made Logan’s gut twist uncomfortably.

You were there behind the counter, as usual, but you weren’t the same. Gone was the lively energy that always filled the shop, replaced by a quietness that felt entirely wrong in this place. You weren’t laughing with customers or talking their ears off about the latest coffee blend you were experimenting with. You were polite, efficient, but that was it. Nothing more.

And when you saw him, your expression didn’t change. No smile, no warmth. Just a quiet nod as you took his order like he was any other customer.

It stung more than Logan cared to admit.

He approached the counter, trying to find the words—words he wasn’t good at, words that felt heavy and awkward in his mouth. “Look, I… I’m sorry,” he grumbled, his voice low, rough, as if the words themselves were foreign to him.

You looked up at him, your eyes soft but distant, and gave him a small, tight smile. “There’s no need to apologize, Logan. Really. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. It was anything but fine, and he could see it in the way you held yourself. You were still kind, still polite, but there was a distance there now, a wall that hadn’t been there before. It was like you had taken all that warmth you used to shower him with and locked it away, offering him only the bare minimum.

“You don’t need to act like… like nothing happened,” Logan muttered, his frustration bubbling up despite himself. He didn’t know how to fix this, but he hated the way you were looking at him like he was just another face in the crowd.

But you shook your head, that same small, strained smile on your face. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I understand.”

You turned to grab his coffee, but Logan could see the slight tremble in your hands. You were hurt, even if you weren’t saying it outright. And you were trying so damn hard to pretend like it didn’t matter, like his words hadn’t struck you right in the heart.

When you handed him the coffee, your eyes briefly flickered with something—something like sadness—but then it was gone, replaced with that same forced politeness.

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking the cup. He lingered for a moment, hoping you’d say something more, but you didn’t. You just moved on to the next customer, your back turned to him like he wasn’t even there.

Logan left the shop feeling worse than he had when he walked in.

The next few days were no better. Logan started coming back to the coffee shop more regularly, hoping to find a way to fix things, but every time, you treated him the same. Like any other customer. No more easy conversation, no more warmth in your voice, no more lingering smiles.

You were kind, but you were distant. Every interaction felt like a transaction—polite, professional, but cold. And the worst part? Logan could see how much it hurt you to act that way. He could see the moments where you started to talk to him like you used to, where your eyes lit up for a split second like you wanted to tell him about something funny that happened or share one of your stories. But then you’d catch yourself, and the light would die, replaced by that same tired, distant smile.

You were holding yourself back, and Logan knew it was because of him.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed the change in you. Some of your regulars—people who had known you long before Logan ever showed up—started asking if everything was okay. You just brushed them off with a laugh, saying you were tired or had been busy lately, but Logan knew better.

It was his words that had drained you. His careless, stupid words that had taken the best part of you—the part that had always been so full of life—and dimmed it.

And it killed him to know that.

***

The worst part came on a Saturday afternoon before your Sunday dinner meeting the next day, just as Logan was about to leave the shop. He had started to make a habit of stopping by, hoping that maybe—just maybe—you’d start talking to him like you used to. That maybe you’d give him a chance to make things right. But that hadn’t happened. Not yet.

As he reached the door, your voice stopped him.

“Logan?” you called softly, and he turned to see you standing behind the counter, your hands nervously fidgeting with a dishtowel.

“Yeah?” he grunted, turning to face you fully, his brow furrowed.

You hesitated, your eyes flicking to the floor before you spoke. “About tomorrow… You don’t have to come to dinner if you don’t want to. I… I understand if you’d rather not.”

Logan’s heart sank. You had always invited him to Sunday dinner, ever since you’d become friends. It had become part of the routine, something comfortable and familiar. And now, you were telling him it was okay if he didn’t come. That he didn’t have to be there.

The way you said it—the quiet resignation in your voice—it was like you were apologizing for existing. Like you thought you’d pushed him too far by inviting him into your life, by asking for his company.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a soft sadness. “I’m sorry if I… if I pushed too hard. I just… I thought maybe you enjoyed it. But if you don’t, it’s okay. I don’t want to bother you.”

Logan stared at you, his throat tight, his chest heavy with guilt. You thought you were the one who had pushed too hard? You thought you were the one who needed to apologize?

“Don’t,” he muttered, his voice rough. “Don’t do that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You just gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s okay, Logan. Really. I understand.”

You didn’t wait for his response. You just turned back to the counter, your shoulders slumped as you busied yourself with cleaning up, as if the conversation had never happened. As if you weren’t slowly slipping away from him, bit by bit.

Logan left the shop with a heavy heart, the weight of everything he’d done crashing down on him all at once.

***

Logan stared at the TV, barely seeing the game. The familiar roar of the crowd, the sharp scrape of skates on ice—all of it faded into the background as his mind drifted back to you.

The silence in the cabin was suffocating. Usually, you’d be here by now, sitting next to him on the couch, your laughter filling the room as you tried to explain to him why one team’s jersey design was superior to the other. You didn’t know much about hockey, but it never stopped you from trying to keep up.

But tonight, the couch beside him was empty.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, his hand resting on the cold beer he hadn’t even opened. He thought back to yesterday, to the way you’d looked at him when you told him he didn’t have to come to dinner. The quiet apology in your voice, the way you’d tried to act like everything was fine even though it clearly wasn’t. You’d been pulling away, bit by bit, and Logan had done nothing to stop it.

He couldn’t shake the image of you standing behind the counter, your usual light dimmed, your eyes tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. And the worst part was, you had apologized to him. You had made it seem like you were the problem, like you had pushed too hard when in reality, it was him who had shoved you away.

And now, here he was—alone, with nothing but the echo of your absence to keep him company.

Logan reached for his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before he sighed, setting it down on the table with a heavy thud. He didn’t know how to fix this. He wasn’t good at apologies, wasn’t good at talking about his feelings or admitting when he’d screwed up. But he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.

And then, like a lightbulb flickering on in the back of his mind, he realized there was only one person he could call.

Logan stared at his phone for what felt like hours, the gnawing pit in his stomach getting worse with every passing minute. He didn’t want to make this call. Of all the people in the world, Wade Wilson was the last person Logan wanted to ask for help. But Wade had been there that night. He had seen everything—and worse, he had seen you.

That meant Wade knew. And if Wade knew, well, Logan had no choice but to call him.

With a resigned sigh, Logan tapped Wade’s number. The phone rang twice before Wade’s obnoxious voice burst through the speaker.

“Logan! My brooding, hairy amigo! What can I do for you? You need a babysitter for Laura? Oh, oh! Wait, I got it—you wanna do a buddy cop movie together! I’ll be the zany, charming sidekick, and you can be the angry guy who growls a lot. Wait, you already do that. So I’ll be—"

“Wade,” Logan growled, cutting him off. “I need your help.”

There was a pause, and Logan could almost hear the grin forming on Wade’s face.

“Oh my God. Hold on. Hold the f—beep—up,” Wade said, dropping his voice like he was narrating a dramatic trailer. “‘Logan needs my help.’ Wow. Wow, guys, are we hearing this? Logan, a.k.a. the Grumpiest X-Man, a.k.a. ‘I don’t need anybody,’ is asking me for help. This is huge! Character development, people! Mark this down for the sequel.”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting the call. “Wade…”

“Okay, okay, I’m done. I’m done. What’s the problem? Did you finally realize that leather jackets and flannel aren’t a personality?”

Logan gritted his teeth. “It’s about her.”

Another pause. Then, in classic Wade fashion, the tone shifted completely. “Ohhh. Right, the cute neighbor girl with the coffee shop. The one you totally ruined. I remember now. Dude, you really shit the bed on that one, huh?”

Logan clenched his fist, the memory of that night still fresh in his mind. “Yeah… she heard me say some things. Things I didn’t mean.”

“Oh nooo,” Wade groaned dramatically, dragging out the vowels. “You did the whole ‘I’m a lone wolf, I don’t need friends, emotions are for weaklings’ bit, didn’t you? The classic Logan screw-up! Ten out of ten, would not recommend.”

Logan didn’t respond, which was answer enough.

“Dude, she was standing right there with coffee and brownies!” Wade continued. “You might as well have drop-kicked a puppy in front of her. It was painful to watch! I mean, not as painful as X-Men Origins: Wolverine, but still…” He paused, and Logan could practically hear him smirking. “You know she left that tray behind, right? I ate the brownies. They were a little too sweet, but solid effort. Girl’s got a good heart.”

Logan growled, feeling the sting of regret twist deeper in his chest. “I get it, Wade. I messed up.”

“Yeah, no kidding. But here’s the thing, Wolvie,” Wade said, his tone suddenly shifting to something more genuine. “She didn’t just hear you. She heard you, you know? She was standing right there. That ‘annoying’ comment? That hit her like a damn truck. And if you think she’s just going to bounce back with a smile and a cup of coffee like nothing happened, you’re delusional. This is a Hallmark movie waiting to happen, and right now, you’re the grumpy lumberjack who just drove her back to the city.”

Logan swallowed, the weight of Wade’s words hitting him hard. He hadn’t just hurt you; he’d made you feel like you didn’t matter. And for someone like you—someone who put so much heart into everything you did—that was unforgivable.

“So what do I do?” Logan muttered, his voice low.

“You gotta fix it, obviously,” Wade replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’ve gotta show her that you care. And yeah, that means talking about your feelings, Logan. I know it’s your least favorite thing after happy endings and Deadpool sequels, but tough luck. She’s not a mind reader. You gotta tell her what she means to you.”

Logan frowned. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do that.”

Wade made a dramatic sigh. “Oh, come on! You’ve got claws, a healing factor, and that grizzled Clint Eastwood vibe going on, but you don’t know how to tell a girl you care about her? Listen, all you gotta do is be real. Apologize for being an emotionally constipated idiot, and tell her the truth. That’s it. No drama. No over-the-top declarations of love. Just tell her how you feel.”

Logan sat in silence, the weight of Wade’s words sinking in. He knew Wade was right—God help him, Wade was actually right. If he didn’t fix this, he’d lose you. And after everything, he couldn’t let that happen.

“And for the record,” Wade added, breaking the silence, “if this turns into some epic romantic moment, I better be invited to the wedding. I’ve already got a Deadpool tux ordered, and trust me, it’s glorious.”

Logan sighed, already regretting the call. “Thanks, Wade.”

“Anytime, Wolvie,” Wade chirped, his voice back to its usual annoying cheer. “Now go make things right, and remember—don’t stab anyone while apologizing. That’s generally frowned upon.”

Logan hung up, staring at the phone for a moment longer. Wade’s advice was ringing in his ears. He had to fix this. He had to tell you the truth, no matter how hard it was.

Because losing you wasn’t an option.

***

Logan stood outside your coffee shop, the weight of his own guilt pressing down on him harder than any enemy he’d ever faced. He’d never been good with words, never been good at talking about feelings or admitting when he was wrong. But this? This was something he had to do.

The bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open, the familiar scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries filling the air. It was a comfort, but today, it did little to ease the tension in his chest.

You were behind the counter, as always, but Logan could tell right away that something had changed. You weren’t your usual self. Gone was the bright energy that had always seemed to follow you around like a cloud of sunshine. You smiled at customers, sure, but it was strained, and your usual chatter was replaced by polite, quiet exchanges.

Logan made his way to the counter, the words of apology swirling in his head, but when you looked up at him, something inside him twisted painfully. You looked tired—not physically, but emotionally. The light in your eyes had dimmed, and it was all because of him.

“Logan,” you greeted him softly, your voice polite but distant. “What can I get you?”

He shifted awkwardly, his usual gruff demeanor faltering as he tried to find the words. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice low.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the counter. “I’m working right now,” you replied, your tone calm but guarded. “But we can talk later. After I close up.”

Logan swallowed the lump in his throat. The distance in your voice was like a knife twisting in his gut, but he nodded. “I’ll wait,” he muttered.

You gave him a small, tight smile, the same one you’d been giving him ever since that night. The same one that wasn’t real.

“Okay,” you said quietly, and then you turned back to your work, leaving Logan standing there, feeling more lost than ever.

As he left the shop, Logan couldn’t shake the image of you trying to hold it all together—trying to act like his words hadn’t hurt you when he knew damn well they had.

And that was when he realized: this was the moment Wade had warned him about. He couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. He had to tell you the truth, or he’d lose you for good.

And losing you was something he couldn’t handle.

***

Logan stood in the dim light of Beans of Heaven, waiting for the last customer to leave. The smell of fresh coffee hung in the air, comforting but laced with tension. He had rehearsed this conversation a thousand times in his head, but the words felt like jagged rocks in his throat. He wasn’t good at this—never had been. Hell, most of his life had been spent avoiding conversations like this altogether. But tonight, Logan couldn’t avoid it anymore.

You were cleaning up behind the counter, your movements slower than usual, the exhaustion clear in the way your shoulders sagged. You hadn’t said much to him since the night you overheard him—a few words here and there, nothing more. Logan didn’t blame you. He’d hurt you. Badly. And now, he had to own up to it.

When the last customer finally walked out, you turned the sign on the door to "Closed" and exhaled softly. You didn’t even glance his way as you started wiping down the tables. It was like the distance between you had grown into a chasm, one that Logan didn’t know how to cross.

But he was going to try.

“Can we talk?” Logan asked, his voice gruff but quiet.

You paused mid-wipe, your back still turned to him. There was a long, tense moment before you nodded and turned around to face him, leaning against the counter. You didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him enough—you were listening, but barely. Your guard was up, and Logan had no one to blame but himself for that.

“Let’s sit,” Logan said, gesturing to one of the tables.

You hesitated, then walked over to the table and sat down. Logan followed, his heart pounding harder than it had in any battle he’d fought. This wasn’t like fighting an enemy—he couldn’t punch his way through this. He had to speak, to explain himself, and that scared the hell out of him.

He sat across from you, his hands resting on the table, fingers tapping against the wood as he searched for the right words. For a moment, he just looked at you—your face drawn, tired, but still beautiful in that way that had pulled him in from the start. And he hated himself for what he was about to say, for the truth that was going to spill out.

“You deserve the truth,” Logan began, his voice low, rough. “About me. About why I… pushed you away.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he saw the hurt there, the confusion you’d been carrying ever since that night. He swallowed hard and continued.

“I ain’t from here,” he said, the words awkward as they came out. “Not… this world, I mean. I come from another universe. I came here—ended up here—after a lot of shit went down. My past… it’s a mess. Hell, I’m a mess.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but you didn’t interrupt. Logan knew he had to keep going, to let the words out before he lost the nerve.

