#fic: keep what remains

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Choi Han, for a test from a god, is sent to an unknown land with "Cale."

Choi Han, upon arrival, realizes something is strange about this Cale. He's got a similar appearance to his own Cale but the eyes are sharper, with a witty bite to his tongue and a quick sneer always at the ready.

He's clearly confused and distressed about being in a strange place with a strange person but he does his best to not let it show. His hand reaches for a bottle of alcohol that isn't there.

Choi Han thinks that this Cale isn't like his Cale at all.

Choi Han has a hunch that this Cale is the one from before Kim Rok Soo's possession. It makes sense. So he isn't his Cale.

However, though Choi Han wants to become cold to this stranger version of Cale, when he looks into those red-brown eyes and sees fear, he draws back. It's an instinctual feeling that he gets, right as Cale is spitting more vile words to cover up the trembling in his hands, that he doesn't want to see even a terrible Cale be afraid of him.

This doesn't stop them from arguing. Through towns, forests, deserts, they both learn on an intimate level that they would never, ever get along. Cale is too loud, too threatening, and Choi Han can't resist from debating with this strange Cale about morals, of all things. They argue constantly.

Though they argue, Choi Han can't help himself from sometimes mistaking this Cale for his own. He tells himself it's because they look alike.

They're both in the midst of an argument when a noble-like individual approaches them with cloying words, which seek to lure them inside of the noble's home. Choi Han is suspicious, but before he has the chance to decline, Cale steps in front of Choi Han and demands to speak to the noble who wants to see them.

The noble-like individual turns out to be the servant of a more powerful man, something that Cale saw through immediately.

Choi Han is stunned.

How did this, this trashy Cale with no moral upstanding, clock the intentions of a person so quickly and accurately?

He asks him directly. Cale shrugs. Choi Han believes he's mistaken when Cale's eyes flicker with calculating intent. They don't discuss it further.

Little moments like these keep occurring. Cale does something impressive, Choi Han inquires, and Cale downplays it with a sneer or an insult and refuses to speak about it again. It's weird and strange but it's familiar. Extremely so. Not the insulting, and the sneer is too odd to be his own Cale's face, but it's familiar in the sense that they both underestimate themselves. They both refuse to acknowledge what lies under the surface of their visage.

This Cale is a strange individual. He swears and laughs and grins, he's too calm about their situation, and it's difficult to get through to him when he makes up his mind about something. But the strangest thing is that all of these things remind Choi Han of his Cale.

Finally, it all comes down to a final battle. One more fight and both himself and this Cale can go back to where they belong. Choi Han is ready.

Cale receives a power from a book before the battle and it's unlike anything Choi Han has ever seen. But the coughing up of blood makes him have Cale swear to never use it. Cale swears.

Choi Han makes Cale promise to stay on the sideline and not approach. Cale easily agrees.

They get to the last stage, the last time they'll see each other again, and the villain of this world is too powerful. It's as if he weren't meant for them to fight. It's as if he were made so that they struggle.

Choi Han swings his blade to block a blow that he knows he can't block, knows might end him, and he thinks about how he can't possibly die right now and leave this Cale behind... but he's too weak.

He wonders what his Cale would do in this moment, when everything seems hopeless and nothing is working.

Cale steps in front of him and uses his power to its fullest extent.

White light is shining everywhere, blinding Choi Han who keeps his burning eyes open, desperately keeps his eyes on the Cale that's bleeding from his mouth and his nose and his eyes and his skin is starting to crack, crack like he is about to turn into dust and disappear.

Cale turns to look at Choi Han.

"Ah. I was worried it wouldn't be enough to take out the villain." His eyes stained with blood curl up in a smile. A ball of dread sits in Choi Han's stomach. "I'm glad. I'm really, really..." eyes drifting closed, his body begins to shatter further and further. "Happy for you, Choi Han."

This is why they felt familiar.

It's with a cry of grief and anger, anger at himself, that Choi Han reaches out to hold Cale, hold onto even a piece of him.

Cale's eye, the only one left as he is disintegrating, widens.

Choi Han grasps a fragment that's about to vanish from Cale's chest, somewhere next to his heart, and this piece doesn't break, doesn't disappear from Choi Han's hand. It stays solid and firm and real-

And it's all that Choi Han is left with when the gods test ends.

Choi Han wakes up, surrounded by his family, with a red, glass marble in his hand. He holds it to his chest. It hurts.

It hurts.

