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ivycorp · 2 years

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Riot's TFP AU: Have you tried turning your Prime off and on again?

Agent Fowler kept a folder on everyone - the one for Optimus for a very long time contained a log of dates and places. The frequency of whatever he was tracking decreased at some point significantly, coming to a halt - and judging from the man's smile, it was a good thing.

When Agent Fowler was informed he would be dealing with giant alien robots from space, he was torn between being understandably stupefied by the notion of lifeforms from beyond the stars existing at all, and wondering if he had actually pissed someone off on the last work party. His superiors specified he was mainly to collect intel from within as a ‘liaison’ - to help them figure out what made the Cybertronians tick, and let them prepare for the eventuality when the Earth would have to deal with them as their own enemies.

“Precaution, agent - we can’t let ourselves be caught unawares should they turn on us,” his commander said, handing over a slim file of what they already knew. It was barely a few pages long, with more blanks than any actual information - which meant he was essentially going in blind.

Marvelous - it was truly an ideal state of matters when talking with huge robots that can squash you like a bug.

Someone up there in senior command really didn’t like him.

Fowler accepted the job in the end, but on the inside he hoped it wouldn't last too long; he would usually choose shorter gigs to not grow attached to his targets. And when aliens were added into the picture, there was no place to get mushy - he needed to stand firmly on the side of humanity and his country.

In the beginning, it wasn't too difficult to keep the necessary emotional distance while remaining adequately civil - the differences between them were so numerous, the Autobots appeared standoffish and weird at first; he suspected that to them, he most likely seemed the same. They worked together, but that was it; he struggled to make progress beyond what he was told directly. Dry recounts, a few remarks, a hushed conversation here and there of which he heard a fraction at best.

He was almost considering reassignment, anything to alleviate the boredom - he'd even take the traffic duty over yet another day of silence. The paperwork was filed, ready to be sent out to his supervisor with a note that his skills were not being properly utilized, when he heard a loud clash.

Getting up and peering over the railing, he saw Optimus Prime sprawled on the floor by the console. Fowler cursed to himself; the one day when everyone was on patrol but their leader, he suffered some malfunction. How was he supposed to react? Should he get some jumper cables or something?

Deciding he might at least investigate, he went down and approached the mech with caution. Maybe it was some sort of robotic narcolepsy? Was Optimus sleeping?

The agent's brows furrowed - could they even sleep?

He called out to the bot, hoping it would stir some reaction, but it all fell on deaf audials. He noticed the lights and noises that he associated with their kind were absent.

To Fowler, Prime looked pretty much dead.

He spent the next few minutes panicking, trying to discern how he would break the news to the command (and well, to bots too) - when the mech shook and on-lined with a soft gasp. The man stepped away, instinctively trying to give space to breathe to a being that didn’t even have lungs; he cursed quietly, trying to stamp out the flash of empathy that tried to read its ugly head at the obvious discomfort he was witnessing, as the Autobot leader got himself up to a sitting position, wincing at the stray electricity dancing on his plating.

"What was that?"

The Prime turned his helm, one of his servos massaging the middle of his chest gently; seeing the human, he raised the other one to wave the inquiry away.

"Nothing serious, Agent Fowler, do not concern yourself with this - it's not the first time it happened, and it will not be the last," said the mech placatingly, composure slipping at the end of the sentence to reveal… exhaustion? Seeing the bot already start to gather himself up, legs shaking slightly, the man decided to drop it. He would add it to the report and keep his eye out on the Prime to make sure it doesn't occur too often.

He repeated to himself that he was not growing concerned - that would imply caring, and that would imply getting attached. Very unprofessional.

The reassignment paperwork was not sent out that day, though.

*****

Over the next few weeks, he kept to his routine without any major changes. Yet, something about that odd incident made him ask Ratchet a vague question about Cybertronians rest cycles. The medic was never very talkative, usually outright dismissive, but the question caught him by surprise - he actually gave a brief, but clear answer that turned the agent even more pensive. They were able to recharge, but they would not power down completely for it - so whatever struck the Prime was not a nap or a fainting spell.

Thanking for the information, he walked back up to the raised platform and stopped, looking around. Arcee and Bumblebee were out on patrol, Cliffjumper and Bulkhead took off on a joyride…

Where was Optimus?

The man walked around the base, looking at every nook and cranny in search of the missing Autobot leader; a familiar sound of restarting machinery caught his ear, letting him follow it to the source. He found the Prime resting between storage boxes, frame barely visible in the dim room, biolights glowing in the darkness. When the agent got closer, he started recognising what the mech was muttering:

"What was it this time… you can't keep… this is not… please…"

Fowler tried to remain stealthy, as he wanted to hear more of what Optimus was talking about; however, before he could actually catch anything, the automatic light sensors tripped and the room illuminated, startling the bot.

"Who's there?" came a loud question, as the sounds of a Cybertronian scrambling to get up joined in. The agent cursed internally, before he put his shoulders back and strode inside.

"It's me, Prime, relax," he said pacifyingly, trying to look confident and not at all like a man who just failed at trying to eavesdrop on an alien. The red and blue bot looked at him, shoulders dropping; the bright optics focused on him, and he had a feeling the mech was looking inside of his soul directly. Fowler intently did not think about spying, even though he was certain there was no way the other would know he was trying to listen in on whatever was happening.

"Agent Fowler, what can I do for you?" Optimus inquired, slipping back into the familiar dynamic - most likely hoping the man wouldn't ask what he was doing in the dark storage room.

"Nothing, I wasn't looking for you - I was just passing by, must have walked too close to the sensor," the man decided to leave the matter be for now, gesturing towards the lights. The mech stared at him, before nodding in understanding.

"Then don't let me stop you from your duties, Agent Fowler, I'll be back at the main console in a few minutes if you do require my help," the Autobot leader acknowledged, and the man took it as a great opportunity to leave without raising suspicion.

As he walked down the hallway, he wondered why the lights weren't on in the first place - just how long was Optimus not moving in this room?