“I was part of a team once,” Logan continued, his gaze dropping to his hands. “The X-Men. We fought for something bigger than ourselves. We tried to make things better… tried to protect people. But I failed them. I let them die. All of ‘em. Professor X, Scott, Jean… the people I cared about most in the world. I couldn’t save them. And it broke me.”

He clenched his fists, the memories crashing down on him like a wave. He had relived those moments over and over again—his failure, the pain of losing everyone he loved.

“I ain’t good with people. Never have been,” Logan said, his voice raw. “I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away, ‘cause I know what happens when they get close. They get hurt. Or worse. I’ve seen it too many times.”

Logan hesitated, his eyes flicking back up to yours. There was something there—a softness, a flicker of understanding, but the hurt was still lingering behind it.

“That night,” Logan said, his voice dropping even lower, “when Wade started talkin’ about you… about us… I panicked. All I could think about was how I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. How I didn’t want to get close, ‘cause I knew it’d end up the same way it always does. So I said those things—those stupid, hurtful things. I didn’t mean ‘em. But I said ‘em anyway.”

Your expression didn’t change, but your fingers tightened around the edge of the table. Logan exhaled, feeling the weight of his confession pressing down on him.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “But I did. And I can’t take that back. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or to trust me again. But you deserve to know that none of this is your fault. I pushed you away because of me. Because I’m afraid of losing you. Of losing anyone else.”

The silence that followed felt like it stretched on forever. Logan stared at the table, waiting for your response, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn’t know what he expected—anger, tears, maybe even for you to get up and walk away.

But when you finally spoke, your voice was quiet, steady.

“You hurt me, Logan,” you said, and the words hit him like a punch to the gut. “I’ve spent my whole life being the person who’s too much. Too loud. Too bubbly. People get tired of me. They always do. And when you said those things… it felt like you were just like the rest of them. Like you’d gotten tired of me too.”

Logan clenched his jaw, hating himself more with every word you spoke. He hadn’t just hurt you—he’d made you feel like you weren’t enough. Like you were the problem, when it was really him all along.

“I ain’t tired of you,” Logan said, his voice hoarse. “It wasn’t about that. It was my own damn head, my fears… my screwed-up past. I never wanted to hurt you. I swear.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your eyes searching his face as if you were trying to find some piece of the truth hidden there. Logan waited, his chest tight, his breath shallow. The silence between you felt heavy, thick with everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

When the silence stretched on too long, Logan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, murmuring a soft, “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d laid it all out, and now it was up to you.

Logan pushed back from the table, ready to leave—ready to give you the space you needed, the space he had denied you by showing up tonight. He stood up, muttering, “I’ll leave you be. I shouldn’t have—”

“Logan.”

Your voice stopped him mid-step, and he turned to look at you, surprised.

You weren’t looking at him directly, but your voice was softer now, a little less guarded. “There’s a Cup final this Friday, and I was thinking… I could really go for some good beer.”

Logan stared at you for a second, processing your words. It wasn’t much—it wasn’t forgiveness, not yet—but it was something. It was an opening.

And for the first time in days, Logan felt a glimmer of hope.

“Beer, huh?” Logan grunted, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile. “I think I can manage that.”

You looked up at him then, a small, tentative smile playing at the corners of your lips. And in that moment, Logan knew—he hadn’t lost you completely. Not yet.

***

Logan noticed it in the way your conversations shifted. There was a playfulness between you now that hadn’t always been there before. You teased each other more, flirted even—though you hadn’t quite called it that yet. It was lighthearted at first, a few sarcastic remarks here, a little banter there, but it started to build into something more, something that made Logan’s chest tighten every time you smiled in response to one of his comments.

There were nights when the two of you would close up the shop together, and instead of going your separate ways, you’d sit together in the shop long after it had closed, sharing stories and laughing about things that weren’t even that funny. Logan would bring over a six-pack of beer or you’d dig into the pastries that didn’t sell that day, both of you just… existing together in a way that felt easy, natural.

And the flirting? It became less subtle over time. There was a heat behind it now, a charge that wasn’t there before, like the two of you were slowly testing the waters of something more but neither of you wanted to be the first to dive in.

One night, Logan had come over to your place, a rare occurrence, but something that was happening more frequently. You had invited him over after the shop had closed, and instead of sitting in silence or watching hockey, you’d both cracked open some beers and ended up watching a cheesy romantic comedy that was so bad, it was actually kind of good.

The movie wasn’t exactly what Logan had expected—it was all grand gestures and overly dramatic declarations of love—but there was something about watching it with you that made it… bearable. More than bearable, actually. He found himself laughing along with you, making sarcastic remarks at the ridiculous plot, and somewhere along the way, he realized that he was enjoying it.

Not because of the movie itself, but because of you.

You’d both sat on the couch, not quite touching but close enough that Logan could feel the warmth of your body beside his. And as the movie dragged on, filled with all the usual rom-com clichés, Logan couldn’t help but think about how different this felt—how different you felt. There was something so easy about being around you, something that calmed the constant storm in his head.

But there was something else too.

Logan found himself watching you more than the movie, the sound of your laughter pulling him out of his own thoughts. He’d never really thought about it before, but your laughter was like a balm—so different from the world he was used to. It wasn’t just noise. It was light, something that made his chest tighten in a way that felt both unfamiliar and too familiar at the same time.

When you caught him watching, you didn’t call him out for it. You just smiled, that warm, knowing smile that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, you understood him in ways no one else ever had.

“Logan,” you said softly, your eyes twinkling with amusement as the credits finally started to roll, “why do we always watch these terrible movies?”

Logan grunted, cracking open another beer. “You like ‘em,” he muttered, his usual gruff response. But there was something softer behind it now, something that wasn’t just irritation.

You chuckled, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Yeah, but you could just say no, you know. You don’t have to suffer through them with me.”

Logan shot you a sideways glance, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Ain’t sufferin’.”

That made you pause for a moment, your expression softening as you looked at him. There was a flicker of something in your eyes—something that made Logan’s heart pound a little harder in his chest.

“Logan,” you said again, your voice quiet but steady, “when are you going to ask me out already?”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t expecting you to be so direct—not tonight, not while you were sitting there in the afterglow of a stupid romantic movie you both hated and loved to hate. But there it was, out in the open, plain as day. The unspoken thing between you, finally given a name.

He didn’t answer at first. He just stared at you, his mind spinning as he tried to process what you’d just said. For so long, he’d kept that part of himself buried—the part that wanted more than just friendship, the part that wanted you. He’d been terrified of it, terrified of what it would mean if he let himself feel that way. But now, sitting here with you, the question hanging in the air between you, he wasn’t afraid anymore.

“I… don’t know,” Logan muttered, his voice low, but there was no hesitation in his tone. “Guess I’ve been thinkin’ about it.”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a small smile. “And?”

Logan’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself be honest.

“And I think I want to,” he admitted, his voice rough but sincere. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up. Don’t want to hurt you.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you leaned in closer, your hand resting gently on his arm. It was a small gesture, but it sent a jolt of warmth through him, one that settled deep in his chest.

“Logan,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, “you won’t mess this up. I know you. I know who you are, and I know what you’re afraid of. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan swallowed hard, the weight of your words hitting him straight in the gut. He’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the inevitable moment when he’d push you too far, or when you’d get tired of him, like everyone else had. But you weren’t like the others. You were still here, still looking at him with those warm, understanding eyes, still offering him more kindness than he thought he deserved.

And for once, Logan didn’t feel the need to run.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours as the space between you disappeared. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t some grand gesture like the ones in those stupid rom-coms. It was quiet, simple. But it was real.

“I’m askin’ you now,” Logan murmured, his voice low, his lips brushing against yours. “Will you go out with me?”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in to close the distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a soft, slow kiss that said more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes sparkled with that familiar light that Logan had grown to love.

“Took you long enough,” you teased, your voice soft but filled with warmth.

Logan chuckled, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Yeah. Guess I’m a slow learner.”

But for the first time in a long time, Logan wasn’t afraid of what came next. He wasn’t afraid of letting you in, of letting himself feel something more than just the weight of his past.

Because with you, it didn’t feel like he was carrying that burden alone anymore.

***

Logan hadn’t been on a date in… well, longer than he cared to admit. Most of his relationships in the past had been more of the “let’s get this over with” variety, not the kind of thing you planned or made special. But this—you—was different. He wanted to do this right. Wanted to show you that he was serious, that you mattered.

The problem was, he didn’t have a damn clue what “doing it right” even meant. What did people do on dates nowadays? Was it still flowers and a fancy dinner, or was that too old-fashioned? The last time Logan had actively thought about dating, people were still sending telegrams. He needed help, but the only person who came to mind made him groan internally.

Wade.

Of course, it had to be Wade.

Logan knew what he was getting himself into when he dialed the number, but that didn’t stop the immediate regret that washed over him when Wade answered on the first ring.

“Wolverine! You calling to finally admit that I’m the most charming, delightful human being in your life? Or is this about the wedding? Because, listen, I already have the tux, and it’s a Deadpool tux. It’s perfect. You’re gonna love it.”

Logan rubbed the bridge of his nose, already tired. “Wade, I need advice.”

There was a beat of silence, and then, predictably, Wade launched into a full-on monologue.

“Oh my God. Everyone stop! Logan needs advice! This is monumental! This is character development at its finest, folks. Truly groundbreaking stuff. So what is it? Planning a trip to the library? Want me to help you pick out your next flannel shirt? Or—wait, wait. It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Logan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t deny it. “Yeah. I need to plan a date.”

“A DATE?!” Wade’s voice went up several octaves, and Logan immediately regretted every decision that had led him to this moment. “Oh, this is amazing! I knew it! I knew it! You and her, finally making it happen! See, I told you—grumpy loners can find love too!”

“Wade,” Logan growled, already losing his patience.

“Right, right. Focus,” Wade said, his tone shifting into something resembling helpfulness. “So, you’re planning a date. And you’re completely clueless, right? No worries, big guy. Your ol’ pal Wade is here to help you out. Here’s what you do: skip the over-the-top romantic crap. Don’t try to be something you’re not. She likes you for you, not for some shiny version of Logan who shows up with roses and a speech. Just… do something the two of you will actually enjoy. Something that won’t make either of you uncomfortable.”

Logan frowned, considering Wade’s words. As much as he hated to admit it, Wade had a point. A candlelit dinner at some fancy restaurant wasn’t him, and it sure as hell wasn’t you. You’d see right through it, and the last thing Logan wanted was to make you feel uncomfortable.

“Just be yourself, man,” Wade continued, as if he hadn’t already dropped enough wisdom for one phone call. “Do something that’ll make you both relax. Oh! And if things go well, don’t forget—consent is sexy. It’s the Wade Wilson guarantee.”

Logan grimaced. “Thanks, Wade.”

“Anytime! And remember—if you need a hype man, I’m your guy. I’ll show up in my tux with a bouquet of tacos and—”

Logan hung up before Wade could finish.

Wade’s words echoed in Logan’s mind as he sat at the kitchen table, staring at his phone. What could he do that would make this date feel like them? Something simple, something that would make you both comfortable.

Then it hit him.

That lake you had mentioned a while back—the one you’d talked about like it was the most peaceful place in the world. You’d told him about it on one of your long walks, how you used to go there to clear your head, to escape the noise of the world. A place where the stars felt closer, and everything else just… disappeared.

Logan could work with that. He wasn’t about to cook for you (that would probably end in disaster), but he could pick up some food, pack a cooler, and take you to that lake. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt right. And that’s what mattered.

The plan was simple: grab some food, drive out to the lake, and spend the evening under the stars. Just the two of you. He didn’t need grand gestures. He just needed you.

***

The sun was just starting to set when Logan pulled up to your place, his truck parked in front of your door. You stepped out, your hair tied back, wearing a beautiful dress that suited you perfectly. And damn, if Logan didn’t think you looked beautiful. No frills, no makeup—just you.

“Hey,” you said, a smile tugging at your lips as you approached the truck.

“Hey,” Logan grunted, returning your smile with a small one of his own.

He opened the door for you, and you climbed into the passenger seat, your eyes flicking to the cooler in the back. “What’s all that?” you asked, curiosity in your voice.

Logan shrugged, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Figured we’d grab some food and head out to that lake you told me about. Thought we could, y’know, just hang out.”

Your smile widened, the kind of smile that made Logan’s chest tighten in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying. “That sounds perfect.”

The drive to the lake was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence. Logan wasn’t much for small talk, and you seemed content just to sit back and enjoy the ride. The trees blurred past as they drove further away from town, the sun dipping lower and casting a golden glow over the road.

When they finally arrived at the lake, the sky had turned a deep shade of purple, the stars just starting to peek through the twilight. The water was calm, the surface reflecting the fading light in a way that made the whole scene feel almost surreal.

Logan parked the truck, grabbed the cooler, and the two of you made your way down to the shoreline, settling on a blanket he’d brought. He cracked open a couple of beers, and the two of you sat in silence for a moment, watching as the stars began to fill the sky.

“This is perfect,” you said softly, your eyes fixed on the sky above. “Thank you for this.”

Logan glanced at you, his chest tightening again. “I figured you needed a break,” he muttered. “We both do.”

You looked over at him, your smile soft. “Yeah. We do.”

***

The conversation flowed easily after that. The two of you talked about everything and nothing, the way you always did. You teased him about his gruffness, and he shot back with a sarcastic remark about your bad taste in movies. There was a lightness between you now, the tension from the past few weeks all but gone.

At some point, you pulled out one of the sandwiches Logan had bought, laughing at how he’d bought way more food than either of you could possibly eat.

“Logan,” you said between bites, “you realize this could feed a small army, right?”

He grunted, shrugging. “Didn’t want you to go hungry.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Always so practical.”

As the night wore on, the stars grew brighter, and the conversation turned quieter, more intimate. You leaned back on the blanket, your head tilted toward the sky, while Logan leaned back on his elbows, watching you more than the stars.

“I love it out here,” you murmured, your voice soft. “It feels like everything just… stops. You know?”

Logan nodded. He knew exactly what you meant.

The quiet stretched between you, the air thick with something unspoken. Logan could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, that familiar feeling in his chest growing stronger. He wanted to kiss you—needed to—but he wasn’t sure how to make that first move.

But then, you turned to him, your eyes meeting his, and there was a flicker of something there—something that told him he didn’t need to worry.