[chamiryokuroi]

Me knowing damn well I don’t like A/B/O fics: Oh maybe I will give it a try

Me immediately after finishing the fic feeling absolutely disgusted: Yeah… never again

[sandflakedraws]

are there trolls fanfictions that got you by the hook? maybe flickory😉

gotta be honest that the fic landscape is pretty barren for flickory hhhsgdlzk,,,,

tis my lot in life, to be compelled by dreamworks rarepairs....

and otherwise, regarding the fic landscape at large, alas that i remain too picky for my own good. i've come across very few fics in the fandom that satisfy all three for me;

1. well written 2. characterization i jive with (hint : i will never see brozone as uncaring assholes, and am even Pickier with floyd, who is hard to get right, i'd argue. me when i'm in a most mischaracterized competition and my opponent is floyd brozone etc etc etc.....) 3. the premise engages me

i'd ask for recs but i dunno if i'll get what i'm hoping for, especially because i've hit my limit for JD-centric fics, which have thus far been the most likely to give all three but hhhhhh,,,, like don't get me wrong i love him but i don't want to read about him exclusively, y'know?

[silenzahra]

... Wait, what do you mean it'll be the first anniversary of my fic Keeping you warm in only ten days.

TEN DAYS.

WHERE DID TIME GO.

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[phoenixtakaramono]

New Threadfic Announcement + Sugar Baby AU Threadfic Update Status

(TNotG’s prologue can be read here)

The one addition I forgot to mention, I probably may or may not drag the Truce universe’s Supe!Butcher & Homelander into the threadfic’s multiverse shenanigans, because why not? It adds a bit of extra danger & incentivizes TNotG Billy to want all of his parallel universe selves to gtfo back to their worlds.

If you want more context details about the threadfics, you can read about them here that I organized for easy reference.

Tl;dr let’s cross our fingers that Twt doesn’t shadowban me because this’ll be a lotta tweets that’ll be tweeted within a span of a few days (I’ll of course screenshot them and crosspost those tweets over here on tumblr for y’all). I’m hoping they do not mistake my account as a spambot when these updates come out 😬

And regarding the next update for Operation Babylon (the Sugar Baby AU) which’ll be posted first:

[comfortlesshurt]

brutally reminded that somewhere out there is a physical copy of an absolutely terrible detective conan genderbend au i wrote when i was like 12

i am not thriving today so here's a tag rant

[hey-heigo]

i headcanon that byakuya's father was an architect. he personally oversaw the construction of several notable buildings for togami corp, and designed public memorials and art pieces in acts of philanthropy.

i imagine he once, in a rare moment of intoxication before his last remaining son, he called byakuya to him and confessed in a slurred voice the nature of his existence. he never wanted to be heir. he never wanted to be the patriarch. he dreams of circumstances where he had lost, and gone to school for architecture, and achieved humbler dreams, happier dreams. but he had not been allowed to fail - he had too much to lose, and too much to gain, from winning, and so win he did.

and he looks at byakuya, this boy who hardly looks like him, this boy whose mother he doesn't even remember the face of. born out of obligation, the youngest of his many children and the only one he'll still be able to see. a boy who is still so young and has so many expectations and beliefs about the role he's meant to fill, because that's all he's ever been taught, who clearly doesn't understand what his father is trying to say because why would he? this is what he was bred and raised for. he cannot consider any other future for himself

he sends the boy away. from then on, they continue as they were, without mention of what had transpired earlier. they were a patriarch and an heir. nothing more and nothing less

[finalexpenses]

i will forever think about my deconstructed damsel chapter 3 idea . god it could have been so good

[redgoldblue]

Fuck It Friday (also on saturday bc fuck it)

tagged by @itwoodbeprefect ❤️ ❤️ 

I’ve been doing a lot of rereading of the 23k of state of disrepair that’s already written and very little writing of it so here. y’all can join me in that.

------

“Again, I understand why you had to go on this little Eat Pray Love trip.”

Steve looks up, slightly startled, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Danny continues.

“And I’m not mad at you about it. But if you ever leave me again, Steven, I will kill you myself.” It doesn’t come out quite as rock-hard as Danny might have liked, softened by a miniscule waver in his voice at the end. Most people wouldn’t even pick it up, but he hears it, so he’s sure Steve does too.

“No vacations without Danny. I’ll write it down.” When Danny looks over at him, he’s looking back, quiet and heavy, solemn enough that Danny knows he understood.

“Exactly,” he replies. “Don’t start taking too long at the store either, or I’ll be heading for the kitchen knives.”

Steve shakes his head. “Of course your murder weapon of choice would be a butcher blade.”

“Don’t demean the classics,” Danny chides. “They got many a housewife out of a bad marriage.”

“You know, I don’t think I like the turn this conversation is taking.”

Danny stops, considers, and frowns. “Me neither. I think I just called myself a housewife.”

“And this a bad marriage,” Steve adds, gesturing between them, an offended emphasis on ‘bad’.

------

tagging @faorism @bookwhimses @osointricate @thomtrebond if any of y’all care to *to the tune of Devo’s Whip It* fuck it

[spending-life-pretending]

IT WAS A FUCKING STUCKY FIC?!?

