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lxndonorris · 9 months

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late night feeling - Logan Sargeant

Y/N x Logan Sargeant Theme: A mix between Angst/Fluff Logan calls you in the middle of the night because he can't sleep and you comfort him x word count: 950+

The sun is long gone on this rainy Friday night when you find yourself lying in bed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. You're feeling a little lonely without your boyfriend, Logan. You've been together for half a year now, and it's hard to be separated from him for too long. As a professional athlete, he travels around the world almost every two weeks, and sadly, you can't join him for every race. Even though he keeps you updated throughout the whole weekend, it is not the same as experiencing the race weekend with him and his team.

Letting out a soft sigh, you scroll through Instagram, seeing a few pictures of Logan with other drivers, when suddenly your phone goes dark. At first, you think the battery has died, but then a picture of you and Logan pops up. In fact, he is requesting a video call with you.

Sleepily, you accept it, and the screen goes dark again. Just then, the speaker comes alive, and you hear someone lying down on what sounds like a bed before the camera moves and you see Logan.

"Hey, babé." He says, and his voice sounds a little rougher than usual. Logan runs a hand across his face and through his hair as a shy smile forms in the corner of his lips.

"Logan? Is something wrong?" You steady the phone against a few pillows so you don't have to hold it the whole time. It is unusual for him to call you that late at night, and you're kind of worried. He looks fine, lying on his back with one hand resting on his bare chest while the other is holding his phone in front of him.

"No, no. Everything is fine." He growls and shakes his head as he starts to stroke his chest slowly, something he'd do as some sort of self-soothing gesture. "I just couldn't sleep." Logan forces a weak smile, and you can tell he means it. His eyes are sleepy, and his hair is messy. You can tell he's been turning around in bed too much.

"What is wrong, hun?" You say that, sitting up and leaning your back against the wall, before you pick up the phone as well. Pulling the blanket toward you to cover your feet, you notice his expression softening slightly.

"I think..." He stops himself and lets out a short, audible sigh. "I miss you." Logan's hand runs across his chest before he turns to his side to be more comfortable.

"Logan..." You breathe deeply, and the urge to move in and hug him grows bigger and bigger. Again, he forces a weak smile, hoping you won't worry about him.

"It's so weird to be in bed without you." He says his voice is now even rougher than before. You both pout at the same time, causing the two of you to chuckle before you sigh this time.

"I know, Logan." You say, running a hand through your hair. "I have the same problem." Shrugging, you lie down as well. Now it feels like you're lying side by side, even though you're miles apart.

"That's better, isn't it?" He says comfortingly, moving a little closer toward the camera, causing you to chuckle. "I wish you could be here." Logan pouts again, struggling to keep his eyes open. His whole body is tired and exhausted, but something is keeping him from sleeping.

"Me too." You say this, running a finger along your screen as if caressing his cheek. For a moment, the two of you just watch each other, smiling weakly. "Tell me about your day." You say it curiously.

This sparks joy that spreads across his entire face. Logan tells you about the training sessions, his media duty with his teammate Alex, and how good the car felt on track. You listen to him, hanging on every word. You're trying to distract him from feeling lonely, and to be fair, you're distracting yourself just as much.

"You're getting used to that car, aren't you?" You say it proudly, and he immediately nods encouragingly. His whole demeanor changed just by telling you about his day, which makes you smile warmly.

"It feels better know." Logan smiles in agreement. "I just wish it was a little faster." He can't help but giggle to himself as he shrugs. Of course, any driver would love to drive fast cars, win races, and stand on that podium.

"You'll get there, hun." You say comfortingly as he subconsciously strokes his chest again. He's a little nervous, but he tries to play it down.

"I hope so." Logan chuckles and slowly moves his body, burying himself inside a huge pillow. "I'm feeling a little better now." He speaks warmly.

"Me too." You smile shyly, holding back a yawn. "Damn. It's nearly two a.m." A little shocked, you watch him rub his forehead before he yawns as well. "We really should be sleeping." You chuckle, and he does the same.

"We should." Logan replies, picking up his phone again as he turns around to lie on his back again. "Thank you..." He growls, blushing slightly. "I needed that." Yawning again, he exhales deeply.

"I did too." Nodding in agreement, you pick up the phone as well. "I love you, Logan." You say softly as he moves his camera closer to his face again.

"I love you too." He purrs happily. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?" Logan smiles contently, and you nod. "Okay, good night," he says.

"Good night, hun." You say lovingly and end the call. Taking a deep breath, you put the phone aside. You're way too tired now to stay awake any longer, so it doesn't take too much time until you fall asleep.

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #Logan sargeant x you #Logan sargeant x y/n #Logan sargeant fanfic #Logan sargeant fanfiction #Logan sargeant blurb #Logan sargeant one shot

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is-it-art-tho · 3 years

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Excerpt: When Jason turned back, he found two steady streams of tears running down Damian’s face, dripping from his chin. He had never seen the kid cry before.

As Jason slipped in through the window, a shadow moving through the night, a chill swept in behind him, and the form in the bed groaned and shifted in response.

He cringed, closing the window and navigating his way to a chair. And he'd all but sat down when a low voice from just behind him said, “Taken.”

Jason choked back a full-throated scream, wrangling it into a string of curses as he staggered backwards and squinted into the low light.

Bruce leaned forward in the chair so that his face was illuminated beside the window, his eyes as tired as ever, hair mussed and flattened on one side in a way that made Jason suspect he’d been sleeping he might’ve just been sleeping.

“Didn’t know you were here,” the younger man, hating how he felt himself shrinking, making himself smaller in Bruce’s presence. He made a conscious effort to lift his chin, square his shoulders. “I’ll just go.”

“Wait. Don’t.” Bruce rose, so stiff Jason could practically hear his joints creaking. “I’ve been here for”—he checked his watch—“I don’t even know how long.”

“Better things to do?”

Though Bruce’s face was once again in shadow, Jason could still feel his resignation and frustration rippling in the silence and heightened by sheer exhaustion.

“If you can’t or won’t stay,” Bruce said flatly, “it’s fine. I can figure something else out.”

“I’m sure you could. But don’t even worry about it.” Jason marched to the chair, forcing Bruce to sidestep out of his way as he practically threw himself into the seat. “Unlike you, I tend to find a way to squeeze family into my schedule.”

In the darkness, only the whites of Bruce’s eyes were visible, peering down at Jason and looking strikingly like the lenses of the cowl. To anyone else, this might have felt eerie, almost menacing.

To Jason, it felt like a Tuesday.

“Go. Run along to wherever it is you go at times like these," Jason said, wagging his fingers in a shoo motion. "We’ll be here when you decide to start caring again.”

Bruce left without another word, closing the door behind him just a tad softer than necessary. It was an overcorrection, a conscious effort not to slam it. And that’s how Jason knew he had gotten to him.

He always got to him.

Several minutes after Jason had begun scrolling through his phone, halfway between sleep and consciousness, the trill of a heart monitor caught his attention.