You shifted, leaning in closer, and Logan felt his heart start to race. Your lips were inches from his, your breath warm against his skin as you smiled softly.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the night. “When are you going to kiss me?”

Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. Instead, he leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, slow kiss that made everything else disappear. The stars, the lake, the past—none of it mattered anymore.

The kiss deepened, your hand sliding up to rest against his cheek, and Logan responded in kind, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you faded into the background. It was soft at first, hesitant, but the more you kissed, the more the fire between you grew.

Logan could feel the heat rising between you, the tension that had been simmering for weeks finally boiling over. Your body pressed against his, your hands tangling in his hair as the kiss became more insistent, more urgent. And Logan didn’t pull away. He didn’t run.

When you finally pulled back, your lips swollen from the kiss, you looked at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of desire and something deeper.

“I usually wait until the third date,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, “but I’ve waited long enough.”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at you, his mind racing. “You sure?”

You nodded, your smile softening. “I’m sure.”

Logan didn’t hesitate after that. He kissed you again, slower this time, more deliberate, his hands roaming over your body with a tenderness that surprised even him. And when the moment felt right, he stood, pulling you gently to your feet, his hand resting on the small of your back as he led you back to the truck.

The drive back to your place was quiet, but the tension between you was electric, the air thick with anticipation.

When Logan pulled up in front of your house, the night was still quiet, the stars twinkling overhead like a promise. He helped you out of the truck, his hand lingering on your waist as you walked to the front door.

You turned to him, your eyes searching his, and Logan could see the flicker of doubt, of nervousness, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something deeper.

“You coming in?” you asked, your voice soft but steady.

Logan didn’t answer with words. He just nodded, following you inside, knowing that whatever happened next, this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

And for the first time in a long time, Logan wasn’t afraid of what came next.

***

You and Logan moved swiftly through the shadows, hands unable to resist the pull of each other’s bodies. The moment you stepped into your room, everything else faded away. Your lips collided in a fiery kiss, the kind that left no room for hesitation. Logan’s calloused fingers cradled your face, his rough thumbs grazing the softness of your flushed cheeks, sparking a shiver that ran through you. You let out a breathy moan, silently urging him to explore further, to claim you in the way only he could.

Logan's touch was both urgent and reverent as he led you towards the bed, his lips tracing a heated path down the curve of your neck. Each kiss sent electric sparks racing down your spine, igniting your skin with anticipation. He gently guided you down onto the cool sheets, his broad frame hovering above you, an intoxicating mix of power and restraint. The weight of him, the solid, muscular planes of his chest pressing against your sensitive breasts, made you arch up instinctively, offering yourself to him—a silent, burning invitation that left him breathless.

His hands—those strong, capable hands—moved across your body with deliberate intent. He memorized every inch, tracing the dip of your waist, the soft curve of your hips, and the smooth expanse of your thighs. His fingers found the hem of the dress, tugging it upwards with a tantalizing slowness that made your breath catch in your throat. As he peeled away the fabric, revealing your lace-clad thighs, the world narrowed to just them. Your heart pounded as your desire mirrored the hunger in his gaze.

As Logan hovered over you once again, the air between you two seemed to thicken with anticipation. Your nerves fluttered, heart pounding in your chest, but now it was mixed with an undeniable heat, a pull you couldn’t resist. His eyes locked onto yours, his gaze dark and intense, and for a moment, it felt like the world had fallen away—leaving just you two in the stillness of the night.

He leaned down, brushing his lips once again against your neck, kissing it softly at first, but soon his mouth became more insistent, his tongue flicking against your skin as his hands roamed your body. Logan's touch was both gentle and commanding, tracing the lines of your curves with deliberate intent. His fingers grazed your hips, sliding up the smooth expanse of your stomach, sending shivers racing through you. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, as your mind warred between nervousness and a craving you couldn’t deny.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he growled softly, his breath hot against your skin as his lips continued their descent.

With slow, deliberate motions, Logan pulled your dress up, exposing you inch by inch until it was discarded somewhere on the floor. He took a moment to admire you completely, his gaze lingering on your bare skin, drinking in every curve and freckle. You felt exposed under his intense gaze, but Logan had a way of making you feel not just desired but worshiped.

The moment your lips met, everything else seemed to fade away, the world narrowing down to just the heat between you. Logan’s mouth was firm and insistent, but his kiss was careful at first, testing, coaxing you into the moment. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his rough fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. The sensation of his lips moving against your made your head spin, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours in a rhythm that quickly turned hungry.

Your heart raced as you pressed yourself against him, feeling the hard lines of his chest beneath your hands. The sharp contrast between his rugged strength and the softness of his touch sent a thrill through you, and any nervousness you had melted away under the heat of his attention. You opened your mouth to him, letting him in, and his tongue slipped past your lips, exploring you with deliberate slowness that made your body shiver.

Logan’s kisses were deep, demanding, but there was a tenderness behind them—a quiet intensity that made you feel like you was the only thing that mattered to him in that moment. His hands roamed your body, his fingers tracing the line of your waist, skimming over your hips and dipping to the small of your back, pulling you closer with every touch. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of you, like he was savoring every inch of your skin.

Your body responded instinctively to his touch, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt. With a soft, breathless moan, you tugged at the buttons, wanting to feel him fully, skin against skin. Logan obliged, pulling away just long enough to shrug off his shirt, revealing the broad, scarred planes of his chest. Your breath caught at the sight of him, the sharp lines of muscle, the dark smattering of hair across his chest, and the scars that marked his skin—each one telling a story of battles fought and survived.

Your fingers traced the scars lightly, almost reverently, and Logan let out a low growl of appreciation, his eyes darkening as he watched you. His hands moved to your waist, his knuckles grazing the soft skin of your thighs. The feel of his hands on your bare skin made your heart race, your breath quickening as the heat between you two flared even hotter.

Logan paused, his gaze once again sweeping over your body with an intensity that made you blush. His eyes lingered on your breasts this time, barely covered by the thin lace of your bra, and then trailed down to your hips, his hand brushing lightly over your thigh. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he repeated, his voice rough with need. His fingers slipped beneath the strap of your bra, pulling it down just enough to expose one breast to his hungry gaze. He leaned in, his lips brushing over the soft swell of your skin before his mouth closed over your nipple, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak.

You gasped, your back arching as a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you. Logan’s hand slid behind you, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside, leaving you fully exposed to him. His mouth moved to your other breast, sucking gently, his tongue swirling around your nipple while his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every dip, as if he was trying to memorize you by touch alone.

Your breath came in shallow pants as his mouth continued its assault, alternating between soft kisses and sharp nips that sent sparks of pleasure through you. You felt his hands slide lower, tracing the line of your panties before tugging them down your legs. The cool air hit your bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of Logan’s touch as he spread your thighs apart, his fingers teasing your folds, exploring the wetness with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your whole body tremble.

“Logan,” you moaned, your hips rising to meet his hand, your body desperate for more of him. But he was in no hurry, his fingers moving in lazy circles, dipping into you just enough to make you gasp, but never fully giving what you craved.

He grinned against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you were falling apart under his touch. “Patience, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I want to take my time with you.”

But Logan’s control was slipping, and you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers tightened on your hips as he fought to keep his composure. His kisses grew more heated, more frantic, as he worked his way back up your body, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that was hot and desperate, full of need.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your thigh, straining against his boxers, and the thought of him—of all of him—made your head spin. Your hand moved down, fingers brushing over the bulge in his boxers, and Logan groaned into your mouth, his hips bucking slightly at the contact.

“Fuck, baby…” he rasped, his breath coming out in harsh, ragged pants as you rubbed him through the fabric, feeling the heat of him, the way his cock twitched in response to you touch. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

With a growl, Logan pulled back just long enough to shed the rest of his clothes, his eyes never leaving yours as he stood above you, fully exposed. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, his cock hard and thick, jutting towards you with a dark flush at the tip. 

And he was back on you. Logan’s kisses trailed lower, his lips moving from your neck to your collarbone, then down to the swell of your breasts. Each touch sent a new wave of heat through you, your body already humming with anticipation. He lingered there for a moment, his mouth closing over one hardened nipple, his tongue flicking across it as you gasped and arched into him. But it was clear from the way his hands gripped your hips, how his kisses continued to drift lower, that he had something else in mind.

Your breath caught in your throat as Logan shifted, his hands sliding down your sides, his lips now kissing a line along your stomach. The tension in the air thickened, and your heart pounded with both anticipation and nervous excitement. His hands reached your thighs, spreading them gently, and a flush of heat spread across your skin as you lay bare before him. You felt exposed—vulnerable in the most intimate way—but Logan’s gaze, dark and hungry, made you feel worshiped rather than nervous.

“You’re just perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire, his breath warm against your inner thigh. The words melted your last bit of hesitation, and your body relaxed under his touch, opening up to him.

Logan’s mouth hovered just over your center, his breath teasing your already slick folds, but he didn’t dive in right away. Instead, his lips brushed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, sending shivers up your spine, as he kissed his way closer. He was slow, deliberate, savoring every moment, every touch, as if he wanted to make sure you felt everything.

Then, without warning, his tongue flicked out, parting your folds and brushing against your clit with a gentle, teasing stroke. You gasped, your hips jolting up at the sudden jolt of pleasure, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly. Logan’s hands slid beneath you, holding you hips in place, his grip firm yet gentle, and he let out a low, appreciative growl.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, and the sound of it made your body pulse with need.

He dove back in, his tongue flicking over your clit again, this time with more pressure, more intent. The sensation was electric, pleasure shooting through you with every stroke. Logan’s mouth worked you over slowly at first, his tongue swirling around your clit, teasing with light, maddening flicks that had your hips lifting toward him, silently begging for more. He knew exactly how to make you squirm, how to drive you wild with the simplest of touches.

You moaned softly, your head falling back against the pillow as your body arched, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The pleasure was building, a slow, steady burn deep in your core, and Logan seemed determined to make it last. His tongue slid lower, dipping between your folds, tasting you, before returning to your clit, sucking gently. Every move he made was deliberate, calculated to push you closer to the edge without ever letting you tip over.

“Logan…,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. Your hips bucked again, seeking more, and Logan let out another low groan as he tightened his grip on your thighs, holding them still.

“Patience, babygirl,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a mix of command and amusement. But there was a hunger in his tone too, a barely restrained urgency that matched the fire burning inside you.

His tongue pressed harder now, flicking and circling your clit in a rhythm that had you gasping and trembling beneath him. Every stroke of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you held him close, unable to stop the desperate little sounds spilling from your lips.

“Please, Logan…” you gasped, voice barely more than a breath. You were so close now, the tension inside you coiling tighter and tighter with every flick of his tongue, every teasing suck. You could feel the edge coming, but you needed more—needed him to push you over.

Logan’s response was a deep, throaty growl that sent vibrations straight through your core. His tongue moved faster, his mouth working you with an intensity that had your whole body trembling. His lips closed over your clit, sucking hard now, while his fingers slipped down to your entrance, sliding inside you with ease, filling you with a deep, deliberate rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue.

“Oh God… Logan…!” you cried, your voice breaking as your body arched off the bed. The pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over in powerful, uncontrollable waves. Your orgasm tore through, your muscles clenching as your entire body trembled, your pussy pulsing around his fingers as he continued to work you through it.

Logan didn’t stop, didn’t let up, his mouth still sucking gently at your clit, his fingers still buried deep inside you, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body. He groaned against you, clearly enjoying the way you came undone beneath him, the way your body responded to his touch.

Your vision blurred, your breath coming out in sharp, uneven gasps as the pleasure finally began to ebb, leaving you limp and trembling beneath him. Your hands slipped from his hair, falling to the bed as your body went slack, utterly spent.

Logan kissed his way back up your body, his lips trailing along your stomach, breasts, before finally reaching your mouth again. His kiss was soft this time, gentle, as if to soothe the lingering aftershocks of your release. You melted into him, your hands finding his shoulders, holding him close as you tried to catch your breath.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured against your lips, his hand brushing the hair from your face as he looked down at you, his eyes full of concern despite the heat still simmering between them.

You nodded, a small, blissful smile curving your lips as you gazed up at him. “More than okay,” you whispered, voice breathless but full of affection. Logan’s touch, his attention—everything about him—had left you feeling cherished, worshiped, and utterly satisfied.

You wanted to do the same for him, but you didn’t know how. When Logan sat down, he could feel the nervousness from you. 

Your heart raced as you sat on the bed, your eyes fixed on Logan, who sat shirtless in front of you, his broad, muscled chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. The room felt impossibly warm, and though you had been teasing and playful all night, nerves twisted in your stomach. You wanted to please him, wanted to make him feel as good as he always made you feel, but there was one thing you hadn’t done before.

Logan’s eyes were dark with desire, his lips curved into a small, amused smile as he watched you. “What is it, Princess?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You look nervous.”

You bit your lip, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks as you looked up at him, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “I… I’ve never… done that before.” You hesitated, glancing down at his hard and ready to go cock. “You know… going down on someone.”

Logan’s smile softened, and he crouched down in front of you, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, babygirl,” he said, his voice gentle but thick with heat. “It’s all up to you.”

You shook your head, determination sparking in your eyes despite the butterflies in your stomach. “I want to… I want to make you feel good. I just… I want you to show me. Teach me how.”

Logan’s eyes darkened even further at your words, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. “Fuck, sweetgirl,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lip. “You have no idea how much I want that. And I’ll guide you through every second, baby, if that’s what you want.”

You nodded, heart racing as you leaned into his touch, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. Logan stood up.Your eyes widened slightly as you looked up at him. He was big—thick, hard, and veined—and the thought of taking him into your mouth sent a thrill of nervous energy through you.

Logan moved closer, standing just in front of you as you sat on the edge of the bed. He stroked your cheek softly, his voice low and patient. “Just go slow, okay? Start by touching me. See what feels good for you.”

You nodded, your hand trembling slightly as you reached up, fingers wrapping around his cock for the first time. He was warm and firm, and the way he twitched in your hand made your heart race even faster. Logan let out a low groan as your fingers began to move along his length, stroking him slowly, your grip light at first, unsure but eager to learn.

“That’s good, baby,” Logan rasped, his voice thick with desire. “Just like that. Nice and slow.”

Your confidence grew a little with his encouragement, and you tightened the grip slightly, your strokes becoming more deliberate. Logan’s breath hitched, and his hand found the back of your neck, not pushing you but resting there, his fingers gently massaging the base of your skull.

