WANNA BE YOUR DOG

WANNA BE YOUR DOG

Chapter Four

Cagefighter!Logan Howlett x Reader

Chapters | Masterlist

cw: suggestive

You don’t sleep. You lie under the covers, hyper-aware of the man on the other side of the wall. In your restless mind, last night’s event plays over and over and over again.

The two of you had broken apart after those few blissful seconds to blink stupidly at each other. The only thing able to snap you out of your trance was an icy gust of wind making your whole body shudder, at which Logan said hurriedly, “We should go inside.”

An awkward goodnight and that was it; your doors clicking shut simultaneously. Did that mean he regrets it? Do you regret it? You groan into your pillow wishing only to sleep, sleep, sleep. 

–

Logan goes to work early and comes back in the mid-afternoon. In the evening, you take the bus to the bar; he drives there later. As you ward off nasty men all night, there’s a deep dread weighing you down inside at the thought of yet another excruciating ride home. 

The second he starts up the van, he turns on the radio. The Rolling Stones’ Wild Horses fills the empty silence in place of conversation. 

“I like this song,” you say meekly. 

“Yeah,” he grunts, “Stones are great.”

Another awkward goodnight. And that’s all you said to each other today. 

–

After another day passes, you don’t know whether to cry or scream. You can’t meet his eyes and now he can’t meet yours either. You’re wound up so tightly that you fear what will happen to you when you unravel. Sat on the couch, you remain as far away from Logan as you can manage without making it apparent you’re trying to put space between you, bouncing your knee. The house is dark and the TV glaringly bright, causing your eyes to water, but you keep on staring straight at it. 

Logan, however, is staring straight at you. 

“Are you okay?” he asks after nearly half an hour of hesitation. 

That’s all it took. 

“No, Logan, I’m not okay,” you snap. “After we – the other night – and then you just don’t say anything to me! For fuck’s sake, it’s been radiosilence from you for two nights! You could at least tell me you regretted kissing me-”

“Regretted?” he echoes, brows furrowed.

“Why else would you ignore me?” you shout. 

Logan stands, abandoning his beer on the side table. “I don’t regret shit. I thought you were the one who regretted it, since you haven’t been able to look me in the face since.”

You leap to your feet. “I was embarr-”

“Do you regret it?”

The question makes you pause. Logan waits, staring you down with such an intensity it should make you want to run – but you don’t, you step closer, recalling his taste, his touch… 

“No.” You answer. 

His expression softens as he processes this new information. “Then…why are we fighting?”

“I don’t know,” you breathe, the both of you inching tentatively closer. You take in his face as the light from the screen flickers across his features: he’s handsome in a classically rugged way, so much so it makes your heart swell against your ribcage. He gently settles his hands on your waist and you peer up at him nervously. “Will you kiss me?”

His lips collide with yours the second the words leave your mouth, his arms engulfing you as you loop yours around his neck. It’s pure passion. The slightest whimper escapes the back of your throat, causing him to bite down on your bottom lip. Your hands immediately make their way up into his hair. 

You break for air, gasping and panting, and he takes the opportunity to pull you back down onto the couch, settling in his lap. He begins to descend down your neck: starting along your jaw, then down the column of your throat, and settling at the base, kissing and suckling. Your hands find purchase again in his hair. You gasp when he finds a sensitive spot, and he sucks a mark there before attacking your lips again eagerly. Heat is pooling in your lower abdomen, and your hips twitch, a subtle half-grind that Logan picks up on straight away. He bucks up into you and presses your hips down to meet him in a grind that makes you stutter out a startled moan. Your bodies move just like that as you kiss each other feverishly. 

When you pull away from his face, his pupils large with lust, gazing dreamily into yours – you realise what you’re doing. 

“Wait, Logan – wait,” you pant. 

He stops immediately, studying your face with a terrified expression. “Are you okay? I can stop.”