He looked up. Damian was still asleep, but the machine he was attached to was going crazy, spiking as if he were in a dead sprint. Jason rose to get a closer look and found Damian drenched in sweat and panting, his face contorted in terror.

“Hey,” Jason whispered, placing a hand on his narrow chest and shaking him. “Hey, whoa. Damian. Damian, calm down.”

The kid gasped, his eyes flying open and darting around the room as if still seeing the ghost of whatever nightmare he had been trapped in.

Jason waited for his gaze to finally find him before asking, “They gone?”

Damian looked around the room again, a quick check of all the shadows and dark corners, before offering a quick nod.

“Good.”

Damian sucked in a shaky breath as he adjusted himself on the pillows so that he was sitting mostly upright, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how small he looked with his massive t-shirt hanging like drapes from his shoulders. It must have been one of Bruce’s.

“If you need more sedatives—" Jason began, reaching for the pill bottle, but Damian stopped him with a curt,

“Don’t.” His voice was somewhat frail despite how hard Jason knew he was likely working to sound indifferent. ”Where is Father?”

“Had some stuff to take care of,” Jason answered, finding a closer chair to pull up to the side of the bed.

“Hm.” Damian wasn’t looking at him, instead restlessly adjusting the sheets on the bed. The heart monitor’s incessant trilling was the ultimate betrayal of his forced calm—a canary in the coal mine.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” the older boy added a little lamely.

“Only if he’s as idiotic as all the others.” At Jason’s confused frown, Damian continued, “I’m not some child who needs to be looked after at all hours. And it’s an insult for them to act as if I am. Not to mention a waste of time and resources.”

Jason leaned back in the plush seat, already exhausted by the direction of the conversation. “Time and resources?”

“If they’re babysitting me here that means they’re not out there doing something useful. The world doesn’t stop needing Batman and all the others simply because I’m temporarily incapacitated.”

“Right,” Jason sighed. “But here’s the thing: I get the whole ‘I don’t need help from anyone’ thing. I practically invented it. But I’ve also been on the receiving end of fear toxin, and that stuff is no joke. Especially if you have to deal with it solo. There’s no shame in needing a little backup.”

“Perhaps it is difficult for you, but I’m fine. I’ve trained for this.”

“You’ve trained to be trapped alone with your worst nightmares? What the hell kind of training—”

Damian leveled an outright bone-chilling stare on him, and the following silence was as much an explanation as it was a warning.

Jason cleared his throat. “Well, then let me put it this way: just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you have to. Gotham won’t fall just because a couple bats take a few days off to look after one of their own.”

“You—” And whatever Damian was about to say—and Jason was sure it was going to be insulting—shriveled in a quick gasp as the boy’s eyes flicked just over Jason’s shoulder. The heart monitor picked back up again, and Jason watched as Damian struggled to control his breathing, trembling hands clutching at the sheets.

“Where?” Jason asked quietly.

“By the door…”

The older boy turned to scan the dark walls, the corner, the dresser. He saw nothing.

“Make it go away,” Damian begged. “Please…”

When Jason turned back, he found two steady streams of tears running down Damian’s face, dripping from his chin. He had never seen the kid cry before.

“Damian,” he began, but the younger boy was screaming now, railing against whatever specter was lurking in shadows.

“You’re lying!” he wailed, starting to get up. Jason leapt out of his chair and pinned Damian’s small shoulders to the bed as the kid continued to scream at something—or someone—over Jason’s shoulder. “You’re lying! You’re lying! I’ll kill you!”

“It’s not real!” Jason shouted back, knowing that this wouldn’t work. It never did. “There’s nothing there! Just look at me! Look at me!”

But even as Jason forced himself directly into Damian’s eye-line, he could see that the kid was looking through him, seeing and unseeing at the same time. The boy was inconsolable now, weeping and screaming at the top of his lungs in a language Jason didn’t even recognize.

He continued to thrash against the older boy’s grip, much stronger than the average kid his age but still no match for Jason’s mass, until slowly he started to come back down. Whether the episode was passing, or he had simply exhausted himself, Jason couldn’t be sure, but after a few minutes the heart monitor started to settle back into a less agitated rhythm, and Damian managed to find and focus on Jason’s eyes again.

“They gone?” Jason asked, his hands still gripping Damian’s shoulders.

“Please,” he whispered, his eyes never straying from the older boy’s, “don’t make me look.”

“I won’t. You don’t have to look anywhere but this handsome mug, alright? I’m right here. All night if you want.”

Damian nodded, and Jason could see how hard he was trying not to look anywhere else in the room. He could see how petrified this kid was and how tired he was and God since when was this little brat so young?

“Move over,” Jason ordered softly, and to his surprise Damian obeyed and watched without protest as the older boy shed his boots and jacket and climbed into the massive bed with him.

Jason lifted his arm and pulled Damian into his side, gently guiding his face so that it was buried in his shirt to physically block out the rest of the world. He felt Damian shove his face even deeper into Jason’s ribs, and a moment later he felt Damian’s shoulders quivering again, little hiccupping breaths against his side.

“I can still see it,” he whispered.

“I know.” Jason squeezed him harder, glaring around the room and wishing for something to beat the crap out of. He would suck up a couple lungfuls of fear toxin himself right now if it meant he’d be able to stand between Damian and whatever it was that was tormenting him. “But I’ve got you.”

“Thank you, Father,” Damian mumbled, sounding already mostly asleep.

Jason tensed, but forced himself to breathe through it. And when the door finally cracked open nearly an hour later, spilling light into the room, they were in much the same position, Jason having been too scared to move a muscle even after his shoulder had begun to cramp up.

Bruce poked his head in and hesitated.

“It’s alright,” Jason assured him. “You won’t wake him up.”

The older man entered, a silhouette gliding noiselessly across the floor. “I’m sorry for being away for so long. There were some…complications. But we’ve got a promising lead on a new anti-toxin formula. It should help.”

Jason nodded. “I figured Scarecrow must have cooked up something new. I’ve never seen it linger like this before.”

“Hn.” He leaned across Jason to glide his fingers along Damian’s brow and gently cup his cheek. Jason wondered if Bruce could see the dried tear tracks there. “How was he?”

“About how you’d expect. He’s strong, though. Maybe too strong for his own good.”

Bruce chuckled, a quick exhale through his nose, before pulling away. “I can take over from here if you want to go.”

Jason looked at Damian still curled into his side then back at Bruce. Suddenly, he was grateful not to be the one hooked up to the heart monitor. “Actually, think I might hang around for a little while longer. If you’re okay with that.”

Bruce blinked. “Of course. Absolutely.” And taking the seat Jason had moved near the bed, he added, “I always have time for you, by the way. All of you. There’s never anything more important.”

“I know.” And though there were many memories Jason could use to poke holes in this notion, for now at least, he decided not to. Because deep down, he knew how desperately they both wanted it to be true.

And maybe tonight that could be enough.