You glanced up at him, eyes searching for guidance. “Is this okay?”

Logan’s dark gaze met yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s more than okay,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your lower lip again. “You’re doing great. Now, if you’re ready… use your mouth. Just take your time.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you leaned forward, lips parting slightly as you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. Logan groaned, his grip on your neck tightening just a little, and the sound sent a jolt of excitement through you. You could taste the salty bead of pre-cum on your lips as you kissed him again, this time allowing your tongue to flick out and swirl gently around the head.

Logan hissed softly, his head tilting back as his hand flexed against your neck. “Fuck, princess… that feels good.”

Emboldened by his reaction, you opened your mouth wider, taking the head of his cock between your lips. You sucked lightly, tongue swirling around the tip as you moved your hand along his length, stroking what you couldn’t yet fit in your mouth. Logan’s low groan spurred you on, and you took him deeper, lips wrapping around him as your tongue continued to explore.

“Just like that, baby,” Logan rasped, his voice strained as his hips twitched forward, though he held back, letting you set the pace. “Use your hand to stroke the rest, yeah? Keep going slow, and just… fuck, that feels so good.”

You did as he said, your hand working in time with your mouth as you moved up and down his length, taking him a little deeper with each bob of your head. Your nervousness started to fade as you focused on his reactions—the way his muscles tensed, the way his breath came out in short, ragged gasps, the way he groaned your name when you did something right.

You could feel him pulsing in your mouth, thick and heavy, and the way his cock twitched as your tongue swirled around the underside of the head made your thighs clench. Logan’s fingers tightened in your hair, but he was still careful, still letting you lead.

“God, sweetheart… you’re fucking amazing,” he groaned, his voice rough with pleasure. “Try taking me a little deeper now. If it’s too much, just pull back.”

You nodded slightly, your lips still wrapped around him, and took a deep breath as you pushed yourself further down his length, feeling the stretch of him against your tongue. He was big, but you wanted to take as much of him as you could. You relaxed your throat, letting him slip deeper, until you could feel him at the back of your throat.

Logan groaned louder, his hips twitching forward just slightly, but he pulled back immediately, not wanting to overwhelm you. “That’s it, baby,” he muttered, his voice tight with restraint. “You’re doing so fucking good.”

You bobbed your head slowly, sucking him in deeper with each movement, your hand stroking the base of his cock while your tongue worked the sensitive underside. The sound of Logan’s pleasure, the low groans and ragged breaths, spurred you on, and you began to pick up the pace, your confidence growing with every reaction you pulled from him.

“Fuck, baby… I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” Logan rasped, his voice tight as his fingers tangled more firmly in your hair. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath as you took him even deeper, your lips stretching around his thick length. You felt a surge of pride at how you were making him fall apart, and the way his hips started to twitch forward with every stroke only encouraged you.

Logan’s breathing turned ragged, his hand tightening in your hair as he fought to keep control. “Shit, baby, I’m close… you want me to come in your mouth?”

You paused, your lips still wrapped around him, and looked up at him through your lashes, nodding slightly as best as you could. The look in his eyes darkened even further, and his grip on you tightened as he thrust gently into your mouth, his movements careful but desperate.

“Good girl,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just like that… fuck, I’m gonna come.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you worked him faster, hand stroking his length while your mouth sucked him in deeper, your tongue flicking against him with each bob of your head. Logan’s whole body tensed, his muscles going taut as he groaned your name, and with one final thrust, he came hard, spilling into your mouth.

You felt the hot rush of his release, his cock pulsing against your tongue as he filled her mouth. You swallowed as much as you could, his taste salty and thick, and you kept stroking him gently, milking every last drop from him as he trembled above you.

When it was over, Logan pulled back slowly, his chest heaving as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and satisfaction. He reached down, pulling you up to your feet and kissing you deeply, his hand cupping your face as his lips lingered on yours.

“God, Princess,” he whispered against your mouth, his voice still breathless. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You smiled, cheeks flushed but your heart full of warmth. You had wanted to make him feel good, and the look in his eyes told you you had done more than that.

***

You didn’t know when you had fallen asleep, a warm haze of emotions and aftershocks from the night still lingering in your body. Apparently, that's what a mix of raw passion and orgasms can do to a person. As you started to stretch, a familiar touch stopped you — Logan's hand was resting possessively on your thigh. 

“You’re awake finally,” his voice, deep and husky from sleep, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. It was the kind of voice that could melt you with just a word. He pressed a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. That sound alone made heat bloom low in your belly, reminding you of just how powerfully he affected you. You were still getting used to the intensity of it all, how he had this effortless way of making you feel like you could combust under his touch. It wasn’t just lust, but something deeper. The way his presence made you feel desired, seen.

His morning erection nudged against your ass as his mouth trailed down your shoulder, teasing the sensitive spot at your neck with soft bites. "Last night was incredible," you whispered, feeling the soft ache between your thighs from the passion you'd shared. His mouth found your ear, his teeth grazing the lobe, and a soft gasp escaped your lips. 

You could feel the smile in his voice as he replied, “You were amazing.”

You blushed at his praise, remembering how vulnerable you'd felt when you told him last night about your nervousness. He had a way of making you feel safe, even in your most insecure moments. But here he was now, his hands tracing your curves, cupping your breasts with a mix of gentleness and hunger. His thumb grazed over your nipples, making your breath hitch. "You're the one to talk," you murmured, barely able to focus as his hands roamed over you.

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the way your body responded to him, as if it were made to fit against his. His thigh slid between your legs, pressing just right against your clit, making you gasp and instinctively roll your hips. "Relax, princess," he purred, the nickname sending a fresh wave of heat through you. 

But as much as your body begged for more, a sudden urgency interrupted the moment. “I need to pee,” you said, almost breathlessly. You hated to stop him, but your body had its demands. 

Logan let out a playful growl of frustration, making you giggle as he rolled onto his back. “That was mean,” he grumbled. You leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose, unable to hide your smile. 

"I'll be quick. You go make coffee." 

His hand gave your ass a playful swat as you slipped out of bed, both of you laughing softly, the easy intimacy of the morning wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Even as you headed for the bathroom, you felt his eyes on you, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before his hands were back on your body.

***

And you were right. The coffee was nice, though Logan couldn’t help but tease, mentioning it would have tasted even better if you’d made it yourself. You smiled at his playful jab, both of you leaning into the easy conversation about the day ahead. You mentioned wanting to hit the pool on your day off, but Logan’s eyes narrowed playfully, letting you know he preferred the gym instead. You nearly made a joke about him being like a cat avoiding water, but you bit your tongue, enjoying the teasing exchange.

As you gathered the coffee mugs, the moment felt light and perfect. "What do you want for breakfast?" you asked over your shoulder. "I could make French toast if you'd—"

Before you could finish, you felt Logan’s strong hands slide onto your hips, pulling you gently back into him. His touch was warm, sending a shiver down your spine, and you gasped softly as his lips found your neck, trailing slow, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin. His breath was hot, and the deliberate, sensual way he kissed you had your pulse quickening in an instant.

“How about we take a shower first?” he suggested, his voice husky, each word laced with promise.

You smiled, leaning back into him, your body already reacting to his touch. "Somehow, I don’t think a shower is all you're thinking about, Logan," you teased, though your voice was softer now, betraying the way his closeness made your thoughts scatter.

He chuckled low, the sound rumbling through you as he turned you around to face him. His eyes were dark with desire, and before you could say another word, he kissed you, hard and full of need. His lips claimed yours in a way that made you melt against him, and as his tongue slipped into your mouth, teasing and tasting, a soft moan escaped you. His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer, pressing your body against his as the kiss deepened.

“We’ll shower…” he whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to press his lips to yours again, a series of quick, heated pecks that left you breathless. “Eventually.”

Before you could react, Logan’s arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor with ease and tossing you playfully over his shoulder. You squealed in surprise, laughing as he carried you effortlessly toward the bathroom.

“Logan!” you giggled, your voice a mix of surprise and excitement, heart racing as he walked with purpose.

“I’m going to take my time with you, princess,” he said, his voice low, teasing, and filled with all kinds of promises as he stepped into the bathroom. “I’ll wash every inch of you—thoroughly.”

The way he said it made heat bloom inside you, and as he set you down, you could feel his gaze trailing over your body, lingering with unspoken desire.

***

The steam in the bathroom thickened, swirling around you both as Logan's hands slid over your waist, guiding you gently back under the warm spray of the shower. Water cascaded down your skin, adding to the heat building between you, his fingers tracing delicate patterns on your wet body. The room was filled with a mix of heat and the soft sounds of the water splashing, but it was his gaze that held you captive — intense, filled with hunger and something deeper that made your heart race.

His lips found yours again, softer this time, as though savoring the taste, but the kiss quickly deepened, his hands moving up to cup your face. Your body responded instinctively, leaning into him as the warmth from the water mingled with the growing heat between you. His hands were everywhere — sliding down your back, pulling you closer until your bodies pressed together, the water making every touch more electric, more intimate.

The sensation of his skin against yours, the slick, wet heat between you, sent shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss intensified, becoming more urgent, more needy. Logan’s hands slipped lower, resting on your hips, and he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you gently against the cool tile of the shower wall. The contrast of the heat from his body and the coolness of the tiles behind you made you gasp softly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing heavy as he gazed into your eyes. There was something raw in that look, an unspoken desire, as if he was making sure you were fully with him at that moment. You nodded slightly, your hands running through his damp hair, urging him on, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Logan’s lips trailed down your neck, hot and wet from the shower, and you couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped as his mouth found your collarbone, biting gently before soothing the skin with soft kisses. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place, every touch deliberate, every kiss igniting a deeper sense of longing.

The rhythm between you was slow, teasing, as though he was taking his time exploring every inch of you, memorizing the way your body responded to him. The water poured over you both, heightening every sensation, and you could feel the tension building, the anticipation thick in the air.

“Logan…” you whispered, breathless, your voice barely above the sound of the shower. He responded with another deep kiss, his hands sliding down your back, holding you even closer, making it impossible to tell where his body ended and yours began. Each movement was fluid, natural, as if you were both made for this — for each other.

His lips returned to your neck, trailing fire down your skin, and the combination of the heat from the water and his touch had you lost in the moment. Every kiss, every touch, every whispered word between you was a promise, a building of tension that pulled you both deeper into the connection you shared.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breath ragged. “I’ve wanted this for so long…” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You smiled softly, feeling the same way, your fingers brushing across his jawline as you leaned in for another kiss, softer this time, full of the unspoken feelings between you. The moment wasn’t just about the physical connection — it was something deeper, something that lingered in the way his touch made you feel cherished and wanted.

The shower continued to rain down around you, but in that moment, all you felt was him — the warmth of his body, the tenderness of his hands, and the growing intensity of your shared desire.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and thick with lust. His fingers trailed down your stomach, his touch teasing, deliberate, as he spread your legs with one of his own, positioning you just how he wanted. His rough hand slipped between your thighs, fingers sliding through your slick folds, and the instant he found your clit, your whole body jolted at the sharp, sudden pleasure.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Logan’s fingers started to work you, circling your clit with slow, firm strokes that had your hips rocking against his hand instinctively. The warmth of the water mixed with the heat radiating off his body, but it was nothing compared to the growing fire in your core as Logan’s touch sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

His other hand gripped your waist, holding you steady as his fingers moved faster, pressing harder against your clit in a way that made your legs tremble. His lips were back at your neck, kissing you, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already so fucking wet for me,” Logan growled, his voice dark and filled with satisfaction as he teased you, his fingers slipping lower, finding your entrance and pushing inside you. His fingers curled deep, hitting that perfect spot that made your breath hitch, and your body tensed, the pressure inside you building rapidly.

“Logan…” you gasped, your hands bracing against the tile as you leaned into him, your hips grinding against his hand, desperate for more of the pleasure he was giving you. His touch was skilled, practiced, every movement pushing you closer to the edge, but he kept control, taking his time, making you feel every single stroke.

“You’re gonna come for me, baby,” he whispered, his voice hot against your ear, his fingers working faster now, his thumb brushing over your clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. “I want to feel you come all over my hand.”

Your breath came out in ragged pants, your body trembling as the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, ready to snap. Logan’s fingers pressed harder, his pace relentless, and you could feel the orgasm building fast, the pleasure overwhelming as he drove you closer to the brink.

“Come for me,” Logan growled, his voice rough and commanding as his thumb circled your clit one last time, his fingers curling deep inside you. “Now.”

That was all it took. Your body tensed as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and intense, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as the pleasure exploded inside you. You cried out his name, your legs shaking as your body trembled under the force of your release, every wave crashing over you harder than the last.

Logan groaned low in his throat as he felt you come, his hand never stopping, his fingers stroking you through every last tremor of your orgasm. “Good girl,” he muttered, his voice thick with pride as he held you steady, his body pressed tight against yours. “That’s it, baby… just like that.”

When the last waves of your orgasm finally ebbed, you slumped back against him, breathless and trembling. But Logan wasn’t done with you yet. His lips brushed against your ear, sending another shiver through you as his fingers slipped from between your legs.

“Turn around,” he commanded softly, and you did, your legs still weak from your release, but your body aching for more of him.

Logan knelt in front of you, the water pouring over his broad, muscled shoulders as he looked up at you with dark, hungry eyes. “I want to taste you,” he growled, his hands gripping your thighs as he spread them apart. “And I’m going to make you come again.”

Your heart raced as he pressed his mouth against your already sensitive core, his tongue flicking over your clit with quick, teasing strokes that made you gasp and grab his shoulders for support. The pleasure hit you instantly, the aftershocks of your first orgasm still rippling through your body as Logan licked and sucked at your clit with a precision that left you trembling.

“Logan… oh my God…” you whimpered, your fingers tangling in his wet hair as you rocked your hips against his mouth, already feeling the heat building inside you all over again. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue swirling around your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you with every movement.

He groaned against you, the vibration making your legs shake as he worked you over, his tongue relentless, his mouth hot and wet as the pleasure built faster this time, more intense. Your body was still buzzing from the first orgasm, your nerves already raw, and Logan seemed determined to push you even further.

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasped against your core, his voice low and rough as he dove back in, his tongue flicking over your clit in a rhythm that had you gasping for breath, the edge of another orgasm already within reach. “I want you to come in my mouth, baby. I want to feel you fall apart again.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and you could feel the tension coiling tight in your core, your body on the verge of breaking as Logan’s tongue worked you faster, harder. The pleasure was overwhelming, your hips bucking against his face as you chased the release that was already so close.

