i want yandere bully bakugou but like redemption kinda? like, after becoming a pro hero he tries asking darling out and treats her nicely and stuff, trying to make up for being a bully, but still yandere and kinda toxic???
Normally, it would be strange to ask yourself why you’re someone’s girlfriend. But in your case, given who your boyfriend is, it would be weird not to doubt why.
Part of the answer is that you wouldn’t know how to tell him no.
But… more the question is,
why would he even ask you in the first place?
Try as you might, you couldn’t remember Kachan ever being interested in you in that way. Between calling you a quirkless flat-chested snot-nosed loser extra and telling you how your freckles made you look like you’d been rolling around in shit, he’d not once made you feel as though he was attracted to you in any way.
It had been nearly five years since your high school graduation. The last time you’d seen him. Other than on the news or posters on every corner of the city. Where in that time, he’d gone and made himself a renowned pro-hero. While you…
Well… you’d made your own valid achievements. Though… not nearly amounting to anything as impressive as him.
Which was one of the big reasons why you felt so out of your depth. But not the only reason. And certainly not the main one.
You weren’t convinced it was Kachan when he’d first approached you. Something between meeting a celebrity and a ghost and some other thing you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Something that somewhat reminded you of the feeling of visiting someone in prison, you bet.
Granted, he, no doubt, still looked like Kachan. Though older, stronger, and taller now, he was still that ash-blonde red-eyed boy you used to know.
It was still Kachan. With his signature straightforward thoroughness and, though more refined and with some resemblance of calm now, that same old brashness of his lurking beneath the trained attitude. It didn’t go unnoticed by you, nor did how his eyes demanded your attention, despite your wish to act like you didn’t recognize him.
You had expected him to growl at you, to laugh and mock you for working at a café, no mind to you being the assistant manager, as you were sure such a feat had no sway with someone as important as him. You’d in the least, if not the former, believed him to ignore you with a sneer. But, though he smirked, it wasn’t a smirk you were any used to. In fact, you’d actually go so far as to call it a smile.
He was still Kachan, but he'd become strange. A stranger, actually. A strange stranger who asked you out. Which is what made him so very strange a stranger to begin with.
But not entirely a stranger as you were still, despite having grown up, a little afraid of what he’d do if you turned him down.
You thought he was joking at first. Playing his same old cruel schoolyard pranks despite being a full-grown man, not to mention one of the highest-ranking pro heroes in japan. But, for a mere joke, he sure seemed serious. Holding up the coffee line in wait for your answer, with fans recognizing him and looking at you as though you were insane for not answering and even more hardcore fans looking at him as though he was insane for asking you.
At least a dozen were filming. And the cardboard coffee cup ached more and more in your palm the longer you waited.
You didn’t really have a choice.
Did you?
Your first date was a lot more expensive a taste than what you were used to. In fact, you realized you weren’t really used to being pampered at all.
You felt underdressed even in the leather seats of his car and even more when the gold lighting of the restaurant dawned on you.
Your breath thinned as you found yourself stared at by what felt like absolutely everyone as the two of you were led to your table overlooking the city.
Kachan noticed your flighty gaze and how you shared fluttering looks with the other people surrounding you and the marble floor, though never with him.
“You can’t blame them.” He said. And your doe-eyes finally returned his stare with an adorably puzzled look of your own. “Your own fault for looking like that.”
You paused, first instincts telling you how it in no way was a compliment, before realizing you were being silly before further deciding how it didn’t really matter. “It’s you they’re staring at. They’re just wondering who I am to be here with you.” You dismissed shyly, chewing the inside of your cheek. “And frankly, Kachan… so am I.”
He smiled, and you, without knowing how else you should respond, stilled in suspense until potentially prompted to move.
You were nervous enough around him from before without him acting so strangely, without him giving you those unfamiliar yet somewhat pleasant smiles you hadn’t even seen him use when addressing his fans on TV.
You would even go so far as to say he seemed to be admiring you. Or… you wouldn’t really know what to call it.
A blush of drunkenness rouged his cheeks and sugared his eyes after the third glass of wine, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he’d noticed the same had happened to you.
You were a cute drunk, he thought. While a small quirk played in the corner of his lips on account of the heavy hoods pulled on over your eyes, and how your lips struggled to keep close and instead formed a pout so kissable, he was struggling not to reach over and take the offer.
But, not wanting to scare you away, he exercised restraint. On your behalf, because fuck knows you wouldn’t have done or said anything to stop him. He can see it on you even now. You haven’t got it in you. You never have. And you probably never will.