#batman fanfic #damian wayne #damian wayne whump #jason todd #bruce wayne #batman fanfiction #batfam fanfiction #batfam fanfic #at least for tonight #whump #mild hurt/comfort

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albertasunrise · 3 years

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No More - Chapter 5

Summary: Frankie has been your best friend since you were in the 2nd grade. You were each other’s first’s, he, your first love and as you’d both gotten older you always somehow fell into bed together after one too many drinks with the boys. You don’t know how much longer you can keep this up but fate has other plans for you both and events are set in motion to decide for you.

Warnings: Angst, Unprotected Sex, Oral (F) 18+

Pairings: Frankie/ Reader

Your heart had been thundering in your chest when you when went to settle Emma down again. You couldn’t believe that you and Frankie had almost kissed. You couldn’t fall into that habit again, it wasn’t good for you and it wouldn’t be good for Emma. You started to wonder if staying really was a good idea. That maybe you should take Emma home but then you cast your mind back to why you were here in the first place. Frankie wants to help more with Emma but he also knew your anxiety about leaving her and so he’d done so much to accommodate you so that he could get more time with his baby girl.

You’d managed to get Emma settled again and made your way back downstairs, nerves bubbling in your stomach at the idea of facing him after that. Your nerves quickly disappeared when you found him asleep, his hat lying haphazardly on the ground from where it had fallen from his head. You smile at the sight and walk up behind him, gently shaking him on the shoulder.

‘Come one Frank let's go to bed.’ You say sweetly and he grumbles a little before cracking his eyes open and smiling at you.

‘At least buy me dinner first.’ He jokes and you can’t help but giggle at that.

‘Separate beds Perv.’ You joke ‘See you in the morning, Frankie.’ You finish as you turn and head back upstairs.

‘See you in the morning caríno.’ He whispers under his breath, watching as you slip away.

He barely slept that night. Emma went the rest of the night without stirring and he was delighted when he stepped into her room the next morning that he finds her laying there smiling up at him. Scooping her into his arms, he lays a sweet kiss on the top of her head before taking her downstairs to start breakfast. He warmed her bottle as she squealed and squeaked on the floor of her pen, throwing her soft toys around in delight. Whilst he waited for her bottle to finish he pulled out the fresh fruit he bought for today along with some yoghurt. He turned on the oven and grabbed the part-baked pastries he'd tracked down in his local store, knowing you’d appreciate a maple pecan with your coffee this morning. The ding of the warmer sounded and he grabbed the bottle from the machine before heading over to Emma’s pen and picking her up, sitting himself down on the couch as she started to suckle at it with eagerness.

‘Goodness you're hungry this morning Hermosa.’ He chuckles as her legs kick and her eyes grow comically wild, draining the bottle in no time at all.

When she’s done he throws a towel over his shoulder to burp her as he fires up the coffee machine and pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. He surprises himself how quickly he falls into a natural routine with Emma, easily tending to her whilst doing the other bits he needed to do. When she was sorted he quickly changed her diaper and placed her back in her pen, one eye always trained on her whilst he sorts breakfast.

‘It smells freaking amazing in here.’ You say as you rub your tired eyes.

Emma squeals in delight when she sees you and her hands start to grab at you as you scoop her up to bid her good morning.

‘Have you and daddy had a nice morning so far?’ You ask sweetly, noticing the empty bottle on the side.

‘She’s been fed, burped and changed so I’d say her day’s started off well.’ He replies, smiling as you carry her towards him ‘Can’t say the same for your bears though hey Bean?’

Frankie serves up breakfast whilst you swoon over your daughter but it doesn't escape your notice of how natural this all feels. You’d never expected that you’d have a baby with your childhood best friend but a part of you was glad that you had. He knew you in ways no one else could. Had seen you at your most vulnerable and held you up through some of the toughest times of your life and you’d done the same for him. Yet you were in love with him and he was not in love with you so you had to focus on Emma, on the thing that had made your life so full for the first time in so long. You could not let yourself be swept up by him again. You had a baby together, that was it, nothing more and that’s all it would ever be. You just needed to accept that.

‘So I thought maybe I’d go out and do some food shopping today.’ You state, watching Emma out the corner of your eye as you munch on your maple pecan.

‘Oh okay.’ Frankie answers, unable to hide that he was a little dejected by that.

‘Emma’s always very fussy at the supermarket. Hates sitting in the trolly.’ You pause to take a sip of your coffee ‘So I thought maybe I could leave her here with you whilst I run my errands.’

The look he gives you was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. His big brown eyes start to water as he looks at you, a little unsure whether you were serious or not about leaving her.

‘Are you sure?’ He asks ‘I mean I would love nothing more than to have her but I don’t want you to feel anxious.’

‘I’m sure.’ You reply with a smile ‘How does that sound Emma? Day with daddy!.’

She lets out an excitable squeal and you both chuckle ‘I think she likes the sound of that.’

You’d be lying if you said that walking out of that door and leaving Emma behind wasn't the hardest thing you’d had to do since becoming a mum. The look on Frankie’s face as he held her in his arms to say goodbye had made that all worth it. After a while, you found that actually, it was a lot easier to do what you needed to do without a 4-month-old. As you browsed through the isles of the supermarket you were able to focus on what you needed rather than what Emma was doing and you found yourself feeling a little guilty for enjoying your time without her.

‘Hey.’ Came a familiar voice and you turn your head to see Brad smiling back at you.

‘Oh my god, Brad! Hi.’ You say as you pull him into a friendly hug ‘How have you been?’

‘Good actually.’ He replies ‘I moved back a few weeks ago.’

‘Yeah, I saw on Facebook.’ You reply, unable to stop yourself admiring how good he looked.

‘And I saw that you had a baby!’ He said, his eyes glancing to your trolly and finding it empty ‘Where is she?’

‘She’s with her dad.’ You reply ‘First outing without her.’ You giggle nervously.

‘How is Frankie?’ He asks, his eyes raking over you as he speaks.

‘Yeah, he’s good.’ You reply ‘Think he’s turned a corner in his recovery after the accident. He adores Emma too. Real natural with her. ’

‘So are you two?...’

‘Together?’ He nods and you chuckle ‘No we're not. We have a baby together but that’s it.’

‘Is it wrong to say I’m glad?’

You blush at his question, trapping your lip between your teeth ‘No.’

‘Look, how would you like to have dinner tonight? I have this really expensive beef joint that’s way too much for just one person. Maybe a night away might do you some good.’

‘I don’t know Brad I-’

‘It’s just dinner between two old friends.’ He says innocently ‘I’m sure Frank would love to have her all to himself for the night.’

You thought about it for a moment. Frankie would love to have her, you know that for a fact and what is dinner between two friends?

‘Sure okay.’ You reply, smiling at him.

‘Great I’ll text you my address.’ He says excitedly ‘Shall we say seven?’

‘Sounds great.’ You reply, grinning at him as he kisses your cheek and bids you farewell.