“Logan… please…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as the orgasm built inside you like a storm, the pressure too much, too intense. But Logan wasn’t letting up, his mouth relentless, his grip on your thighs bruising as he growled against your clit.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice dark and rough as his tongue flicked over your clit one last time, pushing you over the edge.

You shattered. The orgasm tore through you, harder than the first, your whole body trembling as the pleasure ripped you apart. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your legs shaking as you cried out his name, your pussy pulsing with every wave of your release.

Logan groaned into you, his mouth still moving, drawing out every last tremor of your orgasm until you were completely spent, your body weak and trembling from the intensity of it. When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, he looked up at you with a satisfied grin.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he growled, standing up slowly, his hands sliding up your body as he pulled you against him.

You could feel the hard length of him pressing against your stomach, his cock thick and pulsing with need. But Logan wasn’t in a rush. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss, his hands roaming your body as the water poured over both of you.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough with desire. “But I’m not going to come until you do again. I want to feel you come around my cock.”

Your heart raced at his words, your body already aching for him, desperate for him to fill you. “Please, Logan,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as you rocked your hips against him. “I need you inside me.”

Logan groaned, lifting you effortlessly as he positioned himself at your entrance. The tip of his cock brushed against your slick folds, teasing you for a moment before he thrust inside, filling you completely with one slow, deliberate movement.

The sudden fullness made you gasp, your back arching against the tiles as Logan buried himself deep inside you, stretching you in a way that made your body tremble all over again. He didn’t move at first, just held you there, his forehead resting against yours as he groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he growled, his breath hot against your lips as he began to move, his hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts that made you moan.

He set a slow, deliberate pace, each thrust deep and powerful, his cock dragging against your inner walls in a way that made you feel every inch of him. The pleasure built quickly, your body still sensitive from your previous orgasms, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge again as Logan’s thrusts grew harder, more desperate.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he drove into you, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every stroke. “I’m not going to last much longer, baby… but I want you to come first. I need to feel you come around my cock before I fill you up.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your body responding instantly to the idea of him coming inside you, of him filling you completely. The tension inside you coiled tighter, the pressure building fast as Logan fucked you harder, his breath ragged as he chased his own release.

“Logan…” you gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders as the pleasure built inside you, your whole body trembling as the edge came rushing toward you. “I’m so close…”

"Come for me," Logan growled, his voice rough with need as his thrusts became more frantic, his cock driving into you harder and deeper with every stroke. "I want to feel you fall apart around me, baby. Then I’ll fill you up.”

His words sent you spiraling, the intensity of his movements pushing you closer to the edge with every thrust. The way he filled you so completely, the way his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, left you gasping for breath, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him.

“Logan… oh God, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as your body tensed, the orgasm building inside you like a tidal wave ready to break.

“That’s it,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as his pace quickened, his control slipping as he drove into you harder, faster. “Come for me, baby. I need to feel it.”

And then it hit you. The orgasm crashed through you like a storm, your body convulsing around him as the pleasure tore through you, your pussy clenching tight around his cock. Your head fell back against the tiles, a broken moan escaping your lips as you cried out his name, your whole body trembling violently with the force of your release.

Logan groaned deeply, his movements faltering for a moment as he felt you come around him, your pussy pulsing and squeezing his cock with every wave of your orgasm. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, his voice strained as he fought to hold on, his hips still thrusting into you, prolonging your pleasure.

He didn’t stop. Even as your body trembled with aftershocks, Logan kept going, his pace relentless as he chased his own release. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his forehead pressed against yours as he groaned, “I’m gonna come… I need to fill you up.”

His words, dark and laced with raw need, sent a fresh wave of heat through you. The thought of him coming inside you, of being filled completely, made your body pulse all over again, your hips instinctively bucking up against him.

“Please, Logan… I want it. I want you to come inside me,” you gasped, your voice thick with desire as you clung to him, your nails scraping down his back.

Logan groaned loudly, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate as he reached the edge. His grip on your hips tightened, his hands nearly bruising as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. With a low, guttural moan, he came hard, his cock pulsing inside you as he spilled into you, filling you with his hot release.

“Fuck… Princess…” he groaned, his body trembling against yours as he rode out his orgasm, his hips twitching as he pumped every last drop into you.

You could feel the heat of him, thick and warm as it filled you completely, the sensation sending a final shiver of pleasure through your body. Logan’s breathing was ragged, his forehead resting against yours as the last waves of his release washed over him. For a moment, the world was silent, the only sound was the steady rush of water and your uneven breaths as you both held each other, trembling in the aftermath.

Logan kissed you softly, his lips brushing against yours as his hands moved to cradle your face. “You’re fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with a deep satisfaction.

You smiled against his lips, your heart still racing as you whispered, “So are you, Logan.”

His cock softened inside you, but neither of you moved, the warmth of the water and the heat of the moment wrapping around you both like a cocoon. Logan held you close, his forehead pressed to yours as he whispered, “I’m never getting enough of you.”

The water continued to pour down over both of you, your bodies still intertwined, but now the intensity of the moment had softened into something warm and intimate. Logan held you close, his chest pressed against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with the steam swirling around you. He smiled down at you, the look in his eyes softened by the tenderness that followed the passion you had shared.

“I did promise to wash every inch of you, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice low and playful, but there was a gentle sincerity beneath it. His hands glided down your sides, steadying you as he reached for the bar of soap resting on the shelf nearby.

You smiled up at him, feeling the warmth of his touch as his soapy hands returned to your body. “I thought you forgot about that,” you teased, but your voice was soft, content.

Logan chuckled softly, his eyes dark but affectionate. “I never forget a promise,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours in a brief, tender kiss before he turned his attention to washing you, as he had promised.

With slow, deliberate movements, Logan’s hands traveled over your skin, spreading the lather of the soap along your shoulders, down your arms, and across your back. His touch was firm but soothing, almost reverent, as though he was savoring the simple act of caring for you. His fingers trailed down to your waist, his touch lingering as he washed your hips, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet yours with a gentle smile.

His hands continued lower, gliding over your thighs, every movement patient, unhurried. He made sure to wash every inch of you, taking his time as the soap mixed with the water, rinsing away the remnants of the passion you had shared. It wasn’t just about getting clean—it was a moment of connection, of closeness, that lingered between you both.

“You’re perfect,” Logan whispered, his eyes tracing the lines of your body as he knelt slightly to wash your legs. His voice was soft, almost like he was speaking to himself, but the words sent warmth blooming in your chest.

When he finished, he pulled you close again, his lips brushing your temple as the water poured over both of you. “Your turn,” he murmured, handing you the bar of soap.

With a smile, you took it, running the lather between your hands as you began to return the favor. You started at his broad shoulders, your hands gliding over his firm muscles as the soap spread across his skin. Logan let out a soft sigh of contentment, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch, his body relaxing beneath your hands.

Your fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the scars that marked his skin, feeling the strength beneath your touch. Logan opened his eyes briefly, catching your gaze, a small smile tugging at his lips as you moved your hands lower, over his abdomen, down his hips. You took your time, washing him just as thoroughly as he had done for you, the intimacy of the moment deepening as you cared for each other.

When you were done, Logan cupped your face in his hands, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice rough but full of affection.

You smiled against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back, the warmth of the water and the closeness of his body making you feel safe, cherished.

As the last of the soap washed away, Logan turned off the water, the sound of the shower replaced by the quiet hum of the world outside. He grabbed a towel and gently wrapped it around your shoulders, pulling you close to him as he dried you off, his hands moving slowly, almost reverently.

Once you were dry, he toweled off himself quickly before pulling you into his arms again, his chest warm against your skin as he kissed the top of your head. “Let’s get out of here before we shrivel up,” he teased lightly, his voice still soft, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

With a smile, you let him lead you out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, where the warmth and comfort of the soft sheets awaited you. Logan pulled you down onto the bed with him, his arms wrapping around you as he drew you close, holding you against his chest.

“You’re something else, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing your forehead as you snuggled into him, your body relaxing completely in his arms.

You smiled, feeling completely at peace as you whispered, “This was the best date I have ever been on, Logan.”

“Good,” he whispered back, his hand gently stroking your hair as you both settled into the quiet comfort of the moment. Wrapped in each other’s arms, the intensity of the night faded into a deep sense of contentment, leaving only the warmth of the connection you shared as you drifted off together, completely at ease in each other’s presence.

[lunaforyou]

Primes Reborn AU spoilers below the cut, if you want to wait until the fanfic is done don't read.

WARNINGS miscarriage scare, violence, a little angst for the soul.

(everything turns out okay don't worry)

Sooooo, after kid number three, Optimus is already getting used to this. Hey, why fight the Matrix when he can work with it?

Besides, it's vindicative to be able to un-do most of Sentinel's damage, after giving the miners cogs that is. His frag up doesn't have to haunt their entire species forever.

Nevermind that the Matrix takes bits and pieces out of him in lieu of transfluid, since, well, the sparklings have to come from somewhere.

If undoing the damage Sentinel did entails energon, sweat and tears every time, so be it.

So he decides to find a spot he feels safe in and build a nest!

His unfortunate ass only feels safe in the cave of the primes though.

No biggie! He just has to make a comfortable spot.

In a cave full of corpses.

Great.

By the time he is finally done he is so wiped out that he falls asleep in the nest immediately.

And then he wakes up to the sound of a fusion canon. Being aimed at his face.

Oh right, Megatron.

So they start to fight, Optimus is always trying to diffuse it and keep his shit together, like, invading a nest is extremely distressing for the carrier. It's not like Megatron knows he is invading a nest, because even he wouldn't go that low goddamnit.

And then Megatron taunts him with something along the lines of;

"Look at yourself, Prime. You have gone soft with time, literally." (I'm still working on what he says, don't be too rude)

And Optimus, the fool that he is, looks down at himself. He really shouldn't have done that because that gives Megatron an opening to hit him.

In the gut.

He immediately falls to the floor in pain. And Megatron goes "I won't have mercy on you because you feel a little pain, Prime"

He can't even finish the sentence though, Optimus interjects with "She isn't moving"

It takes a second for Megatron to realize what he means.

He immediately scrambles to help, however he can. He lifts Optimus up and places him in the nest, and really he can't do much but it's better than doing nothing!

The blow triggered the emergence, and little Solus is born unconscious. This time, the other primes' spirits are mysteriously absent.

When he has her in his arms, Megatron shakes her up a little bit, to see if she wakes up. To which Optimus tells him that it's useless, her body is weak without a sire bond, and that she'll die.

And without thinking, this other fool just.

Opens his spark chamber.

You see, to form a sire bond, the spark of the carrier acts as a bridge between the sparkling and the sire's spark.

Want to guess where this is going?

.

.

.

.

.

That's right! Megatron and Optimus spark bond to save little Solus, you get nothing for guessing correctly <3

They coax her spark chamber open and the three of them bond. After the bond takes, Solus starts crying, and thank Primus she is crying, Megatron doesn't think he could have lived with the guilt if his little one died because of him.

And then Optimus takes her in his arms and Megatron's world expands by five.

They look so, so beautiful. And suddenly everything that's right in the world is in that cave, in the nest that his love made.

Because yes, that's his love now (never stopped being his love) and that's his sparkling. And Primus damn it he is not going to let go of them.

And then he looks at little Solus, and cries a little and says something along the lines of "She's perfect"

And then Optimus hits him with the "You say that because you haven't seen the other three"

Megatron cries a little more.

And the name of the AU is STILL Primes Reborn. :)

[dinogoofymutated]

So I'm warming up to the idea of Cable now with this new animation style. And now I can't help but imagine a mutant reader seeing him shirtless for the first time 👉🏽👈🏽. Maybe she's helping him treat a wound he cant reach on his back and he's too worn out to rely on his telekinesis for it. Sure she knows that he has a metal arm. Techno-organic viruses were nasty business. But she never imagined she'd get to see the stark contrast of metal and flesh up close. Just a tender moment where she gets to see him at his most vulnerable. Preferably sfw. Sorry if this is too long winded or specific. Really love your writing and enjoy what you share with us regardless if u choose this one or not 🫶🏽

SFW!Cable/GN!Reader OOOOGHHHH when I tell you I have been thinking about this since you sent me the ask!! I've been dying to write this but forced myself to follow a schedule :( I've never really been a Cable girly but this scenario has been in my head non-stop! I just hope this fic does the same to others!!! Speaking of which, I hope this isn't too OOC for him! This also might get a pt 2 with some smooching 😘

Read pt. 2 Here :)

-Ps- Heads up, finals week is coming up for me and I have a lot of essays and work to do. my writing is sadly going to slow down a bit. I don't think I'm going to close requests for now but it's not out of the realm of possibility! TWs: Can't really think of any. Gross depictions of techno-organic shit. As always, Reader written while picturing fem! but no pronouns mentioned. The reader is short in this one, sorry to all my Amazonian friends.

    Prime sentinels were like wasps. Squashing one could be relatively easy with the right tools, but it was difficult to handle multiples at once. It had been a rough day, and your ears were still ringing from the sounds of blaster fire when you got to the safe house. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, body exhausted from overusing your mutant powers. Bruises are forming all over you, and despite the pain and soreness, you know you got off easy compared to Cable. 

    He’s got an arm slung around your shoulder, using you as a crutch as you help him limp over to the table- although you’re sure you’re not a very good one, too short for him to properly lean on. His gun clanks on the floor as he sits, grunting as the movement sends shooting pains through his body. You can tell his left arm is aching, the techno-organic virus fighting to beat the telekinetic powers keeping them still. You weren’t the only one who overdid it today, but you also weren’t the one who had to keep a virus from eating you alive.

    Once Cable is settled, the routine starts. You cautiously make a round through the safe house, making sure blinds are drawn and entryways secured. Usually, the task was split between the two of you, being faster and safer than it would be alone- but he would take it over when you were badly hurt. It was only natural that you would do the same. You feel the sting of anxiety and worry in your heart. Cable had saved your ass today. He had done so many times, but normally the fighting wasn’t this extreme. You had been stupid, and he was suffering the consequences. 

    A series of pained grunts lead you back into the kitchen once you’ve finished, and you can tell Cable is pissed just by the tone of them. You’re facing his back when you walk in, noticing the large red stain that spans across the width of his shoulders. You try to hide the worry on your face as you approach him. He has the medkit sprawled out on the counter, sorting through the various items in it.