*****

On one of the few occasions where the Autobots were asked to help the human side of the alliance months later, Fowler had the dubious pleasure of getting stuck between rock and a hard place - quite literally.

When he rode inside Optimus's cabin, writing up his report after they successfully delivered some sensitive military cargo without encountering the mercenaries they expected, he forgot that the lack of engagement was not equal to lack of possible excitement; a tremor shook the ground caused a landslide, which barrelled straight into the truck and threw them out of the road, off the edge of the cliff. The agent noticed the bot shift, turning to cushion the fall in a more controlled fashion, before they hit the bottom with a loud thud.

Dizzy but alive, Fowler got up on his legs, panting, adrenaline coursing high through his veins, as he started making his way towards the unmoving Autobot. Optimus had taken the brunt of the damages, and while the man got thrown to the side, the remaining rocks and pieces of road landed right on top of the mech.

"Prime, you good?" he called out, and upon hearing no response, frantically began to clear the rubble. His hands hurt, but he managed to dislodge a piece of the structure so that it unveiled a familiar red armor. After a bit more digging, he unburied the blue helm, dirty and scratched up.

There were no signs of life, and mech's chest was impaled right through by a piece of what he could recognize as a mangled crash barrier. The agent patted himself down for a phone, before he pulled out the wrecked device. It was beyond recovery, and he cursed not being able to hail anyone for help - the return trip was just him and Prime, so there would be nobody looking for them for a while.

He supposed at some point Ratchet would realize their leader dropped dead - he knew the medic was monitoring all the crew's stats. It was actually weird that there was no space bridge in there yet.

Worry growing, he shrieked when the mechanism emitted a disharmonious sound - and Optimus groaned. The bot got up, hissing as the metal embedded in him started sliding out. The screeching and squelching of unknown origin combined into a sickening discordant noise that made him want to barf.

"Watch out, Prime, it nearly killed you!" Fowler threw his hands up, hoping to catch the attention of the mech; the blue optics shifted towards him in a mix of surprise and relief.

“Ah, you had not been harmed - that’s good,” Optimus said, smiling weakly as he propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the metal jutting out of his torso. The long servos tried to reach behind his back, failing to grasp at the end of it - the piece got buried deep into the ground.

The only way off it was up.

“You said it ‘nearly’ killed me, correct, Agent Fowler?” the Autobot asked aloud, though the man felt this was less of a question and more of an acknowledgement, as he could swear he could hear the quotation marks in the sentence. Numbly, he nodded, and nearly snickered from stress when the bot said something that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a foreign language - the emotion behind the words was very much recognizable. He grabbed the barrier and tore it as close to his windshields as possible, before he leveled Fowler with a tired look.

“There is a chance this will ‘nearly’ kill me again - if this happens, don’t worry, just give me a few minutes. If I try to do this again after that, tell me it didn’t work and to call Ratchet instead,” came the orders, voice of the mech devoid of any humor - the agent could only nod his head again, as Prime sighed and started pulling himself off it, inch by inch.

At some point the rubble he was in shifted, making him sway; the mech seized up with a guttural sound in his vocaliser, and his biolights blinked away. Fowler stood there, watching the bot dangle like that for a couple of minutes, before the sound of re-starting systems filled his ears again.

Optimus groaned, looking around disoriented, as he tried to move again.

“No!” shouted the man, successfully stopping the bot, as he quickly followed it up with “it didn’t work, call Ratchet,”; to his amazement, Prime listened, opening the comm line to the base, as the familiar lights of a ground bridge appeared close by. The medic came out, shouting at his leader, as he started chewing the mech’s audials off for getting stuck into another weird situation again. The blue and red Autobot apologized the entire way back, as he limped to the medbay - agent following silently, wondering what had he actually witnessed.

*****

“Optimus, please, let me take a look at it,” said Ratchet, poking at the mech’s internals, mending the remaining wires with care and precision. Prime shook his helm negative, mumbling:

“You tried that already, old friend, and we both know I can't remove it yet.”

Fowler froze with an arm raised, as he was about to knock on a pipe and ask the medic some questions about Cybertronian biology he was getting more curious about lately - instead, he darted to the wall, hiding behind one of the storage boxes, telling himself he was not feeling guilty for listening in on a private conversation between a doctor and their patient.

He was not the one sworn to secrecy in that matter.

This was expected from his job!

Why did he feel so bad about listening in, then?

“Still, this is not healthy for you!” the angry words came back at the Prime; the man had to strain his ears to pick up what followed after, muscles aching from trying not to make a sound and stop this conversation.

“The fact that I had to add a delay on the medical alert for when you drop off-line just because that one time you kept on dropping and coming back several times in a row because of whatever you and this piece of scrap in your chest disagreed about - you don’t even remember what was the subject of the discussion! - it’s simply asking for trouble! Had you not called, I would have never known you needed assistance!” Ratchet fumed, angrily slamming something closed, before gathering the equipment and leaving it to clatter on the tray for treatment later on. A sympathetic hum was heard, and the medic emitted a sound of exhausted disappointment.

“I really wish you would let me try again - Decepticons aren’t around, so you suffer for nothing,” he mumbled, as he went back to the sanitizing unit, to get the equipment cleaned up.

Fowler could see the familiar legs of Optimus at the edge of his field of vision behind the crate, as the mech calmly patted his friend on the shoulder and stated:

“If in a year we will be able to say the same, I will be open for another attempt - for now, I have a feeling we are not alone here.”

The agent stood still, mulling these words over, as he finally slipped away into the base proper. From such an odd piece of intel, he wasn’t sure if he could explain it in his report - so for now, it remained out of the official documentation.

Until he knew a little bit more.

Not at all because he was actually worried.

*****

Ten months later, Fowler noted at least twenty of those strange occurrences - and when Cliffjumper died, alerting them to the enemy presence, he had to restrain himself from looking at Ratchet’s offended face, as he grumbled about ‘stupid Cons not waiting with this slag for two more months’. The man had by then grown a bit more attached to the Autobots, but he still periodically considered calling it quits - the paperwork sitting in drafts all this time, ready at a click of a button to get him into a less weird job.