You finish off your shopping and head home to unpack it all. Your a little nervous about tonight. You and Brad had remained on good terms after the two of you broke up but you hadn’t seen him since graduation. Only pictures of him on social media of his travels and expensive cars. You pop up to Emma’s nursery and pack her a bag, excited to tell Frankie he can have her for the night. When you arrive back at Frankie’s house you find him and Emma on the floor, her asleep on his chest as he uses one of her stuffed toys as a pillow. His eyes crack open when he hears you enter and he smiles when you sit down on the couch across from him.

‘That doesn’t look comfortable.’

‘Well we were playing flying baby and we both got tired so-’

‘Flying baby huh?’ You chuckle.

‘She’s a pilot at heart.’

‘So listen.’ You start, smiling as you speak ‘I bumped into a friend whilst I was out and he’s invited me round for dinner tonight. I wondered if maybe you’d like Emma for the night.’

‘He?’

That wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.

‘Yeah.’ You reply ‘Brad has moved back to town and we got chatting... He asked me over. I actually enjoyed a little downtime without the baby so I thought maybe dinner with a friend would do me good.’

‘Right.’ He replies as he sits up, holding Emma against him as he gets to his feet ‘Well yeah I’d love to have her and you deserve to have a night off.’ You can tell his answer isn’t genuine but you accept it.

‘Great well everything you’ll need is in there.’ You state ‘Some bottles in the cooler. I’m off tomorrow so I’ll come and get her midmorning.’

‘Okay.’ He replies plainly, giving you a small smile ‘Have a nice evening.’

You thank him and say your goodbyes to Emma, your heart tugging a little at the idea that you’d be away from her for the whole night. Jumping back in your car you make your way home again to get ready for this evening, opting to wear a nice pair of black jeans and a smart sweater. You knew this was only dinner with a friend but you wanted to make an effort. You had finally managed to get back to your pre-baby weight and were over the moon that you could once again fit into your old clothes, the idea of buying new stuff was abhorrent to you. Brad only lived a five-minute drive from you and you could feel the nerves fluttering in your stomach as you parked up on his drive. His house was beautiful and well kept, A large Mercedes SUV sitting proudly in the drive that put your small Volvo SUV to shame. He greeted you at the door, giving you a kiss on the cheek before welcoming you inside. The smell of food filled your senses and you found your mouth watering as he guided you into a simply decorated dining room, the food already laid out and waiting.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were allowed to drink so I bought some non-alcoholic beverages.’ He chuckles ‘I have no idea what this wine will taste like.’

‘Thank you.’ You reply ‘That’s really thoughtful. I can have a drink or two this evening though. I pump so she’s stocked up for now.’

‘Great.’ He says as he pours you a glass of red ‘Take a seat.’

The conversation flows easily over dinner. He tells you about his work and you tell him about yours. He’s travelled a lot since leaving college but never found anyone with whom he’d like to settle down with. After clearing away the food and filling up the dishwasher you settle in the lounge, curling up into his plush couch as he speaks.

‘I’d really like to meet someone now and start a family.’ He states as he takes a sip of his wine ‘I mean all my friends are settling down and having kids now and here I am. The eternal Batchelor!.’

‘I’m sure there’s a girl out there for you.’ You chuckle.

‘I think so,’ He replies, eyes locked with yours. ‘You been dating at all?’ He asks, doing nothing to hide the curiosity in his tone.

‘No.’ You reply with a laugh ‘I have a four-month-old baby that was a month premature. She’s more or less caught up now but… Well, let's just say there wasn’t a lot of time to meet people.’

‘You and Frankie haven’t thought about trying to make a go of things?’

‘He spoke about it but I know he’s only saying it because we have a baby together.’ You reply, taking another swig of your drink ‘I can’t put myself through that. I need to know that there are feelings there.’

‘That’s fair enough.’ He replies as he places his glass down on the table beside him and shuffles closer to you.

You can feel your heart start to race a little, your mouth going dry from the way he’s looking at you and suddenly you don’t know where to look.

‘So Emma was premature?’ He asks, noting your nervousness.

‘Yeah.’ You reply ‘I was in the car with Frankie when he had the accident. Brought on early labour and I had to have an emergency C-section.’

‘Shit.’ He replies, looking a little shocked at this ‘But you’re okay though right?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’ You reply with a smile ‘And I have a badass scar from the Caesarean.’ You finish with a wink.

‘I think I’d like to see that.’ He states, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he leans closer to you.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as his lips gently press against yours, soft and sweet from the wine that he’d just been drinking. You place your own glass down as he starts to deepen the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips and you moan against his mouth as you allow him entry. The kiss got hot and heavy quickly and soon you found yourselves pulling each other’s clothes off as his mouth plants hot, wet, kiss down your neck. He lays you back and admires you, fingers running over the stretch marks that still painted your skin and then along the fading scar on your belly.

‘That is a pretty badass scar.’ He states as he starts to trail kisses from your breasts down to your core ‘You’re already so wet.’ He smirks upon seeing the damp patch on your navy undies.

‘Yes.’ You moan as he places a kiss over your underwear before hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling them down.

You barely have a chance to ready yourself before he’s licking a long stripe up your slit and circling his tongue around your swollen bundle of nerves.

‘FUCK.’ You tell, hips jerking as you desperately try to get more friction.

He gets to work on your core. Eating you like a man starved as he pushes two fingers into your heat and curling them just right. As your moans get louder and your breathing quicker, he pumps harder. You can feel yourself getting closer and your grab hold of his hair as you cum against his mouth, screaming his name as he works you through it.

‘Please.’ You beg as you pull him into a sloppy kiss, the taste of yourself on his tongue just making you want him more.

In one swift movement he’s seated inside you and you moan in unison as you adjust to the feeling of his intrusion.

‘Move.’ You plead and he does, angling his hips perfectly and you soon find yourself barreling towards orgasm number two.

You scream his name as you cum again, nails digging into his muscular back as he continues to fuck you with agonising precision.

‘Sit.’ You order in his ear as you push him off of you.

You straddle him and lower yourself onto his length, grabbing his strong shoulders as you start you bounce on his lap. You can feel another one coiling deep inside your core and your bite down hard on your lip as his finger finds your clit, bringing on the most intense one yet that pulls him along with you.

‘Fuck.’ You pant as you collapse against him, chest heaving as he places kisses along your shoulder. ‘You've learned a few things.’ You chuckle, pulling back to look at him.

‘So have you.’ He replies with a wink before pulling you into another kiss ‘Fuck I came in you!’

‘I’m on the pill.’ You chuckle, kissing him again ‘We’re good.’

‘Fancy some ice cream?’

‘Definitely.’ You exclaim as you climb off of him, admiring his form as he walks off naked into the kitchen.

He comes back a few minutes later with a tub of cookie dough and two spoons, kissing you sweetly as he settles down beside you again.

‘So would you like to stay over?’ He enquires, smirking at you ‘Could try that again if you like.’