    “Can’t believe this thing doesn’t have a damn mirror.” He grunts. You hum in response, looking him over before examining the items on the table.

    “What do you need a mirror for?” You ask, voice coming out a little hoarse. You clear your throat, must be from the smoke earlier. Cable sends you a look, tossing his head towards his back. You mouth an “oh” before looking at him, unable to hide your worried expression. You’d seen him stitch his wounds up with his telekinesis before, when the fight was all guns and no powers. An action like that was child’s play for someone of his capabilities. For him to actively avoid it, and the way his arm seemed to be bothering him more than normal… It made you worried. It made you feel guilty. 

    You look down at the suture kit, open on the table from where Cable had unzipped it, and then look back at him, wordlessly asking. He gives you a cautious look for a moment, before it shifts into something much softer. He doesn’t bother nodding, choosing to simply take his shirt off instead.

    You blush a little but quickly get to work, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. They’re too big for you, meant to fit Cable’s sturdy hands instead of your own smaller ones. You try not to get distracted by the sight of him shirtless as you pick up what you need and get behind him. The air has shifted between the two of you, forming into something a little more intimate. Something that builds itself on words unspoken, truths that neither of you is quite ready to communicate yet.

    His back is broad and beautiful, dotted with scars and bruises. The gash on his shoulders is from a stray blast, starting at the top of his left shoulder and ending at the lower shoulder blade of his right. 

    You’re not sure if you had been ready to see the cut-off between flesh and metal.

    The cords of metal attach to the skin of his shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. They sprout from underneath the skin, winding against each other in a way that makes no clear sense to you. The top layers of skin are rough, keloid scarring having formed at the impasse of skin and metal. It's horrific, the way the virus has both eaten and forced its way under the skin. The top of the gash is somewhat deep, the deep inner cording revealed by the wound cutting through the top of his skin has you unable to look away despite the horror that has taken you.

   “I can feel you staring, you know.” Cable’s rumbling voice causes you to snap back to reality.

    “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trail off, not fully able to place the words. He sighs, and you mistake it for annoyance. You quickly get back on track and begin to disinfect the wound. Cable hardly flinches as you do so. You’re overly cautious as you stitch him up, focusing on each stitch being perfectly placed. You know they wouldn’t stay for long. Cable had a habit of tearing his stitches. You hope that maybe you’d be able to keep that from happening this time.

   You place both hands on his shoulder blades when you are done. The nerves have worn off as the pseudo-doctor in you took over. You’re trying to examine the stitches, but find that your attention keeps being drawn back to that stark contrast of his shoulder. If Cable notices, he doesn’t say anything. You glance at the back of his head, trying to gauge what he’s feeling. 

    Your left hand drifts a little. Cable shudders as your thumb gently traces that line of scarring, the metal of his arm feeling extra cold compared to the heat of his skin. You’re waiting for him to say something. To tell you to back off. To grumble and shake you off and avoid speaking to you like he used to when you first started to work together- when he was so determined not to get attached. 

   But he doesn’t say anything. Not at first, anyway. The tenseness of his shoulders slowly gives as the gentle touching morphed into more purposeful touches, working the stiff muscles- what was left of the organic ones, anyway. 

    It’s intimate. It’s quiet. It’s… nice. Part of you wishes it would last a little longer. Part of you wishes he would let you touch him like this more often. 

    Cable stiffens again as the thought crosses your mind, recoiling away from you. He stands suddenly, turning around to face you. His towering stature used to make you nervous out of fear. Now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. Part of you had forgotten about the glimpses he takes into your mind. A flicker of anxiety ignites when you realize how much he might have seen. The two of you just look at each other for a moment, his brown eyes hard compared to the softness from earlier. You hadn’t meant to think so much. You didn’t think he was horrific. It was the virus. What it was doing to him. The energy and effort it takes out of him. That was what scared you.

    Cable was used to the stares. The horror. Most recoiled at the sight of his flesh. It only made sense to him when you did too.

    But Nathan… Nathan wasn’t ready for the depth of your thoughts. The care in your eyes. He wasn’t ready for the depth of his own feelings. The ones that cause such a storm within him. The ones that cause him to be stupid. The ones that make him focus more on saving you than the goal of every mission.

    “Is this… Are we okay?” You ask. He didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the fear that has swelled within you. Most of your emotions were always written on your face. It made things easier for him when he didn’t have to search for your thoughts. That hardness in his eyes softens yet again, and he glances away for a moment. 

    “... Yeah.” Is all he says. His heart feels light when you finally smile at him, even though an underlying nervousness still resides behind that smile. You let out a relieved sigh, and he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Instead, he sits back down. He faces away from you, giving you the space to finish taking care of the wound on his back. 

    You don’t realize how late it is until you’re finished, and the mess on the counter has been cleaned and contained back in the medkit. The two of you sit together as you eat. The food isn’t great- consisting of an MRE that’s not exactly as advanced as the futuristic weapons and technology would lead you to believe. He doesn’t say anything when you lean on his shoulder, or when your breathing evens out, having fallen asleep on his side.

  The aches and pains don’t really bother Nathan as he carries you to bed, but the thoughts of you, your feelings, your thoughts… Those keep him awake longer than any wound would.

[kiaxet]