He asked you about your things. Knowing how you’ve heard about him from the news and every other channel and platform. Acting like your answers somewhat surprised him even though he’s been keeping close tabs on you as the media has on him. Probably even more so.
You’d put on a dress for him. It was nothing special compared to what he’d seen others wear at hero galas, but the thought alone was sweeter and more intoxicating than the wine in his glass.
To think, he could just lift the frill and see you. Touch you. Feel you. He probably would have if he were still your bully, but over the expanse of his hero training, he’d realized he wasn’t any such silly thing as your enemy.
No… Pro-Hero Dynamight may have his admirers and his foes, but as for the man behind the mask.
Bakugou Katsuki,
is your number-one fan.
And he wasn’t embarrassed by it anymore. He wanted you to know it, wanted to smother you with it. He loved you. He wanted you. He needed you.
And he’d make sure no one else would dare even think about taking you from him.
And he’d make sure the thought wouldn’t dare cross your mind either.
He announced your relationship in interviews, had it written on all his platforms, and told every single one of his pining fans. It hadn’t even been a week since you met, and he’d already claimed you before the world, and you…
Well, you didn’t really know what the fuck you were doing.
You’d been ambushed and stormed into surrender before you even knew what was happening. All that was left now was to try and… well… make peace with it.
Kachan was like a new person. You were unsure whether that was a fact or just you trying to convince yourself you don’t feel his old self in how he brazenly puts his hands on you. Having you swallow your own shaky breaths as he wraps his heavy, hefty, muscled arms around your much smaller body.
Or how you fear being bitten, swallowing your heart, when he leans down to kiss you.
Even now, a week into your relationship, you’re still on edge. Awkwardly regarding yourself in his bathroom mirror. The one-week anniversary present he’d gotten for you lying open on the glass counter.
Pretty shades of chiffon were still left inside the expensive box as you’d taken its primary contents and layered your naked self with them.
Dewdrops from your shower disturbed your reflection. Though within the streaks you’d made with your hand, anyone could see how clearly uncomfortable you were. Dressed in the new set of clothes he’d gotten you.
Or…
Clothes was a generous term for it as it was nothing more than silky lingerie.
Rich red lined your skin in sexy floral patterns as the sheer lace perfectly caressed your curves in expensive designer you could never afford and transparent in a way you would never dare buy for yourself even if you could.
And along with the looming disorienting surreal understanding that your childhood bully was no doubt expecting to fuck you tonight, your chest felt tight, and your head was so horridly hot, reeling with memories, flashes in the reflection of the mirror staring back at you. Times you’d cry your eyes out for hours looking at yourself because the boy on the opposite side of the door had you convinced you were the ugliest thing in the entire world.
The dinner you’d shared together earlier must have made you sick since you could taste blood on your tongue, or perhaps it was just the hopeless situation. Nevertheless, you feared that if you left the safety of the bathroom now, you might just vomit from the fever. Or faint-
“You pass out in there?” Came a loud knock on the door, shaking you from your thoughts and reminding you to breathe again. “Come on out, I wanna see you. I don’t care if it’s a little tight.” He ordered, in a voice similar to the schoolyard punk that sometimes still haunts your dreams. Though now belonged to the man he’d grown into, the one waiting for you on his bed just behind the door.
You bit your lip, brows crinkling, a small sigh leaving you in the pitiful form of a whimper before you swallowed a mixture of pride and anxiety. Ripping your gaze from yourself, you made to unlock the door and reveal yourself.
You couldn’t look at him, but looking down at yourself was equally embarrassing, where you stood nearly naked in the nippy air of his bedroom while he, still fully dressed with suit and tie, sat patiently or impatiently waiting for you to come closer.
“Fuck-” He groaned, his tongue gracing the top row of his teeth as his eyes drank in the pretty sight of your perfect body all dressed up for him.
You were too pretty to be this shy. But then again, that was probably his fault.
“Come ‘ere.” He urged, wringing his blazer off and loosening his tie before throwing it to the single chair placed in the corner of the room, keenly watching as you took your small cautious steps until you were just within reach, where his hands hungrily pounced for you.
His hot course fingers touched your skin with greed. Grabbing into your soft flesh, he pulled you to him. Having no reservations about what and how he touched, as his entire hand squeezed your ass like you were playdough.
“Sit.” He ordered while tugging you down on his lap. His thick arm wrapped around your waist as you sat on him like Santa. Fingering the straps of lace at your hip, he stared at your cute nipples through the see-through lace of your bra.
He popped open the first few buttons to his dark burgundy shirt, finding himself getting hotter, and you had to bite your lip at how tight the smooth silk of it was around his muscles and how warm he was against your naked skin.