You giggle airily, feeling a little light-headed. “I’m fine, Lo, I just don’t want to jump into things.” You see him exhale with relief, wrapping his arms around your middle to hold you closer. “After everything with my last boyfriend…”

“I understand.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll take it slow, sweetheart, no rush at all.”

–

The next week was tentative. You tested the waters first, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he left for work in the morning. Then he put his arm around you when you watched TV together; you pressed your arm against his as he washed while you dried the dishes; he put his hand on your knee when driving home the previous night. 

Although he could never admit it to himself, Logan is absolutely terrified. You’re such a sweet thing – delicate and lovely next to him. Like glass. He worries that if he were to hold you too tight you’d shatter into a million little reflective pieces. 

Sore from swinging an axe all day, he drives home, recalling how he once lived so coldly in this van when it dawns on him that there’s no going back. Your warmth sustains him now. A rare smile lifts his lips at the thought of your big eyes and pretty face greeting him at the door. 

The saccharine fantasy is instantly crushed like a bug by the scene that awaits him inside. He sees you standing in the living room, a girl he doesn’t recognise crying on your shoulder. Something sinister seizes in his gut when he sees the distant, anxious look in your eyes as you half-heartedly pet her hair. 

“Who’s this?”

–

At first, you’d simply stared, dumbfounded, when Alice appeared at your door. 

“He kicked me out and I have nowhere to go,” she’d wept, and, in spite of everything, you stepped aside to usher her into the home you once shared. 

You tried hard to forget how familiar it sounded when she explained how he’d found someone else and left her in his dust. There was a heaviness in your bones when you brought her into your embrace. 

“You can sleep on the couch.” you sighed. 

–

Your bedroom door clicked shut behind Logan as you slump on the bed with blushing cheeks. He must think I’m such a loser. 

“Why did you let her in?”

You let out a shaky breath, “We were friends for years, practically sisters, I couldn’t just… say no.”

He snorts, and tears prick at your waterline. “Some sister.”

Your lower lip trembles. You bow your head so that he can’t see you try to blink back the tears –  but it’s no use. 

“Hey, I just mean…” he stoops down and takes your chin in his hand. “She hurt you. She could hurt you again.”

“I know, but…” you sigh. “It’s worth giving her a second chance.”

An unreadable look flickers over his face; he swallows hard before murmuring, “If that’s what you want.”

a/n: so sorry this took so long!!

@viviannagiorgini @maximumchilddreamland @vinaluvsu @policedeer @curlies-world @twinky-wink @willow-t @nobrihere @marshymallo @jasmines-greentea @pink-jello-fish @unlikelygalaxygiver @yakbuttersoup

You Sing Neteyam His Mother’s Songcord In Order To Calm Him Down (SFW)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: fluffy angst, Neteyam is angry with his father, reader is such a good girlfriend ( you two are promised but haven’t mated yet ), kenten is the swirling gecko from the first movie, atokirina are the little floating seeds.

“Why must I always take responsibility for his actions?! I may be the older brother, but that does not mean I should be the one punished!” Neteyam vented, angrily skipping a rock across the bioluminescent water of the river.

“Have you tried telling your father this? Maybe he’ll listen,” you softly suggested, trying to give some sort of comfort to him.

You hadn’t seen Neteyam this mad in a long time.

He and Lo’ak were supposed to be lookouts for the most recent raid on the Sky people, but, like usual, Lo’ak rushed in without thinking and ended up getting them both grounded.

A lot of good that was doing seeing Neteyam sneaked out to meet you.

“Of course I have! But he never listens! He treats me and Lo’ak like soldiers. We are not family to him. For Eywa’s sake, I have to call him sir!” Neteyam exclaimed, roughly running a hand through his braids.

In a yell of frustration, he walks over to the tree you were resting against and punches it with all his might, leaving a fairly sized dent.

The vibrations shook you to your core, and was your wake up call to calm him down before he did something rash.

“Mawhey, Neteyam. Don’t let your anger crowd you reason,” you said with furrowed brows, your stern tone snapping him out of it.