Sooooo y’all see the latest @somerandomdudelmao comic update? Because once again it is living in my head, which means once again my brain has generated fic. This one’s ~1200 words and slightly less tragic, depending on whether or not you take dramatic irony into account.

~~~~~~~

It starts fairly innocuously.

One of the surviving technicians monitors a computer as it finally, finally boots up successfully, whooping when the Genius Tech loading screen pops up. He grins and pats the power cable. "Thanks, Raph!"

It catches on.

A water purifier, disconnected to save a struggling power supply, gets plugged back in. It chugs back to life, and the kids responsible for its upkeep cheer and high five. One of them waves at the ceiling, where a power conduit runs overhead. "Thanks, Mister Raph!"

And it spreads like wildfire.

Every time something works the way it's supposed to - every time a much-needed device pops back to life, or the emergency doors close correctly, or a dying lightbulb flickers on one more time - they thank Raph. In gleeful shouts and careful whispers, they show gratitude for the person who gave up his life - and his second chance at life, at that - to keep them safe. It makes the emergency base, ramshackle and barely held together as it is, feel a little more like a home. A little more alive.

It doesn't take long for a few unspoken rules to develop.

They never say it in front of the metal shell. It's one thing to say it to the walls, the cables, the electricity; it's something else to say it to a figure with a face, seated against the wall like a sentinel that will awaken and protect them when danger arises.

(Nevermind that they've been in danger, constant and unending, for decades, and that this sentinel is already protecting them in smaller, everyday ways.)

They learn very quickly never to say it in front of Raph's surviving family, either. Master Leonardo gets angry when he hears it. It's an anger born of grief and loss, painful but not dangerous to allies, but given how terrifying Master Leonardo can be on the battlefield or a bad day, nobody really wants that anger directed at them. Master Michaelangelo just stops when he hears it, lips curling up in an expression too devoid of life to truly be called a smile. It's almost worse to witness than Master Leonardo's anger. No, they learn to watch themselves in front of the family, carefully taking their gratitude towards a dead man elsewhere.

Until the day someone forgets and says it in front of Casey Junior.

The kid looks up at Roger with wide, almost hopeful eyes. "Why did you- is he here? Can you feel him?"

Roger stares back at him with equally wide eyes. He'd just been grateful the computer had booted correctly for his monitor shift, and he hadn't been looking, and now he has to try to explain this to a kid who's never known a life outside the apocalypse. Oh boy. "No, uh- I mean- I don't have magic like your dads do, Casey, I couldn't-" He sighs. "It's just...a thing people do, when things work. Before the Krang, we had all sorts of machines that made life easier, and...we'd talk to 'em. Thank 'em when they worked, yell or beg when they didn't...I remember threatening a fax machine once, not that that made any difference. I think that just...kinda carried over here." Wait. "Not that your uncle was a machine or anything-"

"His body was a machine," Casey says simply, with a pragmatism that Roger hadn't been expecting. Apocalypse-raised kid. Right. "That wasn't what made him Uncle Raph. He was- it's-" Casey falters, expression starting to crumble. Pragmatism be damned, the kid is still grieving-

Rem, just coming off her shift, steps in smoothly. It's not the first time she's saved Roger's ass, both on and off the battlefield, and it won't be the last. "We know," she says gently, putting an arm around Casey's shoulders. "What Roger means is that we're grateful he's keeping us going, and that people like to bond with machines even when they're too simple to bond back. We all used to name our cars - can you believe it?"

"I named mine Red Rider," Roger says wistfully. He still misses that car.

"And I used to sneak out of the Hidden City with my cloaking brooch and go joyriding outside of human cities," Rem says, a grin splitting her feline muzzle. "I named every car I stole Phantom, like I thought I was cool."

Casey smiles - small and watery, but there nonetheless - and Roger breathes a sigh of relief. "What else did you name?"

"I mean, it was mostly cars, but some people named their computers."

"I had a friend who named her phone and just kept adding numbers when she had to replace it. It was Duchess O'Brien the eighth last I'd heard."

"I know some Yokai named their weapons, but I never really kept track of those. It was more of a Battle Nexus fandom thing."

Another Yokai leans in - a four eyed lizard whose name Roger could never remember no matter how hard he tried - and Roger shuts up. She's in charge of security now, and honestly she intimidates him. She looks around - at him, at Rem, at Casey - and then intones seriously, "I once named a kitchen appliance Toasty McToastFace."

There's a beat of silence. Casey has a lopsided grin growing on his face, like he doesn't get the joke but he knows it is one, and that's enough to lift his mood.

And then Rem doubles over, cracking up, and Bob smiles carefully. "Really loved that toaster, huh?"

"It was my closest friend," the lizard Yokai replies, deadpan as hell, before leaving the conversation.

Casey turns that confused grin on Roger. "Was she serious?"

"Kid, I have no idea. Some people are just really into this kinda thing."

Rem finally straightens up, wiping a tear from her eye with a paw. "Ohhhh boy. Oh, I needed that." She turns her smile back on Casey. "Point being, naming something makes it a little more real, and makes you a little more likely to take care of it. The system here...already has a name. We're just saying thank you, you know?"

The grin on Casey's face settles down into consideration. "Yeah, I think I do. I- Thanks. I'm gonna-" He waves at the door to finish his sentence.

"Go for it, kid." Roger waves him off as he departs, then sighs once he's gone. "God, that kid is just hemmhorraging family, isn't he."

"We all are, Roger, it's the fucking apocalypse." Rem flicks an ear.

"Yeah, but still. It's rough." There's a second or two of silence. "Also, if he says it in front of Master Leonardo, I'm denying all knowledge of this conversation."

"Spirits, same."

Roger learns a few days later - from Rem, of course - that Casey has named his chainsaw hockey stick Killer, because it's what his mom used to call him. Well damn, if kids like him are gonna be the future, then maybe they have some hope after all. He raps on a wall lightly, just below where the power conduit is mounted. "I know you didn't have a lot of time with the kid, but you did a good job." He can't help but smile. "Thanks, Raph."

[ramblingguy54]

"The line between friend and enemy is not as clear, as I once believed. Once it's crossed, there's no going back because some transformations are permanent..."

The scene where Optimus banishes Megatron from their home is like a knife to the heart. Two former close friends crushed by their opposing ideals in building a better world for all to live. What makes it hit harder would have to be their conflicted expressions.

Optimus is having to look a dear friend, or quite frankly brother, in the eye and tell him outright you're a dangerous traitor to their entire society. He always wanted to build a better future with D-16, but realized Megatron's new bloody ambitions are never going to be swayed by him. You could feel the utter defeat in Orion's voice when he said, "You have betrayed Cybertron and its citizens...And you betrayed me...". Optimus' faith in Megatron was shattered by D-16 willingly dropping him into the abyss, leaving Orion for dead. No amount of newfound strength Orion achieved as a Prime could ever mend that new scar he'll have to carry from now on.

Megatron is hurt just as much by this final verdict. All those years he spent busting his ass off mining energon cubes for Sentinel, only to find out it was a sick ruse. D-16 was merely a little disposable cog in the bigger picture for that two faced scum bag manipulator. The one he idolized, his noble motivations, and most importantly compassion he had all were swept away by his justified rage from being used by a psychopath. He'd rather burn it all to the ground, so everyone could feel that same pain he was dealt. Now here D-16 is with the power to take fate into his own hands, but becomes ostracized from everyone and everything once important to himself. All the power in the world couldn't prepare Megatron for what his greatest challenge would be, losing a best friend in the process.

Transformers One is a classic example of execution matters. Optimus & Megatron's falling out is something we knew was obviously going to happen, but the journey of getting there? It was handled so God damn well. The ending is paramount, as this old saying goes, and boy did it deliver on that note. This is how you do one Hell of an emotionally charged third act to an origin story.

[rhiaghostriley]

Ghost x reader - impossible relationship

It was all consuming. The way you needed this man, looking for him everywhere you looked at, was eating at your brain, shredding little by little your last pieces of sanity, to leave only him in your mind, from his scent in your nostrils, to his picture engraved on your eyelids.

Thankfully, you were a kind person. Soft, precious, a little bratty on the edge, but that was part of your charm. Still, you knew your obsession was gnawing at your soul. Was it love, was it just an unhealthy fixation for your superior, or something even darker, you couldn’t say, but the result was the same. Day after day, he became the first thing you thought about when you woke up, the only thing you wanted to look at during the day, the last image in your head before you fell asleep. Everything he did, every word he said, everywhere his hand landed, you wanted it. Needed it. Like he was some sort of god you would dedicate your life to, if Ghost was involved, it was a good thing.

Of course, everyone admired him. After all, he was the mysterious, cold, untouchable Lieutenant of Task Force 141. The one people wanted to know more about without daring approach him. He was intimidating, keeping people at arm’s length. But that was part of his charm.

From day one, he intrigued you. The way silence was made when he entered the room where all the new recruits were gathered, his mere presence enforcing compliance, was intoxicating. You were the kind of people who struggled to be heard, so it was naturally overwhelming to see someone capable of indulging so much respect by a simple look. And when that look landed on you…

It was as if a jolt of electricity ran through you, from the roots of your hair to the tip of your toes. That man was not looking at you, he was looking right into your soul. Observance wasn’t strong enough to describe the way he was able to read people. Like a silent sentinel always ready to pounce at the slightest threat, he was seeing everything.

So obviously, he saw the way you were looking at him, the way you were following him, keeping your distance but still keeping him in your sight. Everywhere he was, you were too. To the point that everyone on base knew that you were into him. But he never told you a word about it. Never told you a word at all. And it was painful.

So you started to try things to catch his attention. Flirting with soldiers to see if he was jealous, insistent gaze to see if he came to you, short dresses to see if he looked at you. But nothing seemed to work, and you grew more frustrated, and more hurt. But in the end, it wasn’t surprising. No one was interested in you, and he was interested in no one, so why would it have been any different with you, right ? Little did you know…

The day started like any other day. You sat at your usual spot in the mess hall, alone, drinking your coffee, looking at his every move as he was drinking his tea a few tables away, while pretending to be lost in thought. It was useless, though, his eyes never met yours. Then you heard her.

“Look at her, staring at the love of her life, waiting desperately for him to notice her, so pathetic.” A bitchy giggle.

You sighed. You would have thought that the military life would have been so different than high school. No more bullying, no more making fun of people, no more Queen Bees. You were wrong.

The girl got up and walked toward you, standing in front of you, blocking you from Ghost’s sight. “When will you understand that he will never be interested in you ? You’re not pretty, not smart, you’re not even funny. If he has to hit on one of us, it would be me.”

You closed your eyes without lifting your head, your jaw clenching. It stung, how true she was. She has everything. The silky hair, the smooth skin, the bright eyes, the ass and tits. And you had… none of it.

She laughed. “See ? Not even able to talk back. How could he be interested in you when you are no more interesting than a spot on the wall ?”

Feeling your eyes fill with tears, you were about to get up and leave, but you didn’t have time. Two gloved hands landed on the back of your chair, a big shadow casting on both of you, as a deep voice growled. “You have two seconds to apologize or I can tell you that during the next training you will hope you were never born.”

The girl’s eyes widened. Yours too. Your heart was hammering in your chest, loud in your ears, as you were staring at the girl who stuttered “I-I am… I am sorry.”

He growled. “Good. Now leave.”

The girl was out before he had finished his sentence. And you were still frozen on your chair. Slowly, quietly, he rounded the table, and stopped in front of you, right where the girl was standing seconds ago. Your eyes still wide, your hands gripping your cup of coffee tight to hide their shaking, you started “thank you, I-“.

He cut you off. “My office. 9am. We need to talk.”

Your eyes widened even more if it was physically possible, but before you had time to answer he was gone. You didn’t have the right to say no, anyway.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, and looked at your shaking hands as a sense of dread was slowly creeping in your mind. This was it. The moment your Lieutenant would tell you to stop being delusional and hoping anything from him was coming. And even if you already knew that, you also knew that hearing it from him would break you.

8:55am. You were in front of Ghost’s office. Your heart was in your throat, your chest tightening, your eyes bright with tears. You took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

God, the voice alone was sending chills down your spine. You opened the door, and took a few steps in, standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped in your back. “You wanted to see me, Lieutenant ?”

He answered without lifting his nose from his paperwork. “Close the door.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you complied. You closed the door and took your place back, fighting the urge of closing your eyes, of crying, of running away.

After a few seconds of silence, he got up, rounded the desk, and leaned back against it, right in front of you. His eyes locked to yours, making your heartbeat skyrocket.

“You know why I wanted to see you ?”

“No” you lied. Well, not really a lie. You thought you knew. And you hoped you were wrong.

The balaclava shifted slightly as he raised his eyebrows and sighed. “Yes, you know. You’re scared, but you know.”

Your heart stopped, more tears coming in your eyes as you looked down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “Lieutenant, I can explain. It’s not what you think, I-“

Then the whole world stopped. You stopped in your tracks, feeling two gloved fingers pressing under your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet his again. “Shhh. It’s okay. I am not going to yell, I am not going to laugh. I am just going to tell you… that it can’t happen.”

You stared in his eyes, waiting for the moment he would scold you, looking for something, anything in his eyes that would tell you he was making fun of you. But all you saw was softness, and a hint of sadness. And you couldn’t process it. “I… I know, I am not your type. I am short, and I-“

Again, he cut you off. His gaze hardened, his grip on your chin tightened. “Don’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes darting from his to the side and back, as you said with a strangled voice “What ?”

His look softened again, and his fingers moved from your chin to your cheek. He took a deep breath and exhale sharply. “I see you, you know ? I really see you.”

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. His touch, his eyes, his cryptic words, his voice laced with kindness and understanding. It was all too much. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought he could hear it. Your stomach was churning. You were a mess. “I don’t understand.”

He bent forward, looking right into your soul. “You. Are. Good. Enough.” He paused, his eyes roaming your face, studying every inch of it like to commit it to memory. His thumb wiped away the tear you haven’t noticed on your cheek. “You think I don’t see but I do. The way you always treat other people with kindness. The way your face brights up when something makes you laugh. The way you always torture yourself trying to solve their problem for them. You are a good person. You are good enough. Maybe even too good.”

The way he was talking about you made you feel like the most precious thing in the world. You couldn’t believe it. You were probably dreaming. You frowned in confusion, trying to read between the lines, but afraid to make things up. “I-… You-… What are you saying ?”

With the balaclava you couldn’t see the expression on his face. Still, the corner of his eyes crinkled as he smiled lightly – a rare thing coming from him. His other hand reached for your cheek as he grabbed your face gently, making your heart stop. “You really are going to make me spell it out, aren’t you ?”

He looked away for a few seconds, his eyes darting all around the room as if he was looking for something, for the right words. Then he looked back at you. “I am your superior. I can’t give special treatment to some recruits, I can’t get closer to one of them.” He paused, brushing his fingers on your cheek. Then he added “It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to.”

Your eyes widened, an overwhelming flow of emotion coursing through your brain and your heart as you started to process the underlying meaning of his words. Hope, confusion, joy, and sadness. He wanted you. But he couldn’t. “So what you’re saying is…”

He sighed, one of his hands moving from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer. “What I am saying is… if I wasn’t who I am, I would have made everything for you to be mine. But…”

You looked at him, and this one syllable word broke your heart. But. “But you are who you are, so it can’t happen.”

He nodded slowly, his grip on you tightening. “Trust me, I would love things to be different.”

You felt your heart beat faster and harder, as you were seeing all hope of being with him crumbling down in front of your eyes. In your obsession, you never thought for a single second that he could want you but couldn’t be with you. And it was even worse than thinking he just didn’t want you.

He saw in your eyes that you were starting to understand. He pulled you even closer to him, and pressed his face on the side of yours. Your eyes fluttered shut. You took a deep breath, taking in his scent as he was doing the same thing. It was a dream becoming true, but one which would soon enough turn into a nightmare, at the very second you would get out of his office.

His hand on your waist moved to the small of your back, his hand on your cheek stroking your hair gently as he whispered in your ears. “Give me just one minute. One minute when I am not your Lieutenant. One minute when nothing keeps us from being together. One minute when I can tell you… That I love you.”

You let out a small sob. Your eyes filled with tears again, and he hugged you tight, his face buried in your neck. He kept whispering. “Every time. Every time you will feel like you’re not good enough. Every time you will feel lonely. Every time you will feel unworthy. Remember it. Remember that I am always somewhere, thinking of you.”

You shift your face to the side to face him, your lips parted as you gasped slightly from his closeness, his breath hitting your nose through the balaclava. His eyes locked to yours, his lips hovering over yours as he brushed his nose along yours, his hand gripping your shirt in your back tight with the effort of holding back. You swallowed hard, tears dangling from the corner of your eyes.

He chuckled, brushing his fingers on your cheek. “You’re so beautiful, even when you cry. So beautiful. But don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s hard, I know, but it’s for the best.”

You closed your eyes, freeing your tears and letting them roll down your cheeks. “How can it be for the best to love each other and not be able to be together ?” You managed to say, your voice choked with tears.

He sighed again, his hands moving to the back of your head, cradling it. “I know you don’t see it now. But I am not good enough for you. You deserve a happy life, with kids, a dog and a white fence. I can’t give you that.”

You shook your head aggressively. “I don’t want all of this. I want you.”

He chuckled, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re young. Naive. So, so precious. You will forget me.”

He pressed his lips against your forehead, his fingertips grazing your skin in the nape of your neck. After a deep, shaky breath, he added “And if you don’t… Then maybe one day, when things will be different… But until then, I want you to promise me something.”

You looked at him, your heart in your throat, ready to promise anything, in the name of the love you shared but couldn’t enjoy. So you nodded.

He brought your face closer to his, his lips brushing yours, enjoying the shape of your mouth fitting so well with his, even through the fabric of his mask, even if just for a few seconds. “Promise me that you will try. Even if it hurts, even if you don’t want to, try to be happy. Don’t shut yourself out. You shine too brightly to let me tarnish it.”

You frowned. It was the most heartbreaking things you had to promise. But for his sake you agreed. You would try. To forget him, to love someone else, even if you knew you would never feel for anyone else what you felt for him. It would be less powerful, less consuming, less devouring, but you would try. And you would pray it won’t work. Pray for fate to reunite you, one day, when things will be different.

[halenhusky309]

A few thoughts on D-16/ Megatron

Spoiler ⚠️