‘I would definitely like to try that again.’

You wake to two strong arms wrapped around you and you smile as you think about last night’s activities. You’d had sex twice more before heading to bed, once in the shower and once in bed before drifting off into a blissful slumber.

‘Good morning.’ Brad rumbles beside you, kissing your neck as his hand cups your sex ‘Fuck you’re so sexy in the morning.’

‘Not too bad yourself.’ You reply as you roll onto your back, kissing him sweetly.

You gasp as he pushes two thick fingers into your heat, once again curling them perfectly and he fucks you with his fingers whilst kissing you with a passion you’d not felt in a while. You cum hard around his digits before pulling him on top of you and grabbing his length.

‘Fuck me now.’ You breathe against his lips as you pump him a few times, gasping as he pushes inside you.

‘Fuck.’ He whines as he starts to thrust, a little more lazily than last night.

It's a torturous pace and you soon find yourself getting fidgety, hands grabbing his toned ass as you try to get him to go deeper.

‘Harder.’

That's all he needs to lose himself completely, grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his waist as he pounds you with newfound energy. You cum together and he collapses into your arms, gently kissing your neck as you both come down from your high.

‘Do you want to stay for breakfast?’

‘Yeah.’

Frankie was watching TV with Emma when you go to collect her. Stepping inside you announce your arrival and pop your bags down before heading into the lounge and plopping yourself down beside them.

‘How was your evening?’ He asks as he turns his head to look at you.

‘Was great.’ You reply, grinning like an idiot ‘We uh… We had a lot of fun.’

‘Looks like.’ He scoffs and you give him a confused look.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘We’ll you clearly fucked him.’ He growls.

‘What?’

‘If your neck is anything to go by, it looks like he tried to have you for dinner.’ He mumbles, standing to grab a bottle for Emma.

‘So what if we did?’

‘I thought it was just dinner between friends.’ He snaps, unable to hold back his anger.

‘We had dinner, we talked and we fooled around.’ You shrug nonchalantly 'We have history so it's not like we're strangers or anything.'

‘Was it even any good?’ He spits ‘Was a bit of a selfish lover back in school if I remember.

‘Well I fucked him 3 times last night and twice this morning so I’d say it was good.’ You snarl, venom dripping from every word.

‘You haven’t been home?’ His expression changes and the hurt starts to fall through the cracks now.

‘No.’ You say plainly and he turns his back, unable to look at you ‘Why do you even care Frankie?’ You yell as you stalk into the kitchen ‘Why does it matter to you who I fuck.’

‘Because I’m in love with you.’ He shouts, cradling a now crying Emma against his chest ‘I’m in love with you.’ He repeats, tears now streaming down his cheeks.

Chapter 6

#frankie morales #francisco morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #Frankie Morales Fanfiction #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfiction #Pedro Pascal characters #pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro pascal

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whiskeykneat · 5 years

Text

One More Saturday Night [2]

CHAPTER TWO

Smoke curls upwards from the cigarette dangling out of Joanna's mouth as she looks Gale up and down. It's near ten o'clock, long after the street lamps have clicked on, and the air outside the carhop smells of oil and grease. Gale has just gotten off his shift at the mine, he's scrubbed and scrubbed at the coal dust in the seams of his hands, but with back to back twelve hour shifts, they'll never be clean.

The letter that came this morning from the capital is burning a hole in his pocket.

He'd taken one look at it sitting forlornly on the kitchen table next to his warm dinner, and when his mother's step had creaked on the bottom stair, Gale didn't have to look past the washtub curtain to know that she'd been crying, he could hear it in her voice.

[[MORE]]

I'm going out, Ma, he'd said, but hadn't stopped her when she'd drawn him tight to her thin body for a fierce hug.

You tell Katniss, Gale. Tell her tonight, Hazelle had whispered, wiping her eyes. And give her my love.

"Katniss?" Joanna purses her red lips, sucking on the cigarette so hard he can imagine what those sinful red lips would look like wrapped around his cock, and Gale gives her a once-over of his own. "She's working. Took my shift." She brushes past him, letting him feel every inch of her pointy brassiere pressing up to his chest. "You're gonna have a hard time prying her from that dump up to Lookout Point tonight." Joanna rolls her eyes, nodding towards the parking lot, full of every warm-blooded teenager in town, as if there's nothing better to do on a Saturday night in 1964, in every house in town a television, on every radio the sound of the devil's music.

For the times they are a-changin’...

"You could come up to Lookout Point with me." Joanna's red nails lightly trail down his forearm, and goosebumps pimple along Gale's skin. She looks up at him from under her lashes, biting down on the tip of her thumb. And he considers it for a moment, he really does, but he's been down that road before: sinking down into her warm wet softness, hearing her mewl as she claws his back, begging him to empty himself inside of her, anything to fill the gaping hole inside them both.

Joanna purrs as she runs a finger up his chest, playing with his collar. "It ain't as pretty, but we can go down to the Slag Heap if you've a mind to get ham-hocked." There's no reason he should refuse her. Thom will be there, after all, and every other man on the crew. Right now, nothing sounds better than drinking so hard he can't see straight, anything except thinking about the letter in his pocket.

Gale looks down at Joanna for a moment, and he hears what she's saying to him, offering him a way out tonight, a way to forget that in two days, he’ll be on a train to his army training, where they'll put a gun in his hands and send him off to the jungle, and there will be no more Saturday nights like this one, where all he has to worry about is which pretty girl he’ll be taking home.

(All of them. None of them. Any of them except the only one he wants, the only one he's ever wanted, the one he can never have at all.)

He fingers the ribbon wrapped around his wrist, threadbare now, but once as sky blue as the bottles that hang from the chinaberry tree outside his mother’s front door -- as if it is what is keeping him tethered to this town, like a candle burning against the darkness. "Nah, not tonight."

"Well, if you want something to take the edge off, you know where to find me." Joanna pouts dramatically, one hand on her hip. She winks, then, and leaves him, a cloud of Chanel in her wake.

As if his body has a mind of its own, Gale finds himself hopping back in the truck, and bringing it around to the parking lot. The carhop is jumping tonight, hormones and energy pumping out of every sleek car, on beat with the music.

Stay… just a little bit longer…

Gale parks in the back, near the tree line, and cuts the engine. The place is full of Townies, all dressed to the nines, the boys with shaggy Beatles hair and the girls in mini skirts and beehives. In his work denim and his button down plaid shirt, Gale feels suddenly old beyond his years and out of place, as though he's peeped into a pinhole camera of an era gone by, one he never belonged to, was never a part of. These boys have never spent twelve hours down in a mining shaft, working every muscle as they lay waste to the mountain. They've never left school to become breaker boys, separating the impurities from the coal. They do not know what it's like to descend down into the darkness, day after day after day, until it is like you have never known the light.

“What would you like?” The voice, a car over, arrests him in his tracks, and Gale feels his whole body shiver with recognition.