[skitskatdacat63]

Finally got myself to start 2009 :D

Warning: long-winded ramble about gifing under the cut

Preface: this is one of those rambles that I have to myself in my head when I'm trying to fall asleep and I just keep repeating it to myself over and over and going over it like it's a monologue and then fall asleep unexpectedly

God I can already tell that gifing anything 2009 and beyond is gonna be an absolute nightmare for me 😭 I mean *positive* nightmare, but nightmare none the less. Basically this is because the more recent the race is, the better the production and camerawork is. Which is good for watching but bad when you're trying to condense all of the post-race into one gifset. Speaking of that, does anyone know exactly when the production improved btwn 2005 and 2009? I watched one 2008 race, I really can't remember how good the production/camerawork was. Also I hope you guys get what I mean by that LOL and it's not just me being overly specific

If you've seen any of my 2023 posts so far, you'll notice I'm able to make a pretty fulfilling set focusing on just one driver, and that driver isn't even the winner of the race. Trying to make a gifset of anyone but the winner in 2005 would be borderline impossible because the camera mainly only focuses on the winner, only really showing the p2 and p3 drivers when they accept their trophies. I mean from a viewers perspective, I obviously enjoy the enhanced production because it's really nice to see more of the drivers other than the winner. But how am I supposed to condense it into only 10 gifs AAAAHHHHHH!!! And like to worsen this, even if 2005 had the same production quality as 2023, I think it'd still be easier for me because there's fewer drivers I really like from that era.

But 2009-2013 is the era in which all of my favs are there and in the forefront, so it's impossible for me to take a 2023 approach to it in which I focus on one driver. Like bruh how am I meant to condense it when it's a Seb, Jenson & Mark podium, my folder for the race is gonna have like...30+ gifs. I have enough issues condensing 2023, one driver focused, to ten, and I had issues with 2005 sometimes, so AHHHHHHHH. It's like that meme of the woman getting fed too many cakes. I gifed a tiny bit of China 2009 if you remember, and even though I was only focusing on a relatively tiny section...I swear to god I made like 10 or some other inane amount.

Speaking of 2023 I gotta say, I'm so fucked when inevitably Fernando doesn't end up being on the podium. How am I supposed to make a gifpost when my number one boy isn't there :(( I'm not sure who else I'd end up focusing on? There's not as many drivers I absolutely love in 2023 compared to, for example, the V8 era. It's not like atp I'm predicting Oscar to get a podium so :,) I guess I'll probably end up just making a more general kind of post, focusing on everyone instead of just one driver?

[burinazar]

[Belavue ramblings]

two thoughts. 1) I’ve often thought that, if the genders in the “beauty” scene were different — that is, when asked about beauty, a male character calls someone specific “beautiful” twice in a row while stuttering and blushing — few people would see it as platonic or sibling-like etc on Vueko’s end and it would basically be considered the natural and widely accepted reading of the text that the male speaker had feelings for the other party. It’s in fact very close to the stereotypical “beautiful isn’t it” “[gazing at other person] yeah, beautiful ” unspoken love exchange. (…incidentally, as common as that kind of exchange is, I can’t think off the top of my head of a comparable scene where the first speaker is a man and the second a woman.)

2) the kind of love that i see Vue having for Be if we read this exchange as romantic, that of a deep admiration for someone who seems celestially above you in a way where you don’t even begin to assume reciprocation and just want to admire them, is a kind of love i more often see male characters express in media (a sort of cousin to courtly love). female characters are more generally the receiving end of such feelings rather than the one pledging devotion. I feel like I can think of exceptions but it’s usually situations where the adored character turned out to be deceptive or manipulative and the female character became disillusioned or was otherwise hurt, which is quite a different thing than the admiration being a) deserved and b) reciprocated.

I hadn’t quite tied these two ideas together before. But they feel true and connected to me. For the shipper basing their characterization in canon, the particular shape of the romantic feelings that Vueko may have for Belaf is something of a refreshing and interesting one re what i am used to seeing genderwise* (now I could very well just have my role reversal goggles in too tight but I feel I’m onto something here), and I think this is maybe related to why some people don’t “get” the ship or how that scene reads as the expression of a deep admiring love to me when potentially they’d see it immediately if a man said those same words to a woman.

[gorbo-longstocking]

sorry to keep posting about my job but [farnsworth voice] great news everyone! im working significantly less hours next week (or according to the schedule i looked at five seconds ago its not up in the app yet) so ill be back on the writing grindset. my preferred grindset.