He hugged you closer against his chest, and your breathing thinned again into a tiny gasp, making him show teeth. “So skittish-” He chuckled, his voice softly amused while kneading your thigh in his toasty and textured palm. “You still afraid I'm gonna push you around like back in middle school?” He asked with a grin, his hot breath fanning against your neck while his lips ghosted the peachfuzz of your cheek.
You fidgeted with your hands on your lap, squeezing your thighs tighter together. Eyes bashfully staring down at the large bruise-knuckled paw petting your knee. Scars littered it like a cutting board.
“Come on…” He drawled as his hand lifted, leaving your thigh cold in its absence, where he made to handle your chin and cheek for you to look at him. “I ain't that shitty anymore, am I?”
You wiggled a bit on account of his raw ruby-red eyes connecting with your shy gaze. Ears on fire since teased by the smooth tone his voice had slipped into, surprised by how it slithered around your pounding heart and pooled in your gut and tickled your cunt where you sat on the bump on his slacks that only hardened the more you squirmed.
“No need to be scared, princess. I don’t bite like I used to. I promise~” He blew against your lips. “I've matured.”
The nickname princess sounded so similar to something else he used to call you. The memory of it taking an equal toll on your body as his touches, further making you shiver on goosebumps while his hand dipped from caressing your face to stroking the soft skin of your neck. Slipping between the valley of your breasts until he settled for cupping one of the two in his hand. Playing with the lace while teasing the visible nipple beneath, smiling once it perked beneath his fingertips.
“You've matured too, huh?” He added, his lips at your ear, ticklish and warm, making your head drum, a tiny squeak leaving you once he flicked your earlobe with his tongue. “You used to look like a little boy before.” He laughed, and you bounced and swallowed thickly as his hand dropped down to your lap again. This time close to your panty, where your thigh was fattest and most sensitive.
The other hand remained at your hip and pulled you even tighter against him while the former stroked the plush chunk of flesh, visibly getting drunk on your softness where his breath had become rugged with restraint.
“I mean, I didn't even think of you as a girl before you started wearing those cute little school skirts.” He reminisced.
Elementary school…
When new uniforms separated boys from girls and you from him.
“You fucked us up with that, y'know?” He scolded, giving you a harder squeeze. “You were one of the guys, and then, boom-” He tsked. “Suddenly, such a tease.”
Your brows furled as your lips pursed into a pout, while your stomach started to fold in all types of uneasy ways by the even darker shift in his tone.
“Too pretty to play in the mud.” He scoffed in a whisper, his nose bumping your temple as you bowed your head even lower, swallowing thickly while suppressing the familiar urge to cry and beg him to stop. Almost expecting him to bite you. “Too pretty for me.”
“Ow-” His hands pinched you just a bit too recklessly, and you popped up from your seat on his lap with a jolt and a wince.
“Sorry.” He offered lazily, keeping his hold on you.
Spreading his thighs, he pulled you between them.
“It’s hard to control myself.” He excused, his hands lowering on your waist as he leveled his head with your belly before crouching forward to cuddle you with his cheek. “You're just so fucking perfect.” He mumbled while giving the pinch mark on your thigh a kiss, his stubble scratching the delicate skin found there.
His words made your head ache, splitting you between contradicting emotions for him, tormenting you to the point that tears pooled in your eyes and slipped down your cheeks, dripping onto his shirt.
“Don’t cry.” He murmured while his warm worn thick fingers snaked about in between your spread legs and dragged heavily up the thin fabric protecting your cunt.
And despite everything, you still moaned out, though a somewhat feeble whine. And he voiced in another rumbling tone soaked with lust he no longer could contain.
“Let me make it up to you.”
You were a second later thrown down on your back with a bounce on the bed, where he undid the intricacies of your lace-up in a matter of split-felt moments like the single beat of your galloping heart.
“I know you don’t trust me.” He added amidst the heat of his actions. “But I love you, princess-” He urged while kneeling near the bed-end, throwing your thighs over his shoulders. “And I’m gonna prove it to you.”
No part of you was ready for him, but at the same time, all of you were too accepting. With the moan that spilled from your chest like overfilled honeycomb and how your hands stilled in surrender at the feel of his hot eager tongue meeting your cunt.
His spikey ashen hair tickled your thighs as the stubble on his chin and cheeks lightly scratched you with every word of worship his lips mouthed into your core. And your chest arched off the bed as you lost your mind to what you’d gotten yourself into.
Torn between fear of him and lust for him, wondering if you had any pride left in you whatsoever or if he’d finally tightened the chokehold and squeezed it free of any life.