When he observed the Decepticons in action, he congratulated himself on the patience - they were providing him more information than he could ever hope to piece away from the Bots alone! They talked so much and with so little care, it was like taking candy from a baby.

He quickly picked up on some sort of prior history between the two factions’ leaders, though he was surprised at how little Optimus seemed to be affected by this weird dance between him and Megatron; to Fowler, it looked like the silver mech was putting so many innuendos about their lives that he started using it as a reference under what was previously a blank slate of ‘Prime’s past’ in his file. The red and blue bot did not show the same level of engagement, and the man could see it was driving the former gladiator into anger. It was like watching a telenovela - and he was quickly sucked into the drama.

The agent wrote down ‘possibly exes?’ in the file quite early on, later scratching out the first word, instead underlining the latter four times.

Month after that, he added exclamation marks.

It later came into being the central part on the mind map he created to keep up with all the information he was getting.

And there was a lot of it.

As more and more Cybertronians showed up, his job became way more dynamic - between reports, missions, and increasing liveliness of the inhabitants of the base, he barely had time for boredom. He was sure he was close to getting into internal communication on board the Nemesis, and that would for sure give him even more intel. He needed more insight, to give them an edge in this conflict - to both the Autobots and humankind.

Especially since the Bots somehow managed to get kids involved in the mess.

‘Still’, he mused, looking around from where he stood finishing up a phone call, ‘at least the guys have some life in them now.’

He stopped on the stairs, realizing how true that statement was. Fowler racked his brain trying to recall if he saw Arcee smile so openly before. Had he heard Bulkhead’s laugh so loud? Had Bumblebee allowed himself some time to play around? Brows furrowing in concentration, he opened his notepad and checked his personal tally he kept on Optimus.

There had been no new entries from when the Decepticons returned.

*****

The appearance of Unicron into the equation caused an uproar; even worse was the fact that the only solution they could think about involved cooperation with Megatron. There was not much time left for dilly-dallying, and Optimus did not leave much room for argument, having tried the diplomacy route and failing spectacularly before getting rescued by his nemesis - who was way too giddy for such an event, gloating and flirting the entire time.

It made the agent laugh internally to see the Autobot leader ignore all of it, in favor of dealing with the situation on hand - to the Decepticon’s obvious dismay.

Knowing the silver mech was inside the base felt like a horrible intrusion, nonetheless. There was nothing that could be done about it, and the agent prayed that he would not have to write down today’s date in his little log.

As he watched them cross the space bridge, he admitted that at least if he needed to add another entry, the Prime would be there, alive and well.

The entire operation passed quickly, nerves flying high, as the tremors finally ceased - crisis averted. The Earth would see another day, and the public would be none the wiser that the planet was, in fact, a giant robot.

Opening the space bridge again, the Bots returned, oddly quiet for such a success.

Fowler looked at them, and his face fell.

Optimus wasn’t with them.

“Where is he?” he asked, walking closer to the guardrail, right as Ratchet piped up with the same sentiment. The agent knew that if the mech had been killed, they would have dragged the husk back - and he would probably wake up after a few minutes.

As always.

He always came back.

No matter what, no matter how bad - he always powered up, looking around before his memory caught up to him enough to start thinking again.

When the bots explained their leader couldn't recognize them and left with Megatron, he decided the group chat he got into would be way more closely monitored than he initially suspected.

*****

Getting Optimus back was a relief.

Fowler already knew a bit more than others what had happened from the Vehicons recount of the events, as he lurked on as an anonymous presence with them on the comms. He decided to keep the majority of it to himself, expecting the rumors to be at least slightly exaggerated - he could try to let the mech retain his dignity.

The notes he took were for now out of the official documentation, hidden in the depths of his archiving cabinet under lock and key. It could have been an insinuation of a bored staff, he knew how easy gossip spread and mutated.

And it's not possible they had been going at it as often as the messages implied. They were at war, on the same ship as Soundwave who listened in on anyone at any given time - that must put a bit of a damper on the horizontal tango.

Prime walked between his Autobots, smiling, letting them touch him; understanding the need for reassurance, his presence grounding the others. He allowed himself to be pulled into hugs, right before he was dragged away by the medic who already raged at all the check-ups he needed to run ('I expect you to carry tons of malware, so you ain't touching any consoles before I clear you' Ratchet threatened, pulling the mech by a servo insistently).

Right as it should be: down to the mumbled curses, laughing kids, and their exhausted but relieved Bot companions.

Their worries were finally over, their leader returned, and things would be back to normal soon. If they gave him time and space, he would be the patient, wise figure they got used to.

Fowler later guessed they never really knew the actual 'normal' for the mech, so they really shouldn't have been as surprised as what followed.

*****

There was something different about the Prime, but the agent wasn't sure yet if this was actually a bad thing.

On one hand, the mech had been way more expressive, open to conversation and emotion; there were more positive interactions, as the underlying stiffness he associated with Optimus being, well, a Prime - he heard Ratchet say like the sole fact was the worst thing that could have happened to the bot - was gone. The kids enjoyed that a lot, responding well to his smiles and encouragement shared at their curiosity.

On another, it became very obvious that the past Megatron was alluding to was, in fact, precisely as he implied.

And the feelings were very much returned.

The agent kicked himself mentally for not believing the group chat more - the staff on board Nemesis obviously knew what was going on and were not shy to gossip about it. At least he was not forced to be within the same ship as Megatron, who seemed to be most affected by the shift of this dynamic.

After one of those missions that ended with everyone being very weirded out, he decided it wasn't bad to ask him about one of his suspicions on an unrelated topic - it's not like the day could get much stranger.

"So, Optimus, the Matrix ain't bothering you as much these days?" Fowler asked without preamble, hoping the bluntness would make it less inappropriate. The mech grinned, and confirmed:

"Yes, there should be no more spontaneous deaths triggered by SOMEONE," he looked down at where the Matrix resided in his frame with a frown, "who decides that the best option to win an argument is to make me forget the topic of it by killing me out of the blue, removing the last few minutes from my memory as a by-product."