[asphyxiatedredherring]

The interesting experience of having watched supernatural but not really interacting with the fandom and knowing nothing about the actors or filming of it and the conventions and whatever they post on Twitter or whatever but my dash being suddenly flooded with posts about them. I don't know what's going on ever, and at this point, I don't think I even could wrap my head around everything and become involved in the fandom space. How do you guys keep up? I can't even remember what plotline goes to what season.

[dollfacefantasy]

MAKE HIM DO WHAT I SAY ♡

pairing: older bf!!logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan make a little bet. who can last longer without sex? as much as he wants to deny it, he's starting to think the answer might be you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, brief daddy kink (one mention)

a/n: a commission for my sweet @sleepyluxe who i love so very much <33 this fic takes place after the events of dofp when things are fixed.

Seven days. One week. A quarter of a month. That's how long it had been since Logan and you had fucked.

It was brutal. Some may say he's being dramatic, but that's because they've never had the luxury of you. They couldn't understand losing a paradise they've never experienced. The past several days he's felt like a man wandering through a barren desert, the oasis in sight but never close enough to drink from. Absolute torture.

Unfortunately, this situation came about because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

You'd been getting some work done late last Sunday evening. Just a few plans for the upcoming school week. Your fingers punched away at your computer while Logan lay on the bed twirling a stray cigar between his fingers.

"How many more pages you got?" he asked, boosting his head up to glance at you.

At the sound of his voice, you spun your chair around to face him. "Not that many. Just finalizing a few details for the field trip they're taking the kids on next weekend," you said.

"You're not even going. Why're they making you do that?"

The fat stick of tobacco continued to glide between his digits. One of your legs crossed over the other as you watched him.

"I'm not going because I offered to do all the planning," you reminded him. 

Your eyes stayed on the tantalizing movements of his fingers.

"You know you can't smoke in here, so don't even think about it," you said.

He rolled his eyes and puffed air through his pursed lips as if that was an outrageous warning. Sitting up, he put the cigar back in the drawer on his side of the bed. He rose to his feet and began to cross the room in your direction.

"Maybe you should give me something else to do with my mouth then," he teased, his voice lowering to the octave that reverberated with want for you.

Then it was your turn to roll your eyes. You turned your chair back toward the desk and continued grazing your fingertips over the raised letters.

It didn't deter him though. He kept on in your direction, stopping only when he was directly behind the backing of your seat.

His hands landed on your shoulders, fingers massaging the tight muscles fanning out from your neck. He leaned forward so his head hovered beside yours. You could hear each breath he took. The smell of that cigar lingered around his form even if he hadn't lit up tonight.

"C'mon, babydoll. You've been working so hard. A little break won't hurt you," he murmured, lips pressing against your cheekbone.

"I have to have these done by tomorrow morning. Just give me a few minutes, and then I'll be done for the night and completely focused on you," you'd rebuffed him gently.

But that didn't satisfy Logan. When he wanted you, he got you. He proceeded with his tender touches and luring pecks. You remained focused on your work though. He figured he should vary his approach.

"Just let me make you feel good then, honey. Give you some extra motivation," he whispered. His dedicated hands drifted to your waist, squeezing in a way that teased the idea of lifting you up and putting you on his lap. As good as it would've felt to be full of him, you knew you had to get this done.

"You're so bad," you said with a smile, head falling back a little as his mouth moved to your neck, "You act like you haven't gotten any in decades."

"Is that your way of telling me you're getting tired of me?" he teased.

"No. I'm just saying you're insatiable. It's getting to the point where I don't think you could live without me," you responded with a tone matching his in arrogance.

His eyebrow raised, and he pulled back a little to laugh. "That so?"

"Mhm," you nodded. Your sweet eyes stared him down, begging him to disagree.

Looking back, he wishes he could travel through time again to slap any further words out of his mouth. He should've just agreed! Should've told you that you were absolutely right. That he can't live without you, can't survive this life if he doesn't get to slip inside of you at the end of each day. He should've waited the fifteen minutes it would've taken you to finish your paperwork and then gotten laid.

But he didn't do any of that. He had to keep going and dig himself into a deeper hole.

"Don't act so innocent, princess. You're just as bad as me," he'd said.

"No way," you'd huffed, smirking with amusement, "I want you a totally normal amount. You want me like every second of the day. If you could, I don't think you'd ever let me do anything. You'd probably keep me chained to the bed, yours for the taking at all times of the day.

"Like you wouldn't love that. I'm not the one pawing at you every morning, whining about how bad I need it," he taunted.

"Oh shut up, that's happened like a couple times. Every day you're right in my ear, feeling me up. You practically drag me away from what I'm doing when you wanna fuck," you fired back, "I am nowhere near as bad as you."

And then he'd spoken the three cursed words that launched him into this predicament.

"You wanna bet?"

You laughed more at that and nodded again. "Sure. Because I know I'll win."