His tongue focused on your clit as he raised a hand between you, filling you with one of his thick fingers. Smirking against your heat at the feel of you clenching on him.
He saw you grip the sheets in tiny fists and looked up to see you trying to hide your embarrassment in his pillows. Chuckling, he added another finger and listened to you whimper out a moan with an involuntary buck of your hips.
He began unbuttoning the rest of his shirt with his free hand, bottom to the top, wrestling it off with somewhat of a handicapped struggle. Growing impatient as he moved down to unzip himself, pulling down the restraints before tugging on his own needy arousal. With precum spilling in pearls from his head, the pent-up beast sprung with a surge against his abs as he jerked himself and continuously gorged on you.
He dropped his pants and boxers entirely as he made to crawl on top of you, sloppy kisses laid in wet trails up your body while his fingers slipped from your cunt so both hands could grab into your soft thighs and spread them to each side of his torso until you felt the weight of his throbbing cock bob against your belly.
You looked down to see it blushed red and wet with arousal, swollen into a threat and pumped to attack you. He noticed your stare and how he made you squirm, prompting him to grab your chin and have you look up at him instead.
You were the tiniest thing beneath him. And under the shade of his dark red eyes, you had your heart in your throat as well as a never-ending thrum of whimpers.
“You ready for me, princess?” He asked with a kiss to your lips, smeared wet across your cheek to nip at your neck.
And though you were anything but certain, you still made to tell him what he wanted to hear. But, with his hot mouth softly biting all the weak spots on your throat, you could only hum in return. However, managing to give a slight nod while your hands lifted from the sheets. Caressing the warm toughness topping you, your gentle fingers slid over the toned muscles of his back, tangling themselves into the short ashen locks at his neck while your legs wrapped around his torso.
All in an effort to tell him yes, as you were all but rendered speechless by the delicate way he handled you.
You were as cute and timid with humility as always, he thought, like a breath of fresh air and clear blue skies after breaching the rubble and smoke of battle.
He cupped your breast in one hand, teasing your nipple between his thumb and index, and grabbed himself with the other. Rubbing his cockhead over your pearl and dipping in between your folds.
He pushed inside, and you whined, tensing at the stretch, and he stopped as though worried.
“You okay?” He asked, and your heart leaped while he messaged your hip in encouragement until you relaxed again before continuing.
He dug his hands into your thighs, spreading you wider as he bottomed out inside you. And your toes curled with your moan as you clenched around him, his teeth gritting at the tight fit while groaning right at your ear.
“Fuck-” He sighed, his lips ghosting your cheekbones as his eyes scanned your pretty face. Hugging onto him with your hands, with your legs pulling him closer. Moaning so sweetly, small little mews just for him.
He could never get enough of those sounds.
He was going to wait at least a month. He figured that would be enough time. Enough time to make all the right moves. He was going to date you, breed you, reunite you with his parents, reintroduce himself to yours, have you move in with him, and then endgame.
But with the ring box in the drawer right next to the bed, he thought he might as well…
Bella fixed up her hair in the mirror as she breezed passed it. Her blonde curls seemed to have a mind of their own today. She grabbed a hat from her coffee table and pulled it on. She felt excitement bubbling up inside her. She had always loved carnivals, the rides were her favourite. She quickly got inside and made a beeline for a toffee apple. She gently bit down on it as she surveyed the tents, trying to decide which one to go into first. She heard someone approach her and Bella smiled. “I’m thinking about seeing the acrobats first. How about you?”
“Food. Definitely food.” Amelia smiles, wrapping her arm over the other’s shoulder. “C’mon. You can’t do anything on an empty stomach, Bella. What’d say? Fried Oreos?”
Archie had been cooped up in his room all day. It wasn’t that he was intentionally avoiding people, that would be ridiculous. But he had been working on a song and he hated leaving in the middle of his process, or as Deon had affectionately put it his “obsession”. The song was finally finished, and when he looked out of his window the sun had gone down. That didn’t bother him though, he preferred night time. He grabbed his phone a wallet and headed out the door. Everyone would be at the carnival by now, which made him feel a little out of sorts as no one had messaged him about it.
When he finally got the the show grounds, which was just a giant field outside the main bit of town, there seemed to be hundreds of people lining up to enter into the carnival. Sighing, Archie resigned himself to the end of the line. He missed the days when he could just push up front but now, instead, he was forced to wait. That was when he spotted someone closer to the front. Grinning, Archie sauntered up to them. “You don’t mind if I cut in with you, right?” He asked.
“Cutting is actually frowned upon in society, Arch.” Amelia smiles, allowing more room next to her. “But for you I’m sure to make an exception.”