He placed his servos on hips, as he spoke to the middle of his chest disapprovingly:

"Very mature approach, for sure."

Optimus cocked his helm to the side, as if listening to someone speak, before he added an angry "No excuses, you ain't pulling this on me ever again, you piece of scrap - ‘will of Primus’ or not, we will talk things out like grown mechanisms, you hear?" slapping his torso right above his spark, driving his point home.

Fowler couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him in response, as his theories were getting validated.

"Has the Matrix been turning you off and on again, hoping you would drop whatever the issue was? Would it be happening again anytime soon?" he asked to clarify, as his brain was filled with an image of an ethereal looking bot insistently pushing the power button to force a shutdown, only to do it again when the same issue popped in right after and getting mad that it's not working with such a stubborn mech that Optimus was turning out to be. It made him laugh, but it also was worrying to think that it could start again.

Prime nodded, smirking, as he added:

"It surely seemed that way, but the game has changed - no more 'blue screens of death' for me, I'm glad to say."

The agent decided in the end that the change was good - this Optimus smiled way more often.

*****

Laughing at the last messages from the chat, Fowler saved yet another file onto his phone; he would need to print this out and include it in his reports, though he expected other agents would grow only more concerned at the mess the Cybertronians were creating lately. For a brief moment, he wondered if maybe there was a problem with him, before he shrugged - it really didn't matter, he enjoyed this too much. His documentation was thorough these days, and as Prowl remarked, very well organized.

Plus, he was getting very good at fancy presentations - he wouldn't give up a chance to whip up another one for the matter of a surprise addition to the lives of certain faction leaders. He had so many pictures saved, he had to use them for good.

Aside from the baby album he was preparing in secret for Optimus, of course. He should have probably written it down - he kept on forgetting to check up on the large print order he placed, so a physical memo could help. The agent flipped his notepad open, pen at the ready.

The little thing no longer carried the tally log of all the Primes Deaths And Returns; these pages were transferred into the side file cabinet, as another reference in the 'no longer applicable concern' category: it fit right by 'estimation of chances of Megatron killing off Optimus' and 'list of injuries and treatments related to being grabbed by a Cybertronian'.

A message piped on his phone, and he snorted at the picture sent by the kids from the day at the beach, visiting Griffin Rock for some well deserved R&R. He went to type a reply, when he found the old and forgotten reassignment request. Fowler shook his head at his old worries.

With no hesitation, he deleted the draft.

This job was not boring at all.

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@transingthoseformers I couldn't find the post in which it was mentioned that Fowler has seen Optimus die enough time to know how to react to it, but it's been sitting with me for a while so... yeah.

#tfp au #transformers #maccadam #tfp_AU_writing #i will add it to AO3 at some point but I for now I am staring at the screen frowning #i am a victim of 'i cant publish sth if it aint complete' and its ruining my life #because my list of wips goes longer and longer and Riot yes I blame you (I love you for this ofc)#and i wip while i wip and its a never ending nightmare of seeing yet another post and going 'oh no'#I gather things on the list and make my way through it BUT I CANT PUBLISH BEFORE I FINISH #which is why this AU evolving is so beautiful and scary because I need to keep up!!!#I am so happy to see so many people join in tho #love you all

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utterlyinevitable · 2 years

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haha haha ha… back to december pt.2 is double the length of the first and it’s not even finished yet 😳

#ba dum tss they haven’t finished either #bc im stuck at writing the last sexy scene #whilst broadening my creative chops to include smut has been an intriguing challenge..#never again. it’s giving me too much anxiety #which is probably why it’s so long! I’m overcompensating for my insecurities by writing more words than I should #polin #bridgerton fic #wip

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bluehandprint · 5 months

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Maybe i should continue my wip during this long weekend

#yes but i just bought this book about the gender fluidity of saints #i'm starting to think i'll never finish this wip #and i'm tipsy which is why i'm talking to myself in my own post #flo's gloubiboulga

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lvminisciel · 5 months

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why's writing long ass fic so hard

how r ppl able to do it what is ur secret do u offer ur soul to the devil?? eat healthily or on a strict vegan food?? do u need to vandalize local neighborhood or get caught by a police or simply jst go to the gym thrice a week or-

#forever will be mystery to me #ive got shit tons of fic wips n never got to finish them except for two (2)#like. two TWO. 1+1=2 two; not 2+0=20 or 2+0+0=200 #once i wrote longer then my ideas just keep. expanding.#till i got tired then decides to leave it for a while #.... only to come back several months or even years later #imma go 'oh!! turns out i hv this wip from ths prompt back then!!'#worst part is I STILL REMEMBER THE WHOLE PLOTLINE yet my brain refuses to continue #then imma hv to suffer w/ increasing heaps of brainrot everytime #which is why i prefer poems.. my brain cant focus tht long #siiiiiigghhhh #miè rambles

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roccinan · 6 months

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To commemorate volume 1 of @blorbosexterminator's epic story, The Swan's Symphony, I published a companion guide to the story so the rest of us can keep up with the impressive amount of characters factoring into the story!

Hope this does your story justice Nada, and I hope the guide is accurate. In the meantime, excited to see what you have in store for volume 2 ;)

#blorbosexterminator #the swan's symphony #the spirit of alex pina LIVES in this story and in you nada #the canon flavor is AMAZING in this #the canon flavor the character povs the mingling timelines #all the weaving of OCs and new plot points #it's a super ambitious project that's doing exactly what you planned and is just so satisfying and thrilling to read #which is why I personally needed the guide to keep up with everything haha!#hope this is helpful to you and other readers too!#and for those of you who haven't read swan's symphony yet- I can't rec it enough!#it's the season 6 we'll never have #and the plotline is incredible #you'll laugh you'll cry you'll gasp you'll spin!!#(as for my own stories- I have NOT abandoned any wips yet!! I promise to finish them all!)