And that unofficial vow of celibacy was why the two of you had been dancing around each other for the past week. He was starting to feel like that old love song counting the amount of time it'd been since he had you beneath him last. Fifteen hours and seven days or however it went.

You didn't make this trying time any easier for him either. That night he went to sleep with blue balls. The next morning, he woke up to you getting ready. You weren't dressed in your usual style of clothing though. Instead, you had on a dress, Logan's favorite dress of yours. You'd styled your hair real pretty too, letting it compliment your features in the best way.

As his heavy lids blinked open to consciousness, he watched you fasten a shimmering necklace over your collarbone. It sat just above the neckline of the chiffon fabric that adorned your bust.

You caught his waking eyes with your own in the reflective glass, turning to look at him with a bright smile. 

Despite his bleary vision, he could hear the light steps of you prancing over to him. The mattress dipped with your weight as you sat down and leaned in to kiss his forehead. Your fingers slid through his dark hair just the way he likes, with your nails scratching his scalp a little. Worst of all, that close, the scent of your perfume became all consuming. It hit him harder than normal. He wasn't sure if he should blame you or himself for predicting the trials of the coming days.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your presence and nuzzled into your palm.

"Hey, sleepyhead," you cooed, your voice extra soft and sweet. It was too caring to be seductive, but of course, that's where his mind went anyways.

"Hey, baby," he'd mumbled.

"I gotta go drop off that paperwork, but I'll see you later. I love you," you whispered in return before laying one more column of kisses from the tip of his nose back to his forehead.

Then you'd left, leaving him half-hard and yearning for you. A pattern that would plague him over the next week.

Each day it was some new form of torture. The day after that, you'd worked extra hard in the danger room, coming back to him at night covered in a light sheen of sweat. Your heady natural scent filled the bedroom in moments.

The following afternoon, you wanted to cuddle when you both had some free time. The fact that you draped your leg over his torso, slotting your clothed cunt right against his hip, inches away from his cock, was pure accident of course.

Over the last few days, your games have become less specific. You peppered your speech with innuendo. Looked at him with your fuck-me eyes and spoke in the tone you always used seconds before he ended up bending you over the nearest surface.

He tried to fight back, he really did. He stopped wearing a shirt in your shared room. Every time he talked to you, he made sure to rub your ass or stroke your cheek. He was so desperate he stooped to embarrassing levels of lovey-dovey when the two of you were alone. But no matter what he tried, it seemed like you'd been right. Of your pair, you had the superior restraint.

With each passing hour, his frustration grew.

Today, it reaches its zenith.

The mansion is empty because it's Sunday. All the students and other teachers are out on the trip to the observatory today. You and Logan are the only remaining residents in the school. He ended up not having to tag along with the rest of the group after volunteering to fix the sprinklers bordering the school's patio. Babysitting kids had never been his forte even with all the practice he gets at it now. Simple handiwork he could do no problem.

The two of you take the morning to sleep in. This was a rare occasion where no early meetings or classes occupied your schedules. You stay tangled up together well past sunrise.

Logan is the first to leave the warmth and comfort of your embrace. He pulls himself from the nest of pillows and blankets, stretching his limbs out as he does. He rubs the tiredness from his features before rising and heading to the wardrobe to pull on some clothes.

In addition to his normal black t-shirt and jeans, he grabs the tool belt on his way out to the lawn. He slings it around his hips before walking through the back door. Heading past the basketball court and rows of hedges, he finds the line of leaking sprinklers besides them. It would probably take him a while given that he had to first identify the source of the problem and then recalibrate all of them with the adjustment.

He sighs but gets to work. At least he'd have a distraction from the desires haunting him.

Crouching in the dewy grass next to the little faucets, he begins examining the hard plastic shells. To his surprise, scanning for breaks does attach his mind to the task and give him a brief reprieve. It's quiet outside. Besides a small chirp from a distant bird or a grunt out of him, no other sounds echo over the open space. The sun shines in the sky, but it's not beating down on him. The air tickles his skin with warmth but not to the point of being miserably humid.

All the conditions meet in the perfect middle to keep him calm. It's the most peace he's had since he agreed to this bet between the two of you.

But all that tranquility is shattered about a half hour later when he hears the patter of footsteps against the stone pathway. From around the tall thicket of green foliage, comes you. Your face breaks out into a smile the second you burst into his vision. He would look the same if not for what you'd decided to wear.

You trot over to him across the grass in a pair of tiny black shorts with lacy frills on the hems. They sway with each of your movements, highlighting the shape of your legs. A gray camisole graces your upper half; a delicate white bow sits at the center of the collar, dead center between your breasts. The fit of the garment displays the contour of your chest just right. He feels like he's gonna start drooling before you make it near.