“How’ve you been?” She asks, looking ahead of the line. “Keeping out of trouble I hope. But If you ever needed me to bail you out, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
Amelia had always been a bit of a handful for her parents compared to her sister. But she knew that they would always have her back. She stumbled through life with the support of her mother, who understood her need to learn everything no matter how difficult. Her father was a different story, however. He saw her as nothing more than a wild child who needed to be disciplined often. She was a thorn in his side constantly. One who needed to be bailed out of jail too many times for someone so young. But when she was sixteen, she was thrown into a situation that no child should be in. Whilst out with her friends on an expedition to an abandoned warehouse one night, she spotted her father’s car parked close by. Her friends joked about him having an affair, but that couldn’t be true. So walking closer, she saw the truth for herself. Inside the car was her father and one of his students. Indignant, Amelia sauntered up to the car and smashed the back window with a brick. Her father made her swear to never tell her sister and then he would leave. And she kept that promise for as long as she could. But Bella’s sadness hurt her more than her father’s self-pity. What she didn’t expect, however, was Bella choosing to still side with their father.
Arabella’s betrayal hurt Amelia more than she let on. On the outside, she played everything cool, not letting her twin know how much she was hurting. When she announced that she would be moving closer to her father for college, Amelia just cut her off for good. But the hurt and pain was still there. Losing her twin was like losing half of herself. This caused her to become more reckless in her ongoing pursuit to save the planet. She joined up with PETA, because at the time, she thought that they were doing good. She didn’t see passed the constant chants of saving the animals that she held so close to her heart. She became an outspoken activist. She boycotted things, broke into multi-million dollar corporations, and was involved in some shady activity in the name of animal justice. But after being arrested for the hundredth time, Amelia was starting to doubt if she was doing the right thing.
Eventually news of her father’s death reached her and she broke out of the walking nightmare that her life was becoming. She knew immediately that Arabella would need her. So she tried to find her sister. But instead she found an annoyed best friend and a broken engagement. Still she looked, but to no avail. She travelled back to Pangaea, the town that she had grown up in, and resolved to wait, knowing that her sister would show up eventually.
Whilst in town, Amelia set up an animal rescue and veterinary clinic. She wasn’t a vet at first, but after a few years of night school she finally got her qualification. She works to re-home abused and forgotten animals. She’s become a pillar in her community, her days of rebellion almost forgotten except by a select few.
Personality
Amelia is very level-headed, much like her sister. She does, however, have a bit of a rebel streak. She is very invested in wildlife, only practicing sustainable hunting techniques on her days off. She will often be found patrolling the reserves, even on her days off. She is very committed to her job. She is also committed to saving the environment and has been caught a few times breaking into factories that do not have sustainable policies.
courage spills from his lips at that, had she not asked what he’d wanted perhaps he would not have been able to admit outloud—- he’d already gotten to the point of it being some big feat, just uttering the question ‘ do you wanna have sex? ‘ it’s not like him to be shy about it then again most of the women he’d been with had been strippers, who know how to produce an opened communication, he’d become a non-paying client just because he’d been favored among them. but this was logan creed, this wasn’t just any dominant, this was his boss, one who almost mirrored in reputation, a woman who he could see himself getting in deep with. still uncertain if it were something positive or negative perhaps a happy medium of both.
a soft smile rests upon his lips, index tap lightly on the side of her waist, there is an admiration in the way she seems to fit just right in the slot of his hands, just the perfect amount of space. he gives her hips a squeeze as the words pass through her lips. malachite hues blink gently, slowly to her. his head adjusts, gaze moving from her beautiful face down as her hands travel down across the expanse of his chest, he knew right away where they were headed. his chest responded before his mind or mouth did, jerking at the touch. the smile still remains upon his lips, pearly whites sinking into his bottom lip with a soft mewl. it’s a chide that he brings himself to, at how easily he folds at that very specific zone stimulation.
what keeps you from it? he wants to say, wants to somehow find a way to speak the words, but they just sit there upon the tip of his tongue. castor figures he’d learn eventually or there was some purpose to it, to the extended pause between them. both just trapped within a ever-growing comfortable silence. his back pressed to the wall, he exhales, their pelvises press together and he urged himself to remain still but he can’t—- he couldn’t and his hips roll into hers, mostly when her ruby red lips made their way to his ear and filthy words drip from her. prove to her he was a good boy, and if that didn’t melt his insides, he didn’t know what would ; it did. his eyelids flutter and he really doesn’t have time to respond properly before the hand moves atop his head and guides him down.
willingly he drops to his knees, and quickly he removes the ruined shirt, no point in keeping it on— his skin goosebumps to the slightly cold air of the space in contrast to the desert heat just outside the building, tossing the material over his shoulder. still his head remained, so close to her arousal, it was like being intoxicated. his calloused hands go back to the smooth skin of her legs, starting at her knee, sliding them up hiking her skirt up. his hands reach up, one places atop her lower belly while the other brings his thumb to her clit, rubbing over it gently. it was by that time, his mouth salivated, the hand not steady on her belly moves, spreads her, and his tongue presses out, circles around her clit, before dipping, down into her, then back up, lips encompass that bundle of nerves and he sucks very gently, humming contently, letting it vibrate against her.