No matter how mad, there was no reason to strike the tree.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at the ground with balled fists.

You sighed, replacing your frown with a smile and holding out your hand to him.

“Come,” you beckoned, any trace of scolding now gone.

He huffed, begrudgingly taking your hand, letting out an oof when you roughly yanked him down to the ground, placing his head in your lap.

“(y/n), what are you doin-?” “Hush,” you shushed, placing a finger to his lips.

He kept quiet, and you moved a stray braid out his face, fixing your shoulders against the tree so you were comfy.

“Lie si oe Neteyamur. Nawma sa’nokur, mìfa oeyä,” you sang, running your fingers through his hair so softly, it made Neteyam almost loathe the way he did it earlier.

He looked up at you awestruck, surprised and confused as to how you knew the song his mother sang to him throughout his childhood, the memories that came flooding back washing away all the anger he held before.

“Atanti ngal molunge, mìpa tìreyti, mìpa tìkanti,” you continued, turning towards the beautiful river that stood next to you.

It was all so tranquil. Your voice, the flowing water, the head massage. 

He was soon forgetting why he was so angry in the first place.

“Lawnol a mì te’lan. Lawnol a mì te’lan,” you both looked up to see a kenten jump off from higher branch, it’s frills unfurling as it calmly floated down to the ground.

“Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe, tonìri tìreyä. Ngaru irayo seiyi ayoe, Srrìri tìreyä.”

Neteyam could feel his head nodding, his eyelids becoming impossibly heavy. 

And looking at you…you were ethereal. Smiling and glowing, beaming down like rays of pure sunlight.

All for him.

And that’s when he saw a flurry of atokirina descending from above.

You noticed his change in expression and looked up as well, only to see the seeds circling the both of you, hanging in the air like stars right before your eyes.

“Ma Eywa, Ma Eywa,” you finished, a soft smile gracing your lips as an atokirina landed in the palm of your hand.

And after letting it rest for a moment, you held it up and allowed it to float away, the others following suit.

Probably on their way to grace another.

“You see, Neteyam? This is a sign from Eywa. You father means no harm. He loves and cares for you deeply, and only wants what’s best for you,” you smiled, placing a feather-light kiss between his eyes.

But Neteyam didn’t see it that way.

He saw it as a sign from Eywa saying that no matter how bad things got, angry, frustrating, or scary, you would be there. You would be his escape, his safety, his peace.

He had no responsibilities with you ( except protecting you, of course ). When alone, it was just you and him.

And all he had to do was lay down, rest, and listen contently as you sang.

THE GRAVE OF LUST

a/n: this is a very random idea i had of logan not necessarily being able to go at it as he used to. which like yes i love the thought of getting my back snapped by a more energetic logan. this version of him has my heart in ways i'll never be able to explain. it's short but enjoy! divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: when his body doesn't work as it used to and the weary bones that poison his soul begin to ache, you take the lead in a dance you know well.

OR giving old man logan sloppy head that he'll think about in the grave and after.

word count: 2k

pairing: old man!logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, weary old man logan, domestic vibes, oral (m receiving), spit kink, cumplay, dirty talk, he may be older but he's filthier, unedited + not betad but we live and die by the fucking pen.

He doesn't touch you quickly anymore. His hands don't shove clothes off your curves and grasp your flesh with a growl of impatience. No, he no longer holds the stamina of a younger him who could spend hours between your thighs. His bones are weary, old phantom wounds ache where they shouldn't, and he feels himself step closer to his grave with each day that passes.

His hands move at a steady pace, tugging the fabric of your nightgown up inch by inch. Sleep lingers at the edge of his mind. The knowledge that he'll have to get up early with the sun still hidden from the sky. Yet you'll be here asleep—dreaming of his calloused palms on your soft skin. How he burned himself into your ribs with a kiss.

"C'mere," he mumbled, eyes narrowed and lips parted with a deep withered breath. "Let me touch you."