Despite his reaction, the outfit wasn't that provocative. It wasn't like you'd strutted out in lingerie. But he was so pent up that a flash of your ankle in the proper lighting could probably get him hard.

Bounding up to him, you wrap his body in a tight hug. Every curve of your form presses up against him.

"Look at you, working so hard," you praise playfully with a kiss to his cheek.

He laughs it off, returning the hug in an attempt to be normal, so you wouldn't see how vulnerable he was right now, how this was the perfect opportunity to strike. He couldn't let you know that in this moment, he could easily become the prey.

"Were you missing me already?" he asks, rubbing his free hand up and down your spine.

"Mhm. Woke up and you were gone," you reply. You nuzzle the crook of his neck, planting a few electric kisses on his skin.

"I didn't wanna wake you. You're pretty cute when you're sleeping," he mutters.

"Well now I'm gonna be cute out here with you," you say and pull back. You peck his lips one more time before plopping down in the grass behind him.

He glances back at you to see what that means. All you're doing is sitting there. Your legs extend out in front of you, straightened for his eyes to rake over. You lean back with your palms against the moist greenery below you.

"You don't got anything better to do with your day off?" he asks.

That earns him a small pout. "If you want me to leave, I will. I just wanna spend time with you."

He can tell by your tone that your intentions aren't so innocent. You're leading him into allowing your presence. But denying his girlfriend has never been one of the wolverine's strengths so of course, he acquiesces.

"Relax. I'm not telling you to go anywhere," he says as he turns back to his work, "I just don't think this will be that interesting to you."

"Watching you do anything is interesting to me," you joke back.

He rolls his eyes and gets back to work.

At first, things are smooth as before. He continues messing with the small, bendy pipes. You're quiet behind him. Almost too quiet, but he lets it go for now since he thinks he's found the source of the malfunction.

It doesn't take long to patch up. The more difficult part is going to each individual head and fixing the tightness. His fingers twist the little knobs to the correct settings. He then turns to you when he's finally done.

The sight of you feels like a gust of fresh air filling his lungs. You're laid out where you were before, but you've reclined across the ground. One of your arms is sprawled outwards, soaking up the sunlight while the other lazily covers your eyes. Your shadow outlines your figure against the emerald blades below you.

You look luscious and ripe, like a precious fruit ready to be picked and devoured. In any other circumstance, that's exactly what he'd do. He'd spread you out further for him and take you apart piece by piece. He wanted your nectar running down his chin with each savoring lap of his tongue. He craved the feeling of your heat wrapped around him, your walls massaging his shaft during every punishing thrust.

Imagining it now only gets the blood pumping down South to his hardening length.

He runs a hand over his hair and sighs. Why didn't he do that now? What was the point of this stupid fucking contest? It's not like there was anything on the line. The only stake was his pride, which to be honest, he'd already compromised for you multiple times over the course of your relationship.

Unbuckling the leather from his waist, he discards the tool belt. Next he peels his shirt from his body and tosses it to the side.

He makes his way to you on the grass. He drops to his knees and leans forward. His muscular frame cages you in against the ground. Starting at your navel, he drags his nose up your body. He coasts over the valley between your breasts and past your collar bone. His soft exhales breeze across your throat before he finally reaches your cheek. With a gentle pull, he clears your arm from your face.

Your eyes flutter to adjust to the sunlight beaming down on them again. They take in the vision of him so close to you and the way he gazes down with adoration.

"Hey, pretty girl," he says, his voice much softer than it'd been before, "You falling asleep on me?"

His thumb rubs over your jawline while the other strokes the crown of your head. A smile blooms across your lips. You can't help it with how he's behaving.

"No... well, maybe a little. I think you were right. Sprinklers are pretty boring," you say.

He grins and leans in to kiss your lips. With the exchange he hopes to communicate everything he doesn't want to say. I give up. You win.

You reach up and cup his scruffy cheeks. Your tongue swipes against his lips, sensing his longing for intimacy. He allows you in, and you deepen the connection. A long breath oozes from your nostrils.

He presses you down against the ground further as your hands slide over the little white streaks in his hair. Your fingers embed themselves in his locks. You feel his hands sliding down your body. They stop at your hips and give the plush flesh a squeeze.

It's obvious what he wants, but in case there was any doubt, his digits then hook around the top of your shorts and give them a tug.

A giggle bubbles up out of you against his mouth. You pull back to look at him with smug eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting I was right?" you ask.

He grumbles and ducks his head down to start kissing your neck. "Don't get cocky or I'll change my mind."

That makes you laugh more. You yank on his hair and pull him back up to look at you. 

"No you won't," you tease and brush your noses together. Looking into his eyes again, you can see how bad he wants this. "Just say it."

"Say what?"

"Say you're giving in. And that I win. And that you can't live without me."