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aro-aizawa · 7 months

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me: i don't really like when ppl summarise one character telling another character smth i wanna know the exact phrasings and the way they decide to go about it! i wanna know what parts the character thought was important and their view of it, whether they allowed their feelings to affect the information they're telling or not.

also me: maybe 4k words for like. a fifth of a conversation is too much.

#shut up danni's talking #this is my unpublished wip btw #waiting on locked out getting beta approved and had sudden inspo on my other wip #but basically it's two characters trying to trade important info they need to tell the other before they deal w smth #but the info is like a LOT of info and yeah rip #gonna have to strike a balance so it's not boring.... ah well that's why this is unpublished for now #then i can refine it when i finish the whole draft #it'd be fun to be able to post a finished work i've never done that before #i just post chapters as i finish them and eventually wear myself out of the wip #hopefully i'll get to a point where i post this wip it's at like 12k words already which is fun

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celestiamour · 12 days

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ mad with need ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you want him so bad that you feel like you’re going crazy so he indulges you┊3.0k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊x wade wilson too, age gap, dirty fantasies from a horny reader (who is actually insecure about herself), size difference, no prep we’re dying like nicepool, riding & unprotected piv, breeding/creampie, a bit rushed i need this out my wips

➤ author's note: okay so this is actually the very first logan fic i started, but i have no idea why it took me so long to finish it? it’s a bit all over the place, but i hope some people enjoy anyway!

has he realized you were there and simply testing your self-control, or is he just being so effortlessly sexy again that you aren’t sure if you’re in love or jealous? was there any other reason for him to be laid out on the beat-up couch like something to feast on when he was simply holding a bottle of liquor in one hand to sip on and flipping through the channels of a barely-working box television with a remote in the other? why else would he be so delectable around a known pervert(s, wade is just as bad as you are, just more focused on the possible destruction of his home rather than the pansexual panic between you and logan plaguing him) if not to tempt you?

you’re constantly fawning over the sight of him and letting out dreamy sighs which have become more common lately than you would like to admit, swearing that you could gaze upon him for every second of the day and not tire of it. they say “god gives his most difficult battles to his strongest soldiers”, yet the battle assigned to you is restraining yourself from pouncing on him at the very moment and begging to suck his cock. you know that you’re horny most hours of the day and also kinda a brazen whore, but the way he makes you wet in record time should be worthy of a gold olympic medal.

every time his lips wrap around the rim of the glass bottle, you can’t help but imagine them somewhere else. the image of his handsome face between your legs and scruffy facial hair coated in your slick while he ravishes you haunts your mind whenever you try to sleep, yet the phantom sensation of his tongue on you while his nose stimulates your clit helps you rest in the end. you bet that he would be great at eating pussy too, with his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude— god.

he’s also so jacked that even when he’s resting, his muscles still seem to bulge with prominent veins like a nurse’s wet dream and it has you downright drooling. now that the sleeves of his suit were gone, you could see how beefy his arms were, and seeing any inch of his skin had you acting up like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. he could probably crush your skull like an egg if you ever found yourself head-locked in them (you’ve seen him do it to wade out of irritation, and you’ve never been so jealous).

and not to mention how peggable his shapely ass is, there’s really no limit to all the things you want to try with him if you were given the chance—

“are you finished staring?” his gruff voice brought you back to reality, refocusing your vision as he made a slight gesture to his body with one of his rare smirks, “like what you see?” it’s a rhetorical question, he knows how good he looks despite his age and you have already made your attraction towards him well-established.

you don’t need to say anything, he can tell what you’re thinking as clearly as day, so you don’t bother making any dirty remarks like usual and just walk out the room. you paced around the house for a minute or two to calm yourself down until you eventually ran into wade. “oh my god,” you cupped your face with your hands, eyes becoming big and round as if you were going to cry, “i want him so bad, i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck him!”

“well, why haven’t you? i know for a fact that my presence isn’t enough to stop you from climbing him like a tree, so spill it!”

“uhhhh,” you pointed your fingers together to exaggerate self-consciousness, “what if… what if he doesn’t like me and just sees me as some annoying, excessively horny kid?”

“can you believe this bitch?” he scoffed, looking at the invisible audience that was always watching before grabbing your shoulders and violently shaking you, “listen here missy, he definitely likes you— i have yet to see that man smile at anything else that isn’t your face and comments that rival jjk twitter fans in vulgarity! why are you suddenly getting cold feet now when you’re such a player? you’re suddenly screaming, crying, and throwing up over peanut whom you’ve been hitting on non-stop since we found him?!”

“i don’t know! it’s different, he’s my hero, and— i know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’s not even half the asshole my previous flings were. besides, he so fucking hot—”

“yeah, but he’s also so fucking old— his dick is probably all shriveled up—” the sound of the said man clearing his throat made him jump out of his skin, slowly turning his head to look at the older man before giggling nervously and waving his hands around in some form of awkward greeting. even if he can regenerate and wounds are more like papercuts, the last thing he wanted was to get stabbed in the balls by his adamantium claws again for making such a comment. “ahaha, how much did you hear…?”

“enough,” he grunted, turning his attention to you, “and you’re coming with me.”

“huh—?” there was hardly a moment for you to properly react before he suddenly bent down to grab you by the waist and toss you over his shoulder, “you’re not even gonna ask me to dinner first?!” you must have looked like a fish out of the water with how your mouth was agape with surprise, and you heard him genuinely chuckle in amusement. both from the fact that you didn’t see this coming after all you’ve been saying to him as well as the fact that he could pick you up and throw you around like you weighed nothing.

“well, you didn’t exactly greet me with a ‘hello’ before shamelessly undressing me with your eyes when we first met, now did you?” you couldn’t see if he was smiling or not considering that you were upside-down. the current angle only gave you a close-up view of his perfect ass (not that you were complaining, you need to know his squat routine), unsure if the heat on your face was from the embarrassment of him calling you out or simply from the blood rushing to your head.

“what about me? are you lovebirds really going to leave me all by myself, lonely and yearning for the companionship of another while you two fuck like rabbits?”