I do think D-16/Megatron is justified killing Sentinel, considering Sentinel not only lied and abused him, Orion Pax and lower-class fellows, but also later tortured and degraded him (I do think Sentinel had an easy death). However, Megatron did not show any sign that he can't let go of the hatred and resentment toward Sentinel and his goons, and if no one stops him, he would likely get himself corrupted without noticing that he had gone too far. Also, D-16 banked all his desires to overthrow Sentinel's regime on solely punishment and revenge to satisfy his anger, unlike Orion Pax, who mainly prioritized revealing the truths of Sentinel's fraudulent ass to empower the lower classes rising up and fighting for their rights and against Sentinel and his goons. We, as the audiences and even Orion Pax, noticed that D-16's reactions were getting unhealthy and extreme, and without proper help and support, would turn to a very dark path. While it wasn't clear whether D-16 would go far beyond with his revenge even after killing Sentinel, to Orion Pax, it did feel like D-16 would potentially commit further atrocities if he kept going down to road of brutal revenge against Sentinel.

I do think if they weren't in peril situations and had enough time to talk to each other, may be Orion Pax would have talked some sense into D-16 to calm him down and reduce his extreme obsession for justice and punishment.

For someone who had held his head down and followed the protocols all the time, I understood that it was great pain for D-16 to forfeit his wants and needs most of the time to appease the so-called benevolent ruler, who turned out to be his biggest enemy. But the fact D-16 chose to forfeit his closest companion and let him fall to his death, because he believed Orion Pax once again just doing what he wanted for himself only, and didn't care for his wants, which proved that D-16 didn't understand Orion Pax that much. It's true that on a surface level, Orion Pax's actions seemed selfish and reckless, but Orion Pax was the only one who understood that all of the miners couldn't continue to live like this. His obsession to find the Matrix is a long-term solution for their predicaments to set them free and allow them to reach their potentials. Orion did realize how restrained D-16 was and wanted help his friend to be more carefree without worrying about the consequences and protocol. In another word, Orion's antics were his ways to make their mundane, monotone, albeit dangerous lives to be worth living. Unfortunately, D-16 did not understand that and simply viewed Orion's antics and actions as self-serving, pointless, and stupid, due to his self-restriction to protocols, which later led to that tragic moment to their closed friendship.

[nightblitz606]

Current progress with Sentinel, he's already taken 10 hours. He just needs that much attention

[scribe-of-hael]

I Hate Sentinel Prime

Spoilers for TFONE , please for the love of God GO WATCH IT

One thing about this movie is taking concepts that are digestible for a younger audience and yet takes it seriously enough for older audiences. I already want to make a long winded review and analyzing the morality/psychology/philosophy between D-16 and Orion in the films. But ill save that for another post.

First and forthmost no story is without is obstacles and its antagonist.

From the get go I knew Sentinel was going to be apart of the problem due to just knowing his past counterparts, form TFA to Bayverse and IDW being less than desirable or even striaght up maniacs. I have had a deep rooted hate towards this character since the age of 8/9 years old. That is never going away anytime soon.

I very much chalked Sentinel as an ass who didn't deserve any of Optimus's help or kindness in TFA. Coming to be older understanding just how fucked up his words towards BA was and how this situation was just as much if not more his fault and yet never seem to get repercussions.

What i didn't expect is to have such a violent pure hatred for this character. And the things is. That's the point. The audience is SUPOSSED to hate him.

But this slightly bleeds into the conflict of people feeling who was in the right. D-16 or Orion. Because Sentinel needed to die. Had to die.

I can't express the deep horror I felt when it was revealed this , leader. This protector was no only lieing, not only a murderer. But had taken away others Bodily rights before even having a choice and enslaved them all for his benefit. Being manipulative, abusive , does right utterly disgusting by the violation of Cybertronians.

It is beyond deplorable, it is monstrous. Evil and vile.

The part of why I hate Sentinel and I am so enthralled by him as a villain is that Sentinel's whole persona and archetypes can be found in real life. Sentinel is more likely to be an acutal person in the everyday vs a cult follower of a hungery devil planet.

Is see ppl attracted to Sentinel and 99% of them know he's awful and terrible but his Charisma is what ppl say is the factor they like. And absolutely, it is apart of the manipulation. No one ever truly thinks they are the villain and they believe their own truth of themselves and the situation. Even going around making sure their veil of truth looks like it to the public and will do whatever means to keep it that way.

It is specifically the scene where he kills Alpha Tron and carries on the same tone of the conversation and even says to the CORPSE of how disrespectful he and the other primes where. There is zero hesitation or remorse. He is utterly delusional and insane.

Its the level of one person willing to hurt Thousands , millions, for their own benefit. To where even the ppl affected wouldn't wnat to beleiev someone could be capable of a level of heartless cruelty and yet-

He did it.

Slightly back pedeling in the fact his Death needed to happen. I never felt more satisfaction of a villain death. But in his defeat a new threat came from it. In the end Sentinel did get away with it. He hurt D-16 to such a degree that he not only hurt his friend , he was willing to hurt others to make to make it happen.

Megatron was born to take back the power he felt he lost. But became a new face for a new pain. Sentinel would never be forgotten purely for that reason.

[cebwrites]

Hiya! Can I request Law and/or Zoro x a male reader who constantly tries to work in couples/working together moves in fights as a his own kinda love language/flirting depending on if you think the relationship would need to be established first or not.

Like Reader and them are cornered mid-fight and Reader's just like, "Finally! I've been waitin to try out this new axe! Launch me, darlin! >:-)"

a/n: hi anon, I went with marimo since he's been on the brain lately <3

Zoro x M!Reader Battle Couple HCs

masc reader, transmasc Zoro word count: 0.6k

Whether Zoro meets you out in the wild as a bounty hunter (reader having to team up with Luffy and Koby to help break Zoro out of the marine compound is a cute idea though) or when he's already a Strawhat, the beginnings are typically the same - you catch Zoro's eye briefly because of his prowess but it's not until you're forced to work in close proximity that Zoro really takes interest in the your skills and you as a person overall

Beginning to care for you as one of his own, knowing that the other can kick enough ass on their own but having each other's backs not because you don't trust his strength or vice versa but because you love and still look out for one another, each of you powerhouses in their own right still

Not that Zoro would ever associate himself with anyone intolerant nor hide himself to begin with, but I think the moment he walks around topless (op or no) and you give no significant reaction, is when Zoro tells himself you're safe to be around and starts being a tad more buddy-buddy; this usually means more tussling in the bath and impromptu "wrestling" matches on the lawn, no weapons of course, just horsing around

Franky outright bans "serious" sparring matches on the Sunny after everyone comes reunites after two years, he'd heard about how much Zoro and Sanji tore up the Merry in the past with their squabbles from Usopp and has no intention to have to seriously patch Sunny up every other day - so you're both relegated to only having serious tests of strength on land (not that smaller skirmishes aren't allowed, Franky just keeps a close eye on you two so that it doesn't turn into anything more heated)

Zoro automatically has a vested interest in all the cool, sharp new toys his boyfriend brings back to the ship, whether you have a staple one like Wado, Sandai Kitetsu, and now Enma are to him, or you prefer a revolving door of weapons with no particular favorites

He helps you clean and take care of any blades you might carry, maybe even leading to cuddles and something more after the heat of battle you filthy animals, and though he doesn't know anything about guns he's willing to learn about the upkeep for your sake - and if it's anything more technological like lasers, well at least Zoro can enjoy looking at the pretty lights and the destruction that follows

Zoro doesn't let anyone else handle his swords lightly, let alone Wado, that privilege is saved solely for other Strawhats that Zoro's absolutely sure he can trust them to protect what are ostensibly extensions of himself - so when he first puts them in your care, it's a BIG deal, along with the first time he fully shows his back to you, be it in the heat of passion or something more akin to casual, tender affection

Zoro's used to fighting in tandem with other people, the chaos of the Strawhats usually forces one to adapt like that, but if you met him before all that, the level of synchronizing you'd have with him would be unparalleled, both talented blades in your own rights alone but together? Together you're unstoppable

Zoro trusts you with his back and you allow him to see tender, wounded parts of yourself that few others even know about and he protects them like a righteous sentinel, as you are with the parts of him that he seeks to hide away in shame - his guilt, his inadequacy, his mourning, you both take on each other's pain and forge it into a power that shakes the Grand Line in your combined wake

[perpetuallyconfuzzled]

(spoilers for TF:ONE cause I am screaming over robots)

I just love what they did for Dee/Megs and Orion/Optimus SPECIALLY how their ideal-vs-flaws were a ticking time bomb covered in red flags but this bitches are colorblind and deaf and I just need to RAMBLE Optimus is a selfless bot that wishes the best for others and we all know that, hell first bit of the movie and we are given, like, five examples back to back of how much of an idealistic he is but he is also trying to get others to be a bit rebellious and challenge the ideas that miners are JUST that and they have to stay as such and normally that would be it right? look what a good boy cinnamon roll he is good job Mr. Hero but there is a flaw to him that I love how well it compliments him and most bots actually call him out on it [tho it is treated as him being selfish when that really isn't the correct word] cause damn it it IS something someone who has yet to learn how to be a leader can lack no matter how well intention you cause damn this orion who may be a selfless idealist is very VERY inconsiderate He destroys CYCLES of hard work Elita had done, Get's Dee to risk his neck for him to saving his ass like literally taking a punch meant for him for flipping the bird to a superior officer, said friend tells him NOT to try anything stupid and just watch the race with him but ends up tricking him into said race and dragged to level "you ain't seeing the light of day again bro" Orion has his heart on the right place, don't get me wrong, but keeps making his plans WITHOUT the input of those that will get directly affected by said plan, he really goes with the idea of "its easier to ask for forgiveness than permission" even when it can always end in terrible consequences to many a bot because, in the end it is for the benefit of cybertron right? This adventure has him learn to actually stop for a freaking second and TALK to others without DECIDING FOR THEM he actually has to convince them to follow him rather than throw the situation at them hoping for the best without considering the consequences like he did with Dee and Elita, he lowers down and is HONEST and doesn't just go "this is for the best!" but "are you with me then?" cause consequences are supposed to be faced together instead of thrown into them you are suppose to give them a choice sadly he ends up learning it far too late Meanwhile, Dee shows all the signs of a pretty loyal mech cause no matter what dumb situation Orion decides to put them through he jumps in to help and support him in the end; sure, he will ramble and bitch about the situation but he is right behind when it counts even if they don't see each other eye-to-eye but it is okay for Dee since that dumbass is HIS dumbass and, therefore, his responsibility. Yet somehow, the flaw that makes Dee Megatron, out off all the things is the one that was beyond the detonator for this doom friendship because as vibrant and rebellious as his best friend is and as much as he makes a show of Fanboying over Sentinel and Megatronus as if wishing to stand by them he is, at the end of the day, a conformist, you even see it as early as the first few minutes into the movie when he takes a punch in the face for Orion; even when Dee laments how badly the punch hurts he doesn't think it was uncalled for, hell he tells Orion he DESERVED to be punched for "stopping a superior and tell him what to do" He sees himself as a lower being and that those in power have the right to enforced their power over those stepping out of line even if it means HE gets abused by it, he views himself and the rest of the miners as the 'low class who just needs to serve for the better of cybertron' and that's it, he would LIKE to have more in life but dreaming such thing only brings pain in the long run so shuts down every conversation Orion has with him about 'trying to be more than they are' cause in the end "We are weak, they are strong, we can never do what they can so why should we mourn in things that can never change? we just need to carry on"

So it makes sense that when they find out about Sentinel's Betrayal the one that takes it the hardest is D-16 cause not only has he been lied to by the one at the top of it all who also had his unwavering loyalty but his entire worldview pretty much gets set on fire and broken beyond repair cause damn it, he thought he was brought to this world to pretty much be a lowly servant to those that deserve power, that he was just never meant to be like them but now you are telling him HE DID HAVE A CHANCE? HE WAS NOT BORN TO PLAY THE ROLE BUT FORCED INTO IT BY THE WHIMS OF A FALSE IDOL?! HE LAID IN THE GROUND AND BROKE MANY A TIME JUST FOR IT TO BE NOTHING BUT WASTE? FUEL FOR THOSE STRONGER WHO CLAIM THE TITLE NOT BY MERIT BUT BY SHEER LIES?!?! ALL THE ABUSE, ALL THE MISTREATMENT, ALL THE MINERS LOST UNDER THE RUBBLE, ALL THE TIMES HE NEVER LET HIMSELF DREAM OR WHICH FOR MORE ALL FOR A LIE and he fell for it like an idiot he had always fallen for it like an idiot he was DONE being everyone's fool Orion was a Selfless but Inconsiderate and to become Optimus he had to stop hearing his ideas and listen to those he valued

D-16 was a Loyal Conformist but to become Megatron he had to learn that if everyone lies to you, why should you keep listening?

[brandwhorestarscream]

I read the newest post on the cybermorph au and this. THIS IS THE SHIT I’M TALKING ABOUT! Bro Trion just LEFT the YOUNG MECH WHO GIVING BIRTH! Not gonna lie, if someone I loved left me during childbirth (not by choice but still) -I’ll straight up become a super villain. Fuck it. this is D-16’s canon event.

Love your work, hope you can continue with pregnant D-16 part 4 and the cybermorph au!

In Alpha Trion's defense, they know next to nothing about cybermorphs. As far as they know, chestbursters are always fatal (they're not, but we can get into that later). The best thing to do if you're faced with cybermorph eggs is to run. Don't try to be a hero, just put as much space between yourself and them as fast as you can. He made an executive decision to protect three vulnerable children from a grisly fate, in his mind: he's not the bad guy in this

But we can talk about that later: for now, poor D-16 all alone 🥺 When he wakes up he's having rapid ocontractions and the next egg is already on its way. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but these eggs have been trapped inside for months and are huge compared to the usual morphling pods. He's all by himself in labor, and all he can do is strain and push and wrap his arms around himself. Pathetically attempting to hug himself, he rocks back and forth in a desperate attempt to self soothe, crying harder than he ever has as he delivers egg after egg after egg. Laying in a puddle of bloodied mud, he calls helplessly for Orion, for anyone to help him, but his voice echoes endlessly in the cave without answer

He has no idea where they've gone, he had passed out and was unconscious when Alpha Trion evacuated them all. He doesn't know what happened. Disoriented from pain and too weak from labor, once all five of the eggs are out he faints again. He's lost a lot of energon, and was already sick when they arrived. Tbh, the only reason he doesn't die is because of his morph code. Cybermorphs are damn near unkillable, and his body enters a form of suspended stasis in an attempt to regenerate and preserve his spark. At some point during the birth his whole body had transformed, so the frail, unmistakable form of an infant cybermorph queen lays comatose amongst the deceased Primes, five large ovomorphs nestled together nearby.

They could be there for hours, days, weeks, months, years. The queen will remain in a coma til his body can refuel, and the eggs will remain in stasis until an incubator becomes available

Thankfully though, neither will have to wait long 🤭 Alpha Trion has evacuated the younglings elsewhere, and tells them what he knows--about Sentinel, about the quintessons, and about D-16. That he's dangerous, all of morphkind are dangerous, and they absolutely cannot go back for him. They would all die. "I am sorry, little ones. I know this is distressing."

Knowing they're can't outrun the old mech, nor escape the strength of his hold, Orion waits until nightfall and they're all asleep to run away from their camp.

...followed by Elita, cuz she knew his dumb ass was gonna try something.

........followed by B-127, because he wants to be included.

They hike back toward the cave (they still have the map, after all). Bee asks if they're sure this is a good idea, cuz, y'know, Alpha Trion said they'd die.

"I don't care what he thinks," is Orion's response, frowning. "Dee's not a monster. He'd never hurt us. And right now he's hurt, and he's sick, and he needs us!"

It takes them quite awhile to get there, but it's still dark when they duck into the original cave entrance. The stars are beginning to slowly blink, promising the delivery of morning sun shortly, when they make their way inside. It's still incredibly dark in the Grave, and even with their mining headlights it's hard to see.

"DEE!" Orion cups both hands around his mouth to yell as they stumble through the darkness. "Dee, we're back! Are you alright? Where are you?"

He can't remember exactly where Alpha Trion had laid him down. The cavern is spacious and they spread out, trying to find their friend, calling his name repeatedly.

Suddenly, something splashes under Orion's pede, cold and slimy. He backpadels with a yelp of surprise, kicking his leg in disgust. "Ok, gross, I stepped in something-"

He hears a soft crinkling noise and looks down, scanning the ground with his little beam of light. There's... a weird oblong thing on the ground. Silver in color, and sitting in a puddle of what looks like crusted mud, dirt wetted with energon. The round silver thing looks rubbery, outside smooth and springy, and the top is blooming open like the petals of the weird invasive plants they'd by now become well acquainted with.

"Huh..." He kneels down to investigate. "Hey, guys, were these here before?"

Elita's voice echoes from the darkness, somewhere to his left. "Was what here before?"

"These rubber things!" He reaches out and pokes it with one finger. It jiggles, and pulses softly with pink light, almost reminiscent of the energon veins. Another crinkling noise, and he glances to his right. There's another one, nearly identical to the first, opening up it's petals. He glances upwards, and sure enough, there's a tiny bit of light beginning to bleed in from the cave ceiling. They must be reacting to the sunlight! "I think they're more of the 'nature' stuff-"

There's a flash of movement from the corner of his optic and something flies out at him from the darkness with terrifying precision. It impacts his face, his denta, with such force it sends him crashing backwards onto the cave floor, screaming. Its too dark, he can't see, there's something cold and wet and slimy attacking him. He tries to claw at it but it's slippery, and he gags as the long, wet little creature forces it's way into his mouth and dives down his throat. He gags grandly around it, whole body flailing as he tries to pull it out, but its too fast, slithering with speed like a darting pipe-viper down his intake. He feels it slither over his glossa and the tip of it's long, wormy body disappears past his lips--and then everything goes black.

...

Press F for Orion 😔 cybermorph survival guide rule #1: never poke at alien eggs!

For anyone wondering why they're not facehuggers, its because these are morphling eggs. Morphlings are cybermorph sparklings: they can only be created through sexual fertilization of an egg, and hatch from their eggs in larva stage. They still require an incubator, and while inside, they undergo rapid metamorphosis then pop out as actual sparklings later. Drone eggs, which are asexually produced by a queen, follow the more traditional xenomorph life cycle, being deposited by a facehugger parasite and then chestbursting as the traditional worm-like larva. Hope you enjoyed

[sonicasura]

Spoilers for Transformers One!

Considering Alpha Trion was supposed to die in the trap set up by Sentinel, would that make him a candidate to summon Kirby's Morpho Knight? The butterfly is responsible for taking souls to the afterlife but will grant a single wish of the they are about to take. Lore wise, Alpha Trion is often portrayed as a record keeper or represents knowledge/wisdom.

He would no doubt collect information about other planets and races. It's a possibility that he could stumble upon the story of Morpho Knight but also the way to summon the fluttering dream eater. Something almost every Alpha Trion wouldn't consider... except for TF One.

All of his siblings are dead, young Cybertronians had their transformation cogs taken, and Cybertron is now encompassed by a deadly false reality. Something birthed from Sentinel's betrayal as the traitor parades himself around like some twisted savior. Imagine the pain, sorrow and rage Alpha Trion felt upon seeing the reality he awoken in.

He knows that it would be a matter of time before he rejoins his siblings. Yet, Alpha Trion can't help but want to pay Sentinel back for this treachery. The old Prime might not be able to do much to aid the younglings in their quest...

However Morpho Knight could in his stead.

(For those wondering, you can blame this Man on The Internet song for the thought. Plus it would be funny if Sentinel Prime got his ass kicked by a butterfly. He played dirty so it's only fair for Alpha Trion to do the same.)