He gives you a blank stare. Silently, he contemplates if there's any way around this. He wonders if there's a way he can avoid utter humiliation.

"C'mon, baby. Throw an old dog a bone," he grumbles.

Giggling, you shake your head. "Nuh uh. I wanna hear you say it."

He sighs and rolls over, pulling you on top of him. You straddle his hips with learned ease. Your smile glows from this angle. The sunlight above cascades over your frame and only further accentuates your body in your tight clothes. He rubs his hands up and down your sides. His dick is already at half-mast under the denim that covers his lower body. Your heat rests right on top of it, teasing him through the barriers of cloth. It dangles what he could have if he gives you what you want right before him.

The words that challenged you and created this trap for himself came out so easy. Why couldn't these be the same?

To coax him along, you grind down the slightest bit. The pressure's so light and gentle, a mere graze of your mound on the outline of his growing bulge. He hisses at the feeling.

"Just admit it," you say, planting your palms on his chest, "Just say I was right and you were wrong."

He watches you above him, knowing you're not going to drop this. If he wanted this self-invoked dry spell to end, he'd have to make it happen.

You roll your hips down with more force, impatient to hear him comply with your request. A small whimper leaks out of you. He can tell from that sound alone that you're getting worked up. That arousal is beginning to collect between your thighs.

The thought of it makes his need for you almost biological. His hands clamp around your waist and press you down harder. He rocks his up a little to meet your own movements.

"I need you so bad, princess," he sighs, his eyes shutting as he takes in the dull pleasure of you on top of him.

"Then you can say what I told you," you tease.

"What was it again?" he asks as he continues dragging your covered pussy back and forth along his now fully hard shaft.

"Say you're giving in. That I win. And that you can't live without me," you remind him, visibly proud of your victory.

With a sigh, he repeats, "I'm giving in. You win. I can't live without you."

You smile and laugh as if it was the best thing you'd ever heard. Your head falls back with glee before coming up so you can see his face again.

"Actually, can you say that again? I'm gonna grab my phone. That way I can film it this time. I just wanna have a record-" you continue to tease, but you're cut off by your own squeal when he grabs you and flips you back over onto your back. He keeps you quiet by smashing his lips against yours as your back thuds against the grass.

This kiss burns hotter than the last one. His mouth moves with bruising passion as he pulls your shorts down your legs for real. You help him by kicking them loose. His hands roam around over your smooth skin.

He glances down and finds what he thought he felt. No panties.

Eyes flitting back up to you, he shakes his head. "You were gonna give in anyways," he accuses.

"Yeah, but you gave in first," you giggle.

A small growl rumbles in his chest, but he still leans in to pull your tank top up. He brings it across your stomach, letting your breasts fall free as he bunches the material above them. He cups the plump flesh, taking a look at the beauty he holds in his palms. You watch him in the fleeting interval in which you're forced to separate.

"So... since I win, what do I get?" you continue to gloat.

"My dick inside you," he answers as his fingers yank his zipper open and shove down his pants in a similar fashion to your shorts.

"But I'm gonna get that anyways. I think I should get a real prize," you say, aiming to stoke the flames higher.

Your hips get hauled closer across the grass, so fast that you're in danger of having green smeared across your skin.

"I don't think you'll be complaining in a few minutes, ya little brat," he mumbles.

His fist pumps over his cock as he lines it up between your legs. The leaky tip smears some precum over your folds before he slides inside. He groans as he sinks in, cherishing the feeling after the week of its absence.

You're quick to adjust to the stretch. With a sharp breath, your back arches off the grass. He had already snapped back and slammed in again. You knew he wouldn't be patient after being deprived of this. Watching him above you, your eyes study how his chest puffs in and out with harsh breaths. His strong arms extend down on either side of your head, his fists holding clumps of grass between them. 

It's a gorgeous view, but you know it can't beat the feeling.

"Closer..." you whine and grab at his shoulders, pulling him down so he's right on you and smothering your body against the turf, "Missed you, old man."

"How many times have I told you to quit it with that?" he asks as his pelvis begins setting a rhythm.

"Enough to know that I'm never gonna," you say. It's the last thing you can get out before moans shatter your plans to speak.

His warm flesh pounds against yours over and over. Your body rocks with the bounce of him on top of you. It feels so good. The world feels bright again, like you'd transitioned from an existence of black and white to living in color. It was so open out here but also so empty. Like you and him were the only two people on earth.

Your voice tapers off. Words become second to whimpers of pleasure. His hands grope the swell of your ass before returning to your sides for steady leverage.

"We'll have to work on that then," he grunts, "If you're not gonna stop, I'll just have to make sure you can't speak at all."

You preen at the idea, clutching at his muscular shoulders and back. He pants right next to your ear. Each stroke drives deep into you, brushing a spot that had ached for him to touch it again.