“ahh, go fuck yourself.” the grin on his face dissipated the moment he opened his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ruin his mood as he carried you away to the closest bedroom available, quickly flinging you on the bed without a bother to be careful when handling you since he knew that you could and have taken worse as deadpool’s sidekick. “why are you so nervous? think i don’t want you as much as you want me?”

“wait, actually?” your usually confident facade of the overly forward flirt was faltering more and more by the second.

“you’re so busy ogling my body that you haven’t even noticed the way i look at you, huh?” it’s obvious logan was an absolute beast of a man, but when he cages you with his arms between his bulky frame and the mattress, you feel like a little field mouse against a lion. the way your pupils dilate as you look up at him with adorned excitement has him so fucking feral, heat stirring in his stomach and blood rushing to his cock. he traced over your outfit, admiring how the skin-tight leather hugged your curved. “wearing such a slutty little things that leaves nothing to the imagination, and you expected me not to think about pinning you down and fucking you until you pass out?”

you shivered at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear and warmth spreading throughout your body under your skin. this cheeky son of a bitch can smell it too, the sweet smell of desire, sensing how needy you are for his touch and how your pussy is just begging for his attention.

as much as he wanted to rip your clothing off and pound into you like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to take his time to properly treasure the cute sidekick who has been reminding him how it feels to be a man again, young and unafraid to pursue the woman of his dreams and treat her right the way that countless of others failed to do. (you’re going to laugh hysterically at him later on down the line when you hear him say that, never thinking you could be the object of anyone’s affection past a one-night stand, but the look in his eyes makes you realize he’s telling the truth and you’ll get all flustered over it.)

you can taste the alcohol from earlier when he kisses you and moan into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, all teeth, tongue, and animalistic want. he ran a hand down your torso to reach the zipper of your suit, undoing it in one swift motion, exposing your bare chest to his eager eyes.

“no bra?”

“i don’t need it when the suit— ah!”

he cut you off, not caring about the intricacies of how the costume supported everything when he would only get distracted, moving his lips to take one of your perk nipples in his mouth and sucking like it was going to give him milk or something while pinching the other one in between his fingers. he’s like a kid on christmas playing with his new toy: palming at your breasts, cupping and squishing them together, and realizing that his large hands could practically cover them entirely.

“fuckk, you’re so pretty, doll,” he drawled, letting go of your teat with a ‘pop’ and kissing your neck before making you gasp by sinking his teeth into your skin. you gasped at the sudden sensation, deep enough to leave a lasting indent but not deep enough to draw blood, as he soothed the fresh wound by licking it with his tongue. everyone was going to know that you were his, especially that motherfucker he knows is listening in on the other side of the door with his cock in his hands.

“logan…” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

“what is it, princess?” it was a nickname he has used plenty of times, yet it felt completely different in such a sexually charged situation, so much more intimate in a way that you feel your heart racing even faster than before and a rush of energy within.

“need you…” you murmured.

“come on, a little louder, you need to use your words.”

“fucking hell,” you covered your face with your hands, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned, “i need you, logan! i’m gonna go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now!”

“hm, is that so?” he had been resting on his side up until now, laying on his back and lifting you up with both hands under your arms. you found yourself sitting pretty in his lap, straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. “why don’t you work for it then? work for what you wanted so badly this entire time?”

you inhaled sharply, looking down at this fine specimen of a mutant under you made of pure muscle and adamantium with a noticeable tent in his pants, a cocky grin gracing his features daring you to continue. only a fool wouldn’t take up his challenge. biting the inside of your mouth, you began to fully strip yourself of all clothing, kicking it off to the side to be forgotten and showing off your beautiful bare body that logan has been dreaming about since the moment he met you. “take your clothes off too,” you huffed, “it’s not fair for me to be the only one naked.”

he hummed in agreement, taking off the upper half of his yellow and blue-detailed suit, revealing his rippling abs and pecs— age has yet to make a dent in his physique, he doesn’t even look real. he’s not going to remove the bottom half though, both because you’re already on top of him and because you still need to “work for it.”

experimentally, you rolled your hips on his bulge, feeling a twinge of amusement when he visibly had to clench his jaw to prevent a moan from slipping out. he’s just as pent-up as you are, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it right now. you fiddled with the metal of his zipper for a moment before pulling it down, motions fidgety with nerves yet still determined to see this through.

your eyes widen at the sight of his fully erect cock, noting instantly that he’s bigger than any other guy you’ve been with, yet still feeling your mouth water at the size and the vein trailing its underbelly. “is it even going to fit?” you manage to breathe out, reaching out to run a finger over the leaking tip and hearing him hiss.

“only one way to find out, but i think you can take it.”

placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you put his theory to the test and raised your body to sink yourself onto him, whimpering at the pleasurable stretch when you manage to make it past the tip. you’re so fucking soaked from your own thoughts and the few minutes of foreplay earlier that you didn’t even need his fingers to prep you, just using your slick as a form of natural lube and feeling him slip into you inch by inch.

“that’s it, doll, just like that,” he praised, the words going right to your head, really enjoying the show of you struggling to take all of him.

“mmhh, lo—” his name came out in a more whiny voice than expected with your eyes rolling back and nails raking into his skin. your thighs were aching with the constant repetitive motion of working yourself up and down his cock, taking one step back for two steps forward, more than halfway there yet unsure if you could handle it all when you felt so impossibly full already.

“shhh, i know, i know, sweetheart— just take your time, i’m not going anywhere.” his words are so sweet despite being a complete asshole by laying back and letting you do all the hard work, hands behind his head and everything while watching his cock slowly disappearing between your folds.

you look at him through glossy half-lidded eyes, brain turned to absolute mush, not even realizing that you had finally taken him to the base and was comfortably nestled on his cock. it took a few moments to adjust to his girth, breathing heavily with the swelling feeling of satisfaction developing within you. you have barely even started, and yet it was already so much better than anything else— he was so much better than anyone else.