Denial would be a false tale on your tongue. Depriving yourself of him wasn't an option anymore. When times like this were found few and far between and his touch became a lingering memory in the back of your mind.

You couldn't remember the last time you tasted him. The last time he sunk into your wet heat with a solid groan—the muscles of his back screaming as he held his body above yours.

Age was cruel to a man who used to be so virile. He could recall the hours he took to worship your body—mold you beneath the warmth of his palms. But doing that more often wasn't something he was capable of. He still longed for you. The sounds you made, the way your face twisted in pleasure as you came on his cock, fingers, face. He craved it some nights. He felt it eat him alive.

Tonight was no different.

"How?" you breathed, eyes wide and pleading.

You were so fucking sweet he didn't even have to convince you of this. So ready to let him bring you to that peak of bliss. He could smell the heady scent of your pussy—the way it called to him with shouts of need. And if he was a younger man...he'd have you pinned beneath him. He'd hammer his hips into yours until bruises formed beneath the skin—down into the very muscles of your legs.

His graying hair and weathered face did nothing to stop the lust that poured into your face. Your eyes still drooped, mouth open and chest heaving. And Logan was a fortunate fucking man that you were still here.

So unlike his younger self, he let you take the lead.

"Can I touch you?" you asked so nicely. He groaned at the sound of it, jutting his chin down in a nod as you grasped the button of his jeans.

Any other night you'd let him take you. Give into his languid touches until you came wherever he wanted you to come. This was a rarity the longer you spent bound together by the strings of fate.

Logan fucking loved it. He ached for it on days spent away from you—time he'd never get back. But when he'd find his way home and curl his body around yours, he found that sleep was a better option. You'd heartily agree. If it wasn't for the pounding ache between your thighs each time you caught his eye. Each chance you got to see the thick arms and sun kissed skin that lay beneath his white button downs.

"Been dreamin' about this." His voice echoed with a rasp you'd grown to love. One that screamed exhaustion, yet licked a line of heat up your spine. "Such pretty fuckin' lips."

His thumb dug into the curve of your bottom lip, pulling at it until your mouth popped open. Allowing his finger to press against your tongue—saliva building at the thought of getting him in your mouth. Of him using your throat to get himself off.

You didn't even care if you finished. You just wanted to feel him.

"You're my good girl right?" A moan spilled past your spread lips, eyes fluttering when his pants slipped down and cock came free. "Yeah you are."

"Logan," you sighed. He dragged your spit across your cheek; thumb and forefinger gripped your chin to tilt your head close enough to kiss him. Only to hold you there.

"Keep 'em open baby."

The feel of his length throbbing so close to your chest—precum dotting the tip—drove you mad. You wanted him closer. Wanted to feel the bruising ache at the back of your throat as he pushed too far. Your fingers wrapped around him gently, causing him to hiss at your cold touch. The reminder to take it slow, savor him, rang in your ears. Yet the way he looked at you with a feral hunger you felt in your heart shoved those thoughts to the side.

Within his life there's only been a handful of moments he wished he could go back to. Nearly all of them were with you on nights such as this. When the moon hung low in the sky and dawn felt eons away. If he was lucky he wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow, he'd get to wake up naked by your side and bury himself in your pretty cunt.

Logan was rarely lucky.

His spit landed on your tongue, splattering against the corner of your mouth. He led your mouth down with a firm grip until you hovered directly over his cock. The dark red at the tip made you clench around nothing—the ache spreading to the base of your stomach. Screaming for you to take it. Put your mouth on him and make him finish down your throat.

"There we go," he murmured, watching his spit and yours fall from your mouth—landing directly on his twitching cock. "Pretty ain't it."

"Yeah," you gasped, nails digging into the v of his hips. "Can I taste you? Please."

The deep echo of his laugh shot through your body like a bullet. You could feel it burrow deep within, spreading across each nerve ending and vein. Being so close to what you wanted felt like torture, but with Logan you knew it would be worth it in the end. He never left you wanting.