"Never wanna go that long again," you babble around whines.

"Me neither, baby. Think you were right. Not being able to feel this pretty little pussy every day almost killed me," he says.

A rush of euphoria flows through you upon hearing that. Your moans become more breathy, more full of need for him. You grab one of his wrists and tug his hand off your hip, pushing it in between your legs.

He knows what you want. His fingers apply some pressure and rub at your swollen bundle of nerves. Immediately, he's rewarded with a whine out of you and a buck from your hips.

"Impatient," he huffs between a set of deep thrusts.

"I won," you retort, "I get to do what I want."

Even in the heat of the moment, he chuckles at your petulant tone. His hips keep rutting against you on the grass. He's sure his next task of yard-work will be covering the mysterious indents in the soil out here.

"I needa cum, Logan," you whine several seconds later, "So close."

"Yeah? You need it, sweetheart? Need to let it out after keeping it from me for so long?"

Your head bobs up and down in an enthusiastic nod. "Please, please, please."

"Well, it's like you said. You won. So I think you can finish when you're ready."

"Mmmm- o- ok..." you whimper out.

Your hips roll up and down to reciprocate the fast pace of his own. He's battering right up against that special spot inside you that makes your mind blank and your eyes gloss up.

With a handful of whimpers, you cum. Your face scrunches as your cunt tightens around him. His fingers keep up the same rhythm on your clit, swirling around the little bud through your pleasure high.

"That's my girl," he praises, "Let it all out for daddy."

Your body seizes up at that command. Every cell of your being somehow knows to obey. You stumble over words and let them leave your lips half formed.

He keeps driving into you as you're coming down, chasing his own release. You're well into the territory of overstimulation now, all parts of you fizzling like a lit sparkler.  Your thighs quiver against his sides violently. They lock around his waist when you finally feel him slam in and drain himself.

A loud groan erupts from him. He makes no effort to restrain it given that only the two of you are here to hear it. He fucks it into you, ricocheting himself against your center a couple more times and letting every last drop pour into your dripping hole.

When he feels sated, at least for the moment, he reluctantly pulls out. He takes a couple deep breaths as he watches a bit of his cum ooze out of you. It didn't matter though. That wouldn't be the last load you took today.

His body topples over next to yours on the natural ground. You both lie there for a few moments catching your breath before you roll onto your side to look at him.

You just stare for a few moments. Your eyes roam along the shape of his face to the slope of his jaw and the curve of his chest. Leaning in, you kiss the space below his ear.

He responds to the touch by curling his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side.

His head turns to meet your loving gaze.

"I think we have some more time to make up for," he says.

You respond with an eager nod and hop up to your feet. Both of you pull on the basics of the clothes you'd been wearing before and rush back into the mansion, giggling as you stumble through the halls like a couple of lovesick teenagers.

The door to your room stays shut for the rest of the day. You spend the remaining hours you have enmeshed in each other; intertwined with him enough to recover from the lack you'd put yourself through.

Logan doesn't venture beyond the barrier of your shared sanctuary until the sun has gone down and darkness coats the halls of the mansion.  He walks quietly, taking his steps carefully to ensure none of the wooden planks beneath him creak.

All he had to do was go downstairs and grab you some water. In and out. Five minutes. But as he rounds the turn into the room, Scott's already there, looking through the fridge. He freezes and stands there awkwardly in his black tank top and loose sweatpants.

Having heard the sounds of his footsteps, the other man glances over at him. 

"There you are. Didn't see you around when I got back," he says simply.

Logan shrugs, trying to play it casual. He walks across the room toward the cupboard that holds the glasses. The other man's eyes follow him. He can feel that even through the scarlet shades on his face.

"Haven't seen your other half either," Scott continues.

Logan can tell from the tone of his voice where this is going. 

"Don't call her that," he scoffs, forever downplaying his attachment to you, "She's tired. She's upstairs sleeping."

"On her day off? I wonder what would have her so drained," Scott replies. His tone is flat in contrast to the little smirk on his face.

"Don't start," Logan says. He goes to the fridge to fill your cup with water. The trickle of the fluid is the only sound in the room until Scott keeps going.

"I didn't say anything," he says, raising his hands in surrender, "Only that this is the best mood you've been in all week."

"A couple hours without you around does wonders for me," Logan grumbles, wishing the liquid would pour a little faster.

"I'm sure. A couple hours with no one else around. Just the two of you after you've both been stiff the whole week," he taunts, "It's ok to admit you're whipped."

Finally, the cup is full. Logan takes it and turns away, holding one finger up as he walks from the kitchen.

"See you tomorrow, Scott."

"Yeah. Tell her if she's feeling sore, she can skip the early meeting," he says with a little laugh.