Her fingers threaded their way through his soft hair as she took a sharp breath of air.
Fuck.
The thousands of nerves that bundled in her clit were causing her juices to swell up inside her. She rolled her hips against his mouth as she pressed her back against the wall, needing the concrete support. How was it that a man could nearly bring her to her knees? Logan would never know.
“Oh yes. You’re a very good boy.” She encouraged, moaning as his tongue licked her folds. Had it been that long since she had her own needs met?
“Right there. Just like that.” Logan cried, fisting his hair and pressing his head deeper into her pussy. With her other hand she took his own and placed it over her breast. Her senses were running at a million miles a second.
She wanted more.
No, needed more.
Hooking a leg over his shoulder, she allowed the sensations he gave her to take over her body.
“Marsh, I’m so fucking close baby.” She stated with closed eyes. “Be a good boy and make me cum.”
“To family feuds that won’t quit,” he toasted along with her, raising his glass and taking a slow sip. He set his glass down and rolled his shoulder idly.
“You know, I thought the same thing myself?” he said, looking down at his glass, then back up to her and smirking. “But some people simply don’t know what they’re gettin’ into. I appreciate your cooperation in settling this affair,” he said. The last thing either family needed was for unfounded lies to result in one or more pointless deaths. He had never been one for small talk, but he wasn’t in a particular rush for Logan to leave. She hadn’t been completely insufferable this time. And come to think of it, neither had he. At least not yet.
“Pray tell, Ryan. You know exactly what you’re getting into? At all times?” Logan asked with an arched brow. She took a sip of her drink, feeling it burn her system. She wasn’t alluding to the fact that she knew two siblings out of the three she watched might’ve been sleeping with the enemy. Not at all.
“Because if you did, you’d know how dangerous is it to keep a woman waiting.”
She answers both seriously and not—been cheeky for the sake of it, which earns a grin from Chase, even though the suggestion about the blood on her suit is a dark one, when he thinks about it. But after three years, he’s used to comments like that—he knows about what goes on within these families, and all their henchman, and he’s at the very least acclimatized to the dark sense of humour that goes with it. It’s just the actual… witnessing of murder or involvement in it that he’d… prefer to take the back seat in. Or you know, not get in the car at all.
When she leans forward, he can smell the delicate spice of a perfume—possibly on her clothes left over from another night, or fresh from this morning—hard to tell, but either way, it has him leaning in too. Just a touch. Though that could just as easily be credited to his instinct to follow her lead—where she does, he will too, especially if it lands him closer to her. A brush away from the fall of her self-assured hand.
He mirrors her smirk, and at her comment, he chuckles a little, fingers coming up to tug into his hair, push fringe away from his face. “Erm, well—fer you miss, anythin’. But I’m assumin’ that you got lots a blokes trained in that kinda stuff who would do a far better job than lil ol’ me. I’d be worried ‘bout blowin’ yer cover.” Her comment is a tease, and so he teases back, but there’s truth in his words. And a little part of him prays she never asks, because he couldn’t disobey—but he also doesn’t know that he could do it, much less that he’d want to. And then, what they? Would she fire him? Kill him? He’s an escort, not a thug—he does what he does best. But he wouldn’t want to disappoint her, either.
“I’m going to need you to sleep with someone. Not yet.” Logan stated as she traced a finger on her martini glass. “I need information and I’m hardly one to do my own dirty work when it comes to digging around.”
“I ain’t lookin’ to scare you or threaten you. Just informing you. I know you’re a fixer. I’ve asked my men. They’ve all denied it. If it turns out to have been one of ‘em, we’ll turn ‘em in. Otherwise, figure out where that little lamb went and we can all move on, Lo. It’s that
“That, or I’m really good at poker,” he said, flicking his brows up. Logan didn’t know all the cards Ryan held in his hand, but he wouldn’t give her any reason to suspect anything. “Let’s not pretend your lot hasn’t tried to off me before, Creed.”
“Well then here’s to a family feud that just won’t quit then.” Logan raised her glass to dry toast their upbringings.