"'Course honey." His hand cupped the back of your neck, leading you with a soft touch. "It's yours."

Yours. Yours. Yours.

With a moan, you wrapped your lips around the head of him—tongue sliding through the slit. A ragged groan tore from his chest, his eyes boring a hole into the side of your face. The knowledge that he was so far gone for you left a pleasant thrill of warmth to grow in your stomach. This strong, capable man would bend at his knees simply to see you smile.

He was your devotee and you'd become his goddess.

"Fuckin' perfect." His words were a spit of need, fingers digging down into your skin with each flick of your tongue.

You merely held him there. In your mouth with spit coating the hand wrapped around the base of him. His taste flooded your mouth, each drop a nectar you would never have enough of. And he let you have your fill. He lay still on the bed, his breaths coupled with moans as you took your time.

Slipping him a bit deeper, you felt his thighs shift beneath you—a shuddered sigh echoing the small bedroom. You'd barely begun and yet he felt the high of dizziness begin to pull at his mind. Effectively killing whatever sleep called out to him.

"Take a little more for me." He sounded gone. Your lips spread into a smile, bobbing your head and swallowing a bit more with each small thrust. "Fuck yeah. Just like that."

He pushed at the back of your throat, your jaw strained under the width of him. Tears spilled from the corner of your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And he caught them with his thumb, mixing the salt with what spit of his still remained along your skin. Tilting your head slightly, you felt him slip down your throat—your nose finding the graying curls at his base.

The loud growl that ripped through his body was all the reward you needed. He was on the fucking edge. Barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth. And he knew you could tell. His thighs jolted—stomach tensing—and when your hand slipped down to tug at his balls, thumb finding the spot between, he lost it.

Snarling your name, he thrust his hips up into your mouth and felt you choke on him. Your throat constricted perfectly with each cant of his hips down into you. He gave you the opportunity to push him off—get some air down your lungs. You let him keep going—eyes fixed on the way his face screwed up in pleasure. His teeth bared and throat extended.

Another push of your thumb sent him flying over the edge with a shout. The salty tang of him filled your mouth, spilling down your throat with rope after rope of cum. And you swallowed it all despite the searing burn that spread along your esophagus. You took every fucking drop of him and allowed some to remain on your tongue.

To prove that you could take whatever he wanted to give.

"I fuckin' love you," he breathed, cupping your jaw and grinning when you stuck out your tongue—a pool of his spend dripping down your chin.

His fingers scooped it out of your mouth before you could swallow. "Up." He slapped your ass, moving you up and into his lap. "Your turn."

"I’m okay."

The glare he gave you burned its way to your lungs. "Good girls get rewarded." His fingers dipped down beneath your nightgown—pleased to find you bare—and spread his cum along the lips of your pussy. "Don't you want your reward bub?"

"Yes," you whimpered, gripping at his hair. "I do."

"Then take it."

Refusing was no longer an option when the bliss you'd been searching for finally flared to life in your body. His fingers plunged into you, curling and seeking the spot he always found with ease. And with a sharp gasp—your hand yanking at his hair—he knew he'd found it. He smiled at the sight of you. Head back and eyes shut as you fucked yourself on his hand.

"Tell me," he said. Gripping your chin, his lips met yours in a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. He could taste himself in your mouth. His chest rumbled with a soft sigh.

"I love you." The base of his hand ground into your clit, fingers pounding up quicker—faster. And your words pitched high with each thrust.

"I know you do." He kissed your throat, the heat of your body rubbing against his made his cock twitch in interest again. "Love you too baby."

"Fuck!" The coil in your stomach began to unravel rapidly, your body shattering into pieces you'd never find again. And he clutched you tightly to his chest. He watched in rapture at the sight of you shaking, hips bucking against his hand in quick thrusts. "Logan."

Pride bloomed in his chest. "You're perfect."