“you okay?” he waits for you to blink to process his words before nodding slightly, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ before your eyes went wide when he suddenly grabbed your waist and positioned you under him once again. you didn’t notice because you went dumb with dick (to put it bluntly), but he had been restraining himself from flipping you over to be on top or trying to buck his hips into you before you were ready.

he then started thrusting into you at a relentless pace, your hands flying up to his biceps and clinging on for dear life to find purchase. there was no frame to go with this mattress you were resting on, but you were sure it would be banging against the wall until it broke if it was there. your eyes were screwed shut with your head thrown back into the pillow, letting out pathetic pitched moans along with stutters of his name as the orgasm in your stomach builds.

“aah, lo-logan!”

“don’t worry, i got you,” he lazily circled your clit with his thumb, feeling you clench even more tightly at the action, “just let yourself go, relax— cum for me, doll.”

you cried out as your climax washed over you, gushing all over his cock and the pants of his suit that neither of you bothered to take off earlier. it’s a shame that you ruined his clothing so soon when he just got this costume, but honestly, he likes it a lot better when the yellow is stained with the evidence of how good he made you feel.

the way your walls spasmed around him made him quickly follow suit, shooting ribbons of his seed into you and painting your insides white. perhaps he would have been able to hold on for a bit longer when he was younger, but he can’t find himself caring in the least when you were looking up at him like he was everything right now.

he leaned down to kiss you, slowly pulling out of you, being careful not to rest on top of you and crush you under his weight, generally being uncharacteristically sweet towards you in stark comparison to how he was rocking your world like you were the last two souls on earth just a minute ago.

“so… do you like me?” it was the tone he grew accustomed to when you and wade were teasing him, feeling you wrap your arms around him with a sigh and snuggling into his chest.

“yeah… i like you a lot more than you think…”

#📜. her works #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #x men #x men x reader #x men smut #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel smut

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myname-isnia · 1 year

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I suddenly understand the people screaming about Ao3 being down whenever it happens

#I don’t rlly use ao3 anymore #I will when I have something ready to post #but with having to turn on a vpn and all #especially since it only works on my laptop #it’s too much of a hassle #BUT YEAH ANYWAY FICBOOK IS DOWN #and no I wasn’t reading anything but I was gonna post #continuing to translate some of my stuff bc why not??#it gets the writing juices flowing #and god knows I need those for my main wip #which I swear I’m never gonna finish #okay I’m gonna stop talking #I’m just making myself upset over being a fucking lazy ass and quitter all the time again

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incognit0slut · 10 months

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All I Need

Spencer realizes how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. What better time is there to propose if not in the middle of making love? Based on:

Warnings: 18+ mature content but nothing too explicit, this is just sweet love making

words: 2077

A/n: I’m supposed to finish my last kinktober and update my series, but both are very heavy and I needed something sweet to defrost my writer's block. I hope you don’t mind me squeezing something else until I finish my other WIPs🥲

“…every time I look into your eyes I see it, you’re all I need…”

SPENCER KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU. There wasn't a single thing he wasn't familiar with—from every mole, every scar, to every stretch mark. Any imperfection you considered of yourself he found to be perfect.

He was well aware of the small scar on your hip bone. Or the mole resting at the back of your thigh. Or the way you disliked caffeine, because every time you drank it, it increased your heart rate drastically. Which was why you always judged him every time he had a cup of coffee in his hand, especially with the amount of sugar he never seemed to stop adding.

"That is definitely not healthy," you would always say, to which he simply responded with a small peck on your lips. It was his way to shut you up without saying anything.

He also knew how soft you actually were underneath that hard exterior you always carried. You were an enigma the first time you joined the team, but Spencer always had a soft spot for mystery, and solving you became his mission even when he wasn't the best at maintaining conversations. He remembered making a fool of himself when he talked to you, stuttering about one of the random facts engraved in his brain.

But you still listened to him, and for once in his life, he finally found someone who didn't mind hearing him talk. It was nice to have somebody who found his knowledge interesting, and with that thought in mind, it didn't take long for him to take an interest in you.

Not that he wasn't interested at first, because honestly, you were a splendid sight when you first walked through the door. It was more so an interest that was considered surpassing a simple friendship. An interest that had him push his confidence into asking you out.

Spencer never pegged himself as someone who would be content having a significant other in his daily routine—his past relationships never seemed to work out, after all—but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized he was actually in pure bliss. It seemed as if you had cast a spell, drawing him deeper into your presence, a magnetic force of affection that went beyond the superficial. Every smile, every touch, seemed to emanate a radiant heat, and he couldn't help but be entranced by the sheer magnitude of your warmth.

Especially at this moment, staring into your eyes as they slowly fluttered open from a long night of slumber, he found himself leaning forward. You were so warm, so inviting. The soft light coming from the curtains cast a shadow over your curves and he couldn't help himself from trailing down your body.

You were fully awake now as he pressed his lips on every part of your skin. The slight movement of your arms wrapping around his neck had him grunting, and somehow he was suddenly positioned between your legs, pressing his hot length onto your wet folds, wanting nothing else but to push himself deep into your warmth.

As he watched you beneath him, eyes half closed, mouth open in anticipation, he couldn't help but mutter his next words because you looked breathtakingly beautiful. Heavenly gorgeous covered in a sheen of sweat, so damn pretty with eyes full of desire. You looked like a siren, an angel, and a lustful woman all rolled into one.

Everything about you was so divine, and the desire to consume every part of your existence became an insatiable hunger. It was a need, a yearning that made the idea of spending a lifetime without you seem unfathomable as if oxygen slowly drained from his world, leaving him breathless.

The words bubbled up from the depths of his heart, and before he could second-guess himself, he blurted out, "Marry me."

Your eyes snapped open as he finally sank his hips into you, and before you could even respond, before you could even register his words, his rough thrust stole the breath from your lungs. Rational thoughts shattered as he filled you completely, stretching you in a way that was slightly painful yet completely pleasurable.

He slowly pulled out, then pushed back in, your back arching, legs wrapping around his waist. "Spence," you moaned as he started a steady pace, trying to gain your focus but failing miserably. You couldn't think of anything else except the sensation between your legs. "Oh, God."