It's the voice that's haunted his dreams since the summer of 1961, sleepy afternoons and strawberry kisses. It's the haunting melody of the piano drifting through the dusty air as he makes his way to the mine in the dawnlight, pricking memories long buried: of her in his arms, twirling around in that big, empty gazebo. That slate-tiled gazebo, with the big cupola, with lots of shady corners for stealing kisses. It was where Madge Undersee had her debutante ball, as Gale watched from the shade of the sycamore tree in his ill-fitting suit, and knew he could never be a part of her world.

He'd taken employment in the mine the very next day, and the day he'd turned eighteen he'd gone down in the pit for the first time, the memory of the girl he could never have seared forever on his heart.

•••

Gale hasn't seen Madge Undersee since the morning after the debutante ball, when he'd met her under the sycamore tree just past the edge of the sprawling gardens, where once he'd carved their initials together: M+G.

She'd been wearing white, he recalls: a frothy camisole, so fine he could see the outline of her breasts and feel the answering swell in his denim jeans, and pine green silk pajama pants that hugged her delicate curves. Gale knew that if he touched her, the silk would whisper over her skin, that she'd make a little moan in her throat, and that her lips would be velvety and plush, tasting of clouds and cream as he parted them with the tip of his tongue.

If he kissed her, he'd be unable to finish what he came to do, and that's the one thing that killed him, to take the only thing good and fine in his world, and make what lay between them something cheap.

He thought about her father, and the suitcase of money, money that could have fed his whole family for a year, and bought a new house besides, were he the kind of man who didn't have his pride, the kind of man who didn't know right from wrong. He was seventeen, but he's been a man since he was twelve, the night his father died and mantle of responsibility, of family, came to lay on his shoulders.

Madge smiled up at him, handing him a tiny teacup filled with black coffee, his big, rough working man's hand nearly engulfing her own. For a moment, he let his hand linger on hers, until her cheeks turned pink, and then he took a step back, the space between them thick with words unspoken. There was an eyelash on her cheek, he wanted to blow it off, he wanted to make a wish. But the time had passed for such foolish fancies.

My daughter is not for you, Gale Hawthorne, Mayor Undersee had said gently, the suitcase lying on the table between them like Pandora's Box, the sounds of the party drifting up from below. There was a line of coal smudged along the cuff of Gale's suit jacket, and he tugged at his sleeve, feeling the poorly constructed seams give out just a touch.

The tux belonged to Thom's pa, who was as of a mind as Gale's in that a suit was only for marrying and burying. Not fucking around at a party to impress some high class piece of tail. Gale had never wanted to deck the elderly man more in his entire life.

I wanna hold your hand, crooned Paul McCartney on the record player.

Under the ancient sycamore tree, Madge's eyes were as deep and blue as the Delft china plates in the display case at the five and dime, and the little gold flecks danced like specks of sunlight as she gazed up at him. When he spoke, tears sprung to her eyes, and her teacup fell to the roots of the tree, shattering and spilling like the sound a heart makes when it breaks beyond hope or repair.

High in the tree, a pair of mated bluebirds sang, to usher in the morning.

•••

There she is, Miss Prim and Proper, the Debutante herself: Madge Undersee. And she looks better than ever, if that's possible: golden and slender, with legs that go on forever. Gale can't help but drink every bit of her in, as if he hasn't been able to stop thinking of her since the day they parted, as if he’s never thought about walking up to the front door of her house and asking if she's home. But he heard from Katniss that Madge went up to university in Charlottesville, and he’d thought that after that, she'd never return.

He's heard a rumor that Madge got engaged, that she's marrying Seneca Crane, the son of a senator, the china already picked and the invitations sent out.

If that's the truth, why is Madge working at the carhop? She should be making her wedding trousseau. She should be shopping all over Paris with her Daddy's money, and buying French lingerie for that stuck up rich man, to lie in his big bed with the hundred count sheets, and let him taste her sweetness.

Like clouds and cream. Like strawberries.

"Fuck!" Gale presses his forehead to his hands, which are clenched on the steering wheel.

He should drive out of here right now. He should go home and get a good sleep in his own bed. He should… But he won't. And, catching himself rubbing the satin ribbon around his wrist again, he knows why.

Madge Undersee.

He's halfway out of the car already when he hears her voice again, and this time nothing can stop Gale Hawthorne from getting what he's come back for, from the one person he can't leave behind without saying goodbye.

•••

“Please, please don't.” Madge vainly bats at the hands groping her ass, and for a moment she's back in the frat house, trying to push Seneca off of her as his tongue goes down her throat and his knee forces her legs apart.

You're so frigid, Margreta. Don't be such a goddamned prude.

“You heard the lady. She said no.”

It's like she's imagining things. Gale Hawthorne. Standing between her and Cato Curlew, steel in his tone. His voice ripples with command, and Madge feels a trickle of warmth low in her belly, though she's still angry with him, after all these cold years apart.

Why is he here now, when he's stayed away for so long? Doesn't he know that she no longer needs him, that she stopped waiting for him long ago? “I don't need your help,” Madge informs Gale’s broad shoulders. “Go away.”

She can hear the sneer in Cato’s voice. “That ain't no lady.” He spits a stream of tobacco on the asphalt. “Everyone with half a brain knows that she's been spreading her legs for any Seam bastard who asks since she was sixteen.”

Gale grabs Cato by the shirt, and blood sprays against the mirror on the door. Cato comes out swinging, shaking his head like a bull before he charges at Gale. Madge screams, and they all come running, the boys laying bets, the girls huddled to the side and watching through their fingers, titillated and horrified all at once.

The two men square off on the blacktop, Cato big and square and stocky, Gale tall and broad-shouldered but with a latent strength honed from years swinging a pickaxe. Cato is bleeding from the nose, and his fists are up as he and Gale circle one another. Madge has heard the stories, Cato killed the last man he fought in a brawl, down in Wheeler.

“Don't! Stop!” She tries to dart between them, but Wheatley Mellark grabs her arm, hauling her back.

“You'll just make it worse,” he murmurs in her ear.

“Get him, Cato!” Cato’s friend Marvel cups his hands and lets out a wild yell, and Cato surges forward like he's been shot from a cannon. “Show that Seam bastard what we do to coal miners who think they can touch Town women!”

Madge is pale, she is shaking. “Stop them,” she begs Wheatley and Delly, who has appeared at her other side, a serious look on her face.

Gale and Cato circle one another on the gray, cracked asphalt, dust rising in the air.

“That's right,” Gale taunts, his voice deep and carrying. “These dirty, coal-stained hands have touched Town women… While you're at your office with your secretary, I've been plowing your girlfriends… Your wives… And your momma, Curlew.”

Cato roars, and charges Gale. Gale dodges Cato, turning and socking his fist into Cato’s jaw. Cato spits out blood, lunging for Gale, and then both men are on the asphalt, rolling over and over with the smell of heat and blood in the air.