You collapsed onto his bare chest, spent and exhausted. The final tendrils of pleasure began to ebb out of your body, suddenly replaced by the comfort of him there. You pressed your lips to the center of his chest, teeth dragging along the scarred skin. And he basked in your attention—his hand trailing down your spine to knead the flesh of your ass.

"We should do that more often," you teased, lips finding his in a soft kiss.

He huffed, his eyes falling shut. "I'm too old for that."

"Believe it or not, but you're sexier older."

"Yeah?" He stirred against your stomach. "You like me old and gray?"

"Absolutely."

He smirked, pushing you up his body with slow movements. "Prove it."

here's more logan thoughts of mine...

having to explain to logan that there's a common belief among people that if you're able to tie a knot into the stem of a maraschino cherry, that you must be a good kisser.

in your defense, it was all pretty innocent. logan found himself stumbling into the kitchen and noticed you standing at the counter with rogue nearby. placed out in front of the both of you were two glasses filled halfway with ice, two cans of ginger ale, a bottle of grenadine, and a small jar of maraschino cherries. before he could even say it, you recognized him lurking and spoke,

"shirley temples. rogue mentioned how she hasn't had one in forever and i decided to play bartender tonight," you grinned and cracked open the can of soda.

"i see. you make it with ginger ale?" he asked, eyes glancing to the can in your hand.

"that's how they were originally made. ginger ale, some grenadine, and a couple of cherries to add more flavor. want one?" though you asked nicely, he declined the offer and made his way to the fridge.

"you know," he said, rummaging through the fridge, "i heard shirley temple herself didn't even like the drink. also heard they never served it to her."

rogue chuckled to herself as she spooned cherries out of the jar. "of course you would know, you were probably there when they first invented it," she laughs. you tried to hold back your laughter as you looked to logan, who just waved the girl off and made some comment about her being too young to know who shirley temple was.

suddenly, rogue's attention was turned to you, as she called your name and asked if she could ask you 'something silly'. of course, you nodded, listening to whatever the girl had to say next.

"do you know how to tie a cherry stem with your tongue?" she looked to you as she twirled a stem between her pointer finger and thumb.

your eyes went wide, trying to think of a response. you didn't know exactly why she was asking. was she genuinely curious, or was she going to follow up by asking if you heard of the 'is it true that if you're able to tie a cherry stem with your tongue than it means you're a good kisser?' myth.

you tell her that you can't remember if you ever tried to. after all, you don't necessarily eat the cherries for the stems.

"makes sense. apparently only fifteen percent of people are able to do it," she shot back, now discarding the stem into the garbage.

"where did you even hear that?" you turned to her, as she just shrugged and grabbed a straw for her glass.

"is that the new party trick now? tying cherry stems with our tongues?" logan clears his throat, as he makes his way to sit down across from the two of you.

"you're old enough to know the shirley temple didn't like the drink named after her, but you don't know about tying cherry stems with your tongue?" she deadpanned.

logan, looking confused as ever, is trying to make sense of what she's saying but after a while, rogue realizes the can of worms she's opened has just led to more confusion and regrets even asking about it. she excuses herself from the kitchen, mumbling something about going to find bobby, and left you alone to work on your drink. you couldn't help but notice how logan was staring at your every move.

"i'm still confused," he spoke up after sitting in silence for a few minutes. you knew exactly what he was talking about, it wasn't as if any other conversation had taken place within the time that rogue left the kitchen, so you decided to clue him in.

"just a stupid little rumor someone made up, a common idea that if you know how to tie a cherry stem with your tongue then you must be a really good kisser," you explained, taking a cherry out of the jar and popping it in your mouth. he responds with a 'hm' and watches as you take the stem and put it in your mouth. after a minute of praying that your high school memories would serve you justice, you grabbed the cherry stem from between your teeth, showing logan the knot you made.

his expression remains the same as he looks at you, then the stem being held in the palm of your hand, and to you again. he smirks, and that's when he questions,

"but it's just a myth, right?"