“I thought accusations were archaic but killing someone just because they thought you were stealing our lot?” She feigned shock as though it ran through her veins. “Well now that's simply stupid. Trust that I’ll have everything sorted out, Ryan. And if they still come badgering at your door, they’re just one bullet away from dead. Sound fair?”
a frown seems to etch its way upon his lips, at the hiss she produces, there is much sympathy in his eyes— but also disdain, that she’d let herself bleed out or potentially get an infection because she was too proud to completely admit when she needed help, needing that extra push. she’d come to him hadn’t she, some small inkling of a desire to be taken care of, to register when she needed help whether she admitted it outloud or not. and to his dismay she’d denied it but he hadn’t let her give him a negative answer, he’d pushed his way right into it. the pain it strikes in him is unnerving— he hadn’t felt this way outwardly, this strongly, the urge to protect. sure, he felt it with the kings, but he couldn’t…. it wasn’t the same or he didn’t consider it the same. logan creed was a different kind of person to him, a different dynamic. while things with ezekiel were just as complicated, there was no confusion about his emotions, about any of it. personal and professional attitudes were able to be kept separate, here and now, he couldn’t not when she was hurting ; he wasn’t causing it in fact he was helping it, but its in the way he has to create a sting in order to get it better.
he’d seen men and women hurt, seen them got shot right before him— hell he’d even shot a few, but nothing would’ve prepared him for this. it wasn’t that he didn’t know what was happening, in fact, he did know he just didn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t think any time soon he ever will…. nor would she, she went straight to him and if that didn’t tell him anything, what would? somehow he cared about logan, cared about this person before him that so many believed to be heartless, a wicked snake in the garden of eden, and she was, her reputation proceeded her, but there was another part. one he’s experiencing firsthand now, as he had a few other times before perhaps a little too subtle.
castor scoffs, rather playfully for the way he’d snapped beforehand, “there are other people besides doctors who do that,” he doesn’t know why he’d been so callous about divulging ; they knew his mother died, but not how, it was his turn to feel rather vulnerable. he took great pride in making sure most of his personal issues and health were kept on the backburner, they tended to bring red to his vision. “and c’mon with our line of quote unquote work, i’m sure you’ve delivered your fair share of bad news.” he’s trying to rationalize it, he didn’t want her to get hurt, but it was part of the job. he didn’t want to let her know when he got hurt, no one ever died. it was a sign of weakness, or so that was the general consensus. but it’s then that he goes quiet, concentrates on the task before him.
the needle goes in through part of the skin and out the other side, he winced himself every time more blood pooled out, wiping it away every once in a while with another towel, “thanks,” there was nothing he could really say to that, nothing else felt appropriate, she was complimenting him, softly, outside the bedroom, outside of following up an act of violence or a job well done. no this was pure, raw. he didn’t know how to take it. however, she follows up with something that should’ve brought an amusement to his gaze, to his features, but instead it’s only a small smile, “nah, not hapless victims, just myself. heh, it’s a lot easier on someone else.” he’s thinking back to it, to the first time, he remembers because it was with norah, even before things were complicated, where this was an accident or so he chooses to keep in his mind as such. he pulls the last of it through, before using his teeth to cut the thread. a fresh new bandage is taken from the first aid kit and placed upon the wound, “hold that there,” when her grip was on it, he took the surgical tape and taped it down with a gentle cover of the expanse of it with his calloused hand before leaning up to place a kiss just above the bandage, impulsively placed. “there, don’t pop it this time.”
“It never seemed like bad news.” Logan shrugged, wincing at the needle. “Yes, of course, in our line of work I’ve knocked on plenty of doors way back when. But it felt like part of the job. You knew exactly what you were signing up for the minute you accepted any part of the King deal. So...” She paused, wondering where this admission was coming from but also wondering if it made her more or less of a monster. Not that it mattered to the woman in the first place.
“...So when I had to face a hopeful mother and tell her that her daughter wasn’t coming home or an expecting wife that her husband was in the hospital, I never saw it as bad news. I just saw it as the ultimate sacrifice for the some greater good that we’re all bound to.” She sighed as the faces flooded through her mind like a broken dam.
“Maybe that makes me a bad person but heaven never had a place for me to begin with.”
The kiss on her wound sent shivers down her spine. Unexpected. Sweet? It caused her belly to tighten as she’d never been so close to anyone. It was like Castor was taking her oxygen and robbing all her senses with it. Logan couldn’t quite describe what this emotion was. Was it even a feeling? What she had with Castor it was just sex. Wasn’t it? Still she couldn’t deny the reality of how something so small, a kiss on her wound, could make her feel so addicted to his touch.