“Stop it! Gale Hawthorne, stop it right now!” Katniss comes gliding across the pavement, but Peeta Mellark, near the edge of the crowd, catches her arm, his mouth moving in words that Madge cannot make out, even if she wanted to.

She can hear nothing except the thud of flesh on flesh, and then Gale is on top of Cato, punching and punching him, and suddenly the wail of police sirens can be heard coming down the avenue, and Madge snaps out of her coma.

“We have to go!” Madge yanks on Gale’s arm, hard, and he resists her for only a moment before snapping back into focus, his dark gray eyes gone soft as he looks at her. She doesn't want to think about what that means, not right now, not when this could all be taken away in an instant. Cato is Town, and his daddy is a rich man besides. Gale is Seam. A night in jail would be the lightest of sentences Gale could pray for.

So instead, Madge leans forward, cupping Gale’s jaw, and whispers in his ear, “Now,” and Gale, stumbling like a drunk in the dark, doesn't question her when she jumps into the truck beside him and grinds the gears, and they speed off into the night.

•••

“You're an idiot.” Madge presses the damp napkin a little too hard to Gale’s jaw, and he winces, trying to pull away. “You know that?” Her voice is low and furious, and he thinks he's never been more intrigued by her than at this very moment, all her ladylike poise gone, the air between them crackling like lightning about to strike.

“Maybe if you had stayed where you were supposed to be --” Gale growls, turning his jaw from her ministrations. “On your side of town -- Then I wouldn't have had to step in in the first place!”

“I don't see how it's any of your business where I spend my time, or who I spend it with!” Madge pushes on Gale’s chest, and he laughs darkly. “What's your problem?”

“You are! If you had just stayed in your place -- the princess in her tower -- instead of slumming it --” He’d kill any man who touched her without her permission, she has to know that.

Tears spring to the corners of her eyes, and for an instant Gale feels like a monster for wounding her, but -- You deserve this, he reminds himself. She can't know that all he wants to do is to take her in his arms and kiss her tears away. He's already made his choice.

“I…” Madge turns her face away for a moment, composing herself. He wonders if she still sings to herself in her head. He wonders why he can feel the space between their bodies so keenly, why he still wants to pull her close, to open the door they locked so long ago. “I think you should take me home.”

Gale swallows, turning his face to hers. In the moonlight, her profile would look at home stamped on an antique bronze coin, too beautiful to be anything but legendary. Wars have been fought over women like Madge Undersee, in times of old. She's everything that's wrong and right for him, and even though his heart says it's right, his mind whispers that it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

Gale leans toward Madge, who tenses, and as he wraps a finger around single golden curl, she turns her face up to him with a question in her eyes, that indent on her lower lip enchanting him as it did when he was a boy, begging to be explored by his tongue. His hand comes up, and he caresses the line of her jaw, feeling her tremble uncontrollably at his touch. “What are you so afraid of?” Gale whispers huskily, even though he knows the answer.

What he isn't expecting are the next words out of her mouth.

“I don't want Daddy to hear about…” she waves a hand to encompass their surroundings, or maybe the events that have taken place. “...this.”

“I didn't ask for his damned approval.” His laugh is rusty, as though it's been a long time since he's had anything to laugh about. “I bet Daddy approves if he's got cash in his pockets instead of coal.”

Madge reels back, as if she's been slapped. “Fuck you.” Before Gale can process what's happening, the car door slams behind her, and she runs barefoot across the dark parking lot, and straight into the Slag Heap.

“Fuck!” Gale slams his hands on the dashboard, wincing. He leaves the door swinging, and runs after her.

She's standing at the bar when Gale catches up to her, her shoulders heaving, downing a shot of something amber, the heady scent of it already purring on her skin. “What do you want?” She slams the shot glass on the bar with a hiss, and Gale grabs her by the shoulders, unsure of what he intends to do right up until this moment.

“Another shot,” the bartender drawls, and Gale slams it down, and then he's kissing Madge Undersee, his hands cupping that little heart shaped face, his thumbs stroking her jawline, the taste of her as raw and real as though it's been home all along, as if he's never known it until she's back in his arms, pliant and soft, nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue meeting hers, tasting of amber and cream and the mist that rises off the mountains in the morning.

Madge pulls back, and slaps him, hard. “You bastard.” There's a round of shocked applause, led by Joanna, who blows Gale a sultry kiss and a wink, leaning against her pool cue before lining up her shot.

But Gale isn't here for Joanna tonight. “Madge!” Gale bellows, past caring what anyone thinks. His long strides overtake her in the parking lot, and he finds her leaning against the cab of his truck, her shoulders shaking.

“Get me out of here, Gale,” Madge whispers, her voice raw.

He touches her gently, as though she is a wild doe that might startle or frighten, and she surprises him by turning around and falling into his arms, her face pressed to his chest, her heart matching the beat of his own. He lifts her tear streaked face with one finger, and then she stands on tip-toe, and they are kissing again, slow and soft and sure, as if all the time they've spent apart has been leading up to this moment.

#gadge #gale x madge #the hunger games #gale hawthorne #madge undersee

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katsukisbeatingheart · 5 years

Text

another round

you try to pick a fight and propose all in the same night.

word count: 1803

ao3!

Neon swirled in and out of focus. It reminded you of something important and unpleasant, and you were certain you’d spent the night trying to forget.

Since you couldn’t quite remember, you figured you’d won—and with that, you mentally jotted down a glowing tally mark on a scoreboard you wore on your sleeve.

Somewhere in the back, Pearl Jam played in a broken record on the juke box, and the gradual thump of the bass nearly knocked you to your feet. Inebriated as you were, you held on to that feeble consciousness and clutched at the bar stool in front of you.

You found shaky bearings, and steadied yourself with slicked palms on the laminated countertop, finding patterns and familiar faces in the hardwood. Squinting crudely at the shadows, you scrutinized each shape with all of the enmity you could muster to no avail.

You knew you were looking for something, and you knew it made you mad, but the buzz in your brain derailed your train of thought. With a frustrated huff, your scrunched nose reddened with a fury, and the clock ticked away the night.

...

The door swung open and closed and the figure that strode in with an impassive gait, drew a collection of eyes. Hands tucked into pockets of jeans sloping way too low along the waist, Katsuki slinked to the bar top, dropping into the seat furthest from people.

Which was only one chair away from a statuesque silhouette, silently enamoured with something he figured was embedded into the counter. He watched silently out of the corner of his eye wondering what this idiot could be doing—before his attention turned to the tender on the other side offering him a drink. Katsuki placed an order and waited for it to slide his way.

A few deathly still moments later and Bakugo was suddenly clutching a glass in one hand, as he rubbed the exhaustion away from his eyes with the other.

The bartender moved in on you sitting completely still, looking a little concerned.

“You alright?”

“Dumb faces in your counter. Needs fixing.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be lookin’ at yourself in it then,” Bakugo smirked to himself.

You lolled your head to face him.

“Try me, bitch,” you slurred, with as much of an incisive bite a drunken tongue could have.