"i mean, i've never put the theory to the test. you wanna see for yourself?" you try him, thinking he would just laugh you off and continue to joke about it. his response this time being clearer than before,

"i was only hoping you would ask, hun."

p.s., i tried posting this on another account and for some reason tumblr did not push it??? wtf, anyways, here you go. thanks for the love on the last little blurb i posted!

Turbulences

a/n: ahh where were all these fics when i was 15 and desperately longing for logannnnn?!?!!? anyway- here is another source of logan fics: me <33 word count: 748 tags: logan howlett x fem!reader (can be read as gn!), angst, fluff' warnings: mentions of death, canon-typical violence implications, logan having logan feelings dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive pictures are from pinterest

He should have known this would have happened. When sent by the X-Men to go change the past; he should have known. Out of all the years he had been alive, why here? Why did he have to land right here? Logan had spent years trying to forget about this. Trying to forget about you. And here you were being the big spoon, an arm thrown over his neck, a leg of yours intertwined with his within the messy sand-colored bedsheets.

Even though he had just gotten here, he knew exactly where he was. This was the home you both shared together. The place the both of you had spent weeks decorating, eager to call one another each other’s home. He knew it even before he opened his eyes, his enhanced sense of smell dominating his being. When he finally collected his strength to open his eyes, he inhaled deeply. Maybe it was to inhale your scent. Maybe it was an effort to calm himself. Regardless, he did not even know which one it was for.

Once his eyes adjusted to the warm morning sun beaming through the windows, he placed a hand on your wrist, closing his eyes slowly as he did. It hurt him. He did not deserve to get to touch you again. Not after knowing that your fate was inevitable. Logan let out a long and shaky sigh, blinking his eyes open, not allowing a single tear to form. His hand was still on your wrist, his mind yelling at him to let go but his body desperately clinging for the familiar feeling of holding a lover.

After another deep breath and wrestling with his inner thoughts, Logan allowed himself to rub his thumbs along his grip he had on your skin. It was as soft as he remembered. Without letting himself think too much, he pulled your arm up to his face to place a soft kiss on one of your knuckles. Instinctively, he leaned his head down, resting his nose on your hand, inhaling your scent further.

Not realizing it, a tear had fallen onto your skin. Logan watched the salty drop of liquid trickling down your wrist, the sunrays making it shimmer. As a response your wrist twitched, the feeling of the water alerting your body in your deep state of sleep. Not wanting it to disturb you any further, Logan wiped off the remains with the same thumb he had caressed your skin with.

Perhaps seconds passed, perhaps minutes; Logan decided that it was time to face you. There was no running anymore. He was in this room with you at your old home that held the best memories of his life. You were here and you were alive. Either way, he had an objective, a mission, that he was sent to complete. No matter how much he wanted to forget about that, the way he wanted to forget about you, he could not. And it fucking hurt.

Resting his body weight on a forearm, Logan sat up slightly, turning his body to face your sleeping frame.

There you were.

Messy bed hair, slightly apart lips and as beautiful as he remembered.

Reluctantly he put a hand on your cheek, his breath hitching once his skin made contact with yours. This felt so wrong. But this was how it always should have been. Domestic and intimate. Any physical contact reminded him of your death. There were too many answers that he had never gotten. Were you screaming? Was it quick? Did you suffer? Were you scared? All he knew was that he was responsible. If you had never met him, you would not have died.

Lost in his thoughts, Logan ignored the stinging feeling in his eyes, indicating yet another tear close to escaping. He travelled his other hand underneath the sheets, resting it at the small of your waist, caressing the skin while thanking the universe that you were a heavy sleeper.

He did not want to allow himself to kiss you. He did not deserve it.

But you did.

With a glance at the clock hanging across from your bed, Logan fixed his gaze back onto you, taking in every feature of yours. He did not have much time.

Exhaling a breath he did not he was holding, Logan finally closed the distance, delivering a kiss to your lips.

He had to get up and leave now. He knew he did.

But he really did not want to.  

🍯