“Thank you.” She stated, wrapping her arms around her body. Suddenly feeling the cool air hug her almost nude top. “Do you think I could take a quick shower here?” Logan asked with a slight red tint creeping to her cheeks. “And maybe borrow some clothes?” Her cerulean hues shifted to the torn up, bloodied blouse on the floor.
“I’d like to at least look human when I leave here since I certainly don’t feel it at the moment.” She mumbled the last part. There was a foreign feeling her. Something about Castor made her feel almost normal. He made her feel like she wasn’t capable of putting a bullet through someone’s skull. While infuriating, it also made Logan feel... Human again.
“I am that transparent, huh?” Ronan let a breathy laugh and nudgedLogan’s drink slightly as he slumped in his chair. “And what do you see?”
“I see...” Logan reached a hand up to cup the Mackenna’s cheek. Her thumb pad brushing under his eye with ever so slight pressure. “I see a man who’s willing to lay his life down for all the wrong people. And that, Ronan, will your greatest downfall.” She took her hand off his face, leaving the intimacy behind.
They ought to have adoctor on call. This couldn’t go on longer. Logan shouldn’t be bleeding likethat. And Rory shouldn’t be the one to fix here. And yet, here she was,agreeing it. “Jesus. Of course. We need to clean it first, at least a little.Let’s just hope you don’t bleed yourself into a coma before.” It wasn’t the first wound she would tend to, the joys of being a King.
“At least if I were comatose, I wouldn’t have to deal with your idiot brothers.” Logan stated through clenched teeth. “Come on.” She took the woman’s arm and dragged her to the bathroom. “These places usually have a first aid kit somewhere... Oh, fuck... Aurora. You need to find me a needle and thread. Get the barkeep to give you a bottle of vodka too.”
“Apparently, a prostitute’s come up missin’, and everyone’s first instinct is to blame me for it. I’ve already said what I have to on the matter, and I don’t wanna keep talkin’ about it,” Ryan said. “Any more accusations come at me, then you’ll have real problems on your hands,” he said simply.
Ryan took the martini, graciously dipping his head in a slight nod of thanks, then brought it to his lips. He cocked a brow when the woman mentioned that a queen on a king’s board was the most powerful piece.
“Is that so? There ain’t a Queen piece on my board. There ain’t gonna be, either. So I suppose I hold all the power, hm?”
“Oh. How adorable, Ry.” Logan chided with a tilt in her head. “It’s as though you believe your words frighten me.” She leaned forward with a smirk, the blonde vixen always getting her way. “There was never a problem I couldn’t fix. That’s a promise.”
A delicate finger traced the rim of her martini. “Power is subjective. Besides if you held it all then you’d be dead.” She shrugged, taking a sip as she felt the alcohol burn her throat. “Truth is, we hunt down those in power. Since you’re still breathing it’s simply a proven that you don’t hold everything in your hand, Mackenna.”
Ronan bit his lip, stiffling a laugh, he followed Logan as the woman ordered a drink, leering shamelessly over the endless lines of her body. Those obscenely long legs that had half Vegas daring to gamble their good health. “Been thinking a lot about my dick, have you?” He took the drink, inching forward making their conversation a touch too private. “Isn’t that particular trait a vice to all men? Thinking with our dicks more than we do with our heads?”
“It’ll be the downfall of you all. Even though you essentially have two heads on your body...” Logan looked down, referring to that on his cock. “You all still act as though you didn’t have any.” She shrugged, “But even I can see right through you, Ro.”
It was coincidental. Without the actual, physical gun Cassidy had no case. The charges would be thrown out before he could even dream of make them stick. Which was why Logan was sitting opposite of him instead of rotting in a jail cell where she belonged. “How unfortunate,” he drawled lazily as his gaze cut across the table into hers. “Perhaps you should keep your loaded gun in a safer place, Miss. Like, say, strapped to your thigh?”
He chuckled at the thought of Logan Creed running around Vegas without protection. The woman didn’t need a gun to strike fear into most men.
His mouth quirked up at the corners at her question. “To be a woman running around Vegas without any means of protection?” he mused. “Can’t say I do.”
“What a great idea. I’ll invest in a cute garter belt to match.” Logan teased. She flashed him a smile and momentarily wondered if he knew that’s exactly where she kept her weapon. “But it’s so much easier not carry. That way hardworking, good cops like yourself don’t waste your time on someone like me.”
“It’s a shame.” She leaned forward as though to tell a secret between the two fo them. “It’s a dangerous world out there for someone like me. But hey, don’t we all like to live a little on the edge?”