Languid and smooth, his hips continued to roll into you. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

The feel of his cock sinking in and out of you had your head falling back against the mattress. Your fingernails tightened upon his back, and he drove you gently into the bed with low grunts. His voice was rough, broken by focused breaths. "We could do this every morning."

A whine broke out of you.

"I'd wake up first," he told you. "I'd make you breakfast in bed..." He slipped out again before thrusting into you slowly, dragging his cock along your inner walls that had you mewling. "...right after I wake you with my tongue between your thighs."

You let out another moan. He drank in the sound with a smile before lowering his mouth to the base of your neck. Heated kisses trailed along your skin as his fingers trailed down the outline of your body before they stopped at the warmth between your legs.

Your mouth was wide open against his shoulder, eyes watering with the force of pleasure from having his cock smacking through your wetness, his body forcefully shoving your knees apart. You felt his fingers trailing your clit in slow circles and you arched your back, each tender brush tightened that coil of heat simmering in the pit of your stomach. The simulation drove you further into a haze of pleasure that a soft yes finally escaped your lips without you realizing it.

The barely whispered word didn't go unnoticed by him.

"Yes to this," he wondered as prompted his weight on his other hand. "Or to my proposal?"

You glanced up at him, your face a mixture of pleasure and alarm as you gave him a look. "You're crazy."

He watched you closely, mesmerized by the way your hips were bucking every time his cock hit that soft spot inside you while his fingers continued their tease. "Maybe." He leaned down and softly bit your shoulder. "But I am crazy in love with you."

When you didn't respond, he slowly pulled away and fixed his gaze on you. Your reaction, or lack thereof, spoke volumes, and as his eyes met yours, he found himself captivated by the reflective pools of emotion within. There was a hint of fear and concern, shadows that danced with the flicker of uncertainty. Yet, beneath those layers, he could see the distinct longing in your eyes. It was hard not to distinguish it as it matched the same look in his. Your stare was warm and domineering.

They were so full of love.

And that moment, Spencer realized, that was what you were to him—love. You were the greatest passion he had ever known.

You felt completely in the moment with him as you let your gaze scan over his features. His eyes appeared darker in this light of the room, but you could still see the soft lightness of them. Then, you leaned up, noses brushing gently against each other before you pressed your lips onto his. His body moved again in response, hips bucking into you and you felt him pulsing inside your core as his mouth worked harmoniously along yours.

"Marry." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

You whimpered. Everything was too much. The intensity of the pleasure was almost intoxicating, a heady concoction that wrapped around you, rendering you momentarily breathless.

"Having you for the rest of my life is a privilege." He continued, grunting as you clenched around him. He lost himself with one final, jagged plea. "Marry me and make me the happiest man alive."

His words, touch, and the stroke of him inside you—it all blurred together. It pushed you so wildly that the coil in your stomach twisted sharply through along your body. He lunged down to kiss you again, tongue pushing deep as he stole your moan before it could break into the air. He tugged you into him at the same time that you submitted to his pull.

There were times when you would appreciate this. The contact, the intimacy, the warmth of your boyfriend connected with you. Right now though, you needed release. So you buried your hand in his curls, all messy and askew.

"Spencer," you breathed out against his lips. Each of his thrusts fed the growing flame in your body as your body turned pliant for him. “Oh god, yes,” you cried, head thrashing side to side as your eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by pleasure.

He peppered kisses over your neck, your jaw, your temple, desperate to be even closer to you, to melt into you. "Yes to what?"

Your senses were heightened, every touch and every breath seemed magnified in the intensity of the moment. Your body shuddered with every vicious thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes." A desperate, needy little whine slipped past your lips and you opened your eyes wide to give him a pleading look. "Spencer, please, please."

You were panting, your breath hot and your skin even hotter, and you could barely hear him when he spoke, "Yes to what, Angel?"

Angel. The syllables carried a warmth that resonated deep within your heart. Sometimes you were his Angel. Sometimes you were his Sweetheart. While you cherished the way he expressed his affection, a yearning for more had taken root.

Marry me.

You could be more than his angel. You could be his wife. But it wasn't just about the affectionate words anymore; it was about a promise, a shared future, and you realized as he hovered above you, all sweaty and desperate, that you wanted to feel this bliss every day. How could you not when he fits so perfectly inside you that you could swear he was made for you?

And then you felt it, his hand trailing down your arm before it stopped right along your fingers, intertwining them with his. Your hand clutched onto his as his thrust sped up a fraction—but it was still deep and lazy, enough to make you squirm. His cock was achingly hard inside you and when you clenched down on him, you adored the twitch and resounding moan it drew out of him.

You wanted this for your life. You wanted him every day. You wanted to wake up each morning in his arms, him whispering sweet nothings as he buried himself inside you.

You wanted him so much you would be a fool not to accept his proposal.

"Yes," you breathed out. "I'll marry you."

He grunted against your lips. "Say that again."

His thrusts were now fast and ruthless, his groans filling the room while the sound of skin slapping together echoed with it. Every time you could feel him deep inside you, it brought you closer to that familiar coil in your stomach. It was a heady sensation, an intoxicating blend of desire that quickened your pulse and set your senses ablaze.

"I—shit," you cried out, legs shaking at the pleasure traveling along your body you were starting to wail desperately for your release. "Fuck, baby, I'll marry you."

A sound of satisfaction erupted from him as he kissed you with every ounce of power he had. He kissed you as he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed you deeply, possessively even, and it was messy and rough and probably looked horrific from different angles, but it felt perfect.

You felt perfect. Your lips. Your curves. Your scent. It was as if you were made especially for him. He was fully consumed with you, consumed by you, and yet he couldn't get enough. Though you were beneath him, he was at your mercy, and the fact that you could still have such control over him made his stomach twist even more.

He was so in love with you. He was so sure of it, so sure of this abundance of passion, for Spencer Reid could sometimes be dense when it came to sudden bursts of emotions, but he was not stupid. He wasn't oblivious, nor was he lacking in perception. It wasn't about intelligence or lack thereof, it was simply about the purity of his emotion.

And he was deeply, unequivocally in love.

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