His red eyes tuned into you, raising an eyebrow in slight surprise. He admired your spunk—not without noticing the headache crawling up the sides of his head.

"You really think you should be picking a fight like that?"

"Hey! You started it," you mumbled childishly. "'Sides, I could take you."

Bakugo was growing more amused now.

"That so? What makes you so sure?" He challenged.

"Met things way scarier than you."

Bakugo didn't want to think about the ominous implications of that. He furrowed his glare into the glass he twirled in his hands.

He didn't say anything.

Silence ate the space and it only took a few minutes to break.

The creaking of the doorstep caught Bakugo's attention, and he listened as three pairs of feet shuffled into the bar. They moved to make a beeline for a table on the other side of the room, and when they got close enough, Bakugo peered over his shoulder.

He took his glass in his hand and downed the rest of it, drumming his fingers along the counter with some finality before standing to go meet his friends.

...

“Hey. That person over there—at the bar—’s been sittin' super still for quite a while.”

“Do you think they’re okay?" More of a flat concerned statement than a lilted inquiry.

“Wait— Hey they’re kinda cute, don'tcha think?”

“Dare you to go talk to ‘em, Bakugo.”

The man grunted. "Tried that."

His friends went fish face—eyes popping wide and jaws dropping to the table. Bakugo had to keep from snorting; they looked like his goldfish back home.

Denki raised his glass to his lips, peering between the topsy turvy figure at the bar, and the surly one right across from him, staring in a blend of shock, confusion, and envy.

"Strike out, didja?"

"Hah? You think I'd take a shot at someone like that?" Bakugo barked, sensing a challenge to his dignity. Sero and Kirishima whooped, taking the word 'shot' as their cue to—well—take a shot.

Bakugo was too busy grumbling about how ridiculous his friends were, to notice the shock of blonde hair next to him bristle.

"Hey man, looks like they've got some company." Denki pointed with his glass, gesturing to the silhouette closing in behind you.

"And it looks like they want to be alone, though," Kirishima conjected.

Bakugo exhaled through his nose, staring straight ahead at the dartboard hanging on the wall. "Then we'll leave them alone."

Hanta eyed you warily. "I don't think that's such a good idea, man."

Bakugo looked. He wasn't good with people, but it didn't take a genius to recognize the clear way you hid and curled into yourself defensively once the stranger had your attention. He felt his pulse quicken, and the cold that ran along his skin told him enough.

He groaned loudly, slamming his glass on the wooden tabletop, and shoved back in his chair.

He stalked over with ease, trying to avoid making a scene by rushing in.

His eyes caught the way your hands pressed themselves into the figure's shoulder—like you were trying to put distance between you two.

"S-seriousl-ly, go aw—"

Only it worked too well, and suddenly you slid off the back end of your seat, tipping backward to meet the floor.

Bakugo had taken long enough strides to get to you in time, and you—not without any modicum of drunken grace—smacked into his chest. His arms locked around your midsection while you tried to find the ground with your feet.

You inevitably gave up and tipped your chin back to look at who had saved you.

Your eyes widened in hazy recognition, and you bubbled over in his hold.

"We're getting married."

"What?"

"This!" You loudly proclaimed, "is my financé."

Bakugo blinked at you wildly, looking and feeling like a deer in headlights. He hadn't exactly come up with a plan on the way over, but he was certain that hadn't crossed his mind.

"Sure. We broke up only three and a half months ago—you seriously expect me to believe some ding-dong would ask to marry you, all in that time?"

Nevertheless, he could play along.

"I'm sure as hell not marrying this dumbass," Bakugo stated.

The woozy hurt swam in your eyes, and you could feel the humiliating sneer burning into the back of your head.

"—but I'd be a fucking idiot to deny that we weren't together." His menacing glare held your ex square in the face, and Bakugo unconsciously shifted so you were pressed a little deeper into his chest.

They didn't know what to say, eyes flicking between the both of you as if what he'd said were the most scandalous thing in the world. The ex grew sheepish, obviously growing increasingly more threatened under the gaze of Bakugo Katsuki.

Not any less egotistical, though.

"What? And we can't have a little chat, then? Just like two old friends?"

"I've seen enough of what's happening here to know that's not how it's gonna be."

He didn't even wait for a response, and instead dipped to slide his arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back, as he held you to his chest once again. Bakugo strode toward the door, shoving it open with a pointed nod to the figure left balking at the bar.

...

You awoke to the soft shifting of your sheets, a handful clumped desperately in the tightness of your grip. Something vaguely sweet and not you lingered on the extra pillow next to you, the same side your fingers curled around.

You rolled up slightly in your place. The pounding headache that panged around your skull reminded you why you couldn't remember much of anything from last night.

Except...

You gasped, pulling the sheets tightly to your—still very clothed—figure. That didn't make you feel any less bare, though. Especially after who you'd run into.

A shuffle at your door ignited the already creeping fear of what could have possibly transpired last night. Without moving from your place in bed, you leaned out to look through your bedroom doorway.

The person in your living room was not the person you expected to see.

The fear was suddenly placed with confusion, which only heightened when the man hurriedly shoving on his shoes froze as he spotted you too.

"Who are you?"

The handsome stranger paused for a moment longer, as if he were trying to comprehend that you were actually speaking to him.

"I'm your boyfriend."

How blunt.

You relaxed into a crooked smile, not at all adverse to such an idea.

"Oh, yeah? And how was it that we met?"

"You tried to pick a fight with me."

This actually surprised you, and you couldn't hold back the laugh bubbling up your throat.

"Can I ask for my boyfriend's name?"

The man sniffed, nonchalantly stopping in his rush out the door. "My name's Bakugo. Katsuki."

"Katsuki," you mused. "That's a lovely name. I assume you know mine, right?"

He shifted, reaching for the wallet he fished out of your back pocket to get to your spare key. Katsuki grabbed it and flipped it to you across the room. "Had to get you home somehow."

You chewed your lip to bite back a bashful smile. Your words were just barely above a whisper, but Katsuki heard them loud and clear.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

He huffed the embarrassment away, not willing to show that he'd been staring longer than he'd meant to.

"Don't mention it."

There was a silence as Katsuki slowly began gathering his things again, aiming to smoothly escape out the door. You stopped him in his tracks though, the playful lilt in your voice bending him with your every syllable.

"You know—if you're my boyfriend and all—surely you could stick around a few more minutes?" you teased.

"Are you inviting me to bed," he grunted lowly, facing your unfaltering grin, despite the blush that exploded across your cheeks.

"I meant to cuddle or something; no offense, but I'm not ready for that, yet."

Katsuki thought for a moment, staring with a slight pout while he weighed his options.

With a very obvious 'fuck it' shrug, he kicked off his shoes and swept quickly into your room. He climbed atop your covers, grabbing you to his chest—for the fourth (and probably not the last) time in his life.

"I hope I make it a habit of picking fights with you, from here on."

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