Southern Roots Series:
Song: Why'd You Come In Here Lookin' Like That
Artist: Dolly Parton
Characters for Scenario: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
{{And before y'all come at me with your pitchforks and torches, HE IS AGED UP, so stop clutching your pearls and quit looking at me like I scandalized a nun}}
Warnings: None that I can think of other than Bakugou's usual potty mouth. Part of the scenario takes place in a bar, so there are mentions of alcohol and drinking, and cigarettes. Not sure if any of these are relevant for a warning, but I'm adding them just in case. Oh, and breakup angst, because, why not?
Notes: Tried to keep the reader GN. Concept is almost entirely from Reader’s perspective, so lots of usage of the pronoun ‘you’. Bartender calls Reader “sugar, hon, darlin’,” etc. Bartender is ‘she/her’. {Bartender is my self-insert, and no, this post was not intended to be all about her, but she is integral to the underlying story}. Uses they/them pronouns when discussing Reader. If I slipped up anywhere, politely tell me, and I’ll go back and edit.
Word Count: Bruh, I ain't got the mental capacity to count right now 🤣😭
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For @trashpotatoess.
Sloane, my love, my darlin', my dearest, my wonderful friend--I am so, so, SO sorry for the lateness of this, and doubly sorry if it’s absolute garbage, but I sincerely hope you enjoy your requested scenario. 💙
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Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that?
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The bass of whatever song is croaking through the speakers is doing nothing to help the ache that’s been building up in your head for the last few days. Between that and the seemingly never-ending hangover, your brain was constantly pounding against your skull.
It’s been three months. Three months of tears, anger, denial, depression, alcohol, and mornings where you struggled to get out of bed. Three months of staring at the cracked screen of your phone, hoping for a notification from him. You had thrown it at your bedroom wall in a fit of rage after he had texted you for the last time asking for his things back. One half of you wished that you’d never deleted your social media, but you did it because you were prone to stalking his account, and you were glad you did. You were downright terrified of what you might find on there. Or who you might find on there. The other half wished that he’d text again, perhaps even be so courteous as to call. Just so you could answer and tell him to go to hell before hanging up.
Three months of this back-and-forth war with yourself was about to drive you absolutely insane, as was the thought of spending another aimless night holed up in your apartment. So you did the logical thing. You came to the only decent bar Yuuie had to offer and were drinking your sorrows away--for the eighth time this month.
As you down your second drink of the night, you stare down at the brim of your empty glass, mulling over how you found yourself here. A pair of crimson eyes, ash-blonde hair, and a devil-may-care smile flash through your mind. Sighing, you lean your elbows on the bar, bringing your fingertips up to your temples to massage them, trying to rid yourself of some of the discomfort.
The worst part about the breakup wasn’t actually the breakup itself. Sure, there was the screaming and the arguing before he eventually hopped in his truck and left you in a cloud of dust, but that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was the fact that everyone knew about it almost as soon as it happened. And it’s all anyone had been gossiping about. For weeks. So even if you wanted to try and forget and move on, you couldn’t. The price and curse of living in a small town. Everyone knows everyone, and you have no kind of privacy whatsoever. You couldn’t even nurse your heartache behind closed doors because someone was always dropping by your place to “check up on you”.
It also didn’t help that your ex was practically famous. A traveling bull rider and Yuuie rodeo champion for the last six consecutive years, he’d made quite a name for himself.
His rodeo stage name was ridiculous.
The Great Explosion Murder God and his equally explosive steed, Dynamight.
That was the title the papers had graced him with after his amazing win on the bull riding portion of the rodeo. No one expected him to last eight seconds on Yuuie’s most notorious bull, Samson. Samson was the bull that put more cowboys out of commission than any farm accident ever could. But your ex craved challenges just as much as he craved the sweet taste of nicotine in his favorite cigarettes. So he rode Samson. And hung on for twenty-three seconds before being flung off. He’d been the town hero ever since.
Around rodeo season, everywhere you looked, pictures of TGEMG could be seen on every visible window, telephone poll, and building wall imaginable. But you never saw him as the golden boy of Yuuie. You saw him for who he was. A troublemaker with an explosive temper, as hotheaded and stubborn as Samson the bull. To Yuuie, he was The Great Explosion Murder God.
But to you? He was simply Katsuki Bakugou.
Just the thought of his name caused a sour taste to build up in your mouth. Running your fingers through your already messy hair, you seriously contemplate banging your head onto the polished bar.
“Can I get you another, sugar?” A sweet voice draws you out of your thoughts. You glance up and see the bartender swiping down the counter with a wet cloth. Her dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun, with a few loose strands hanging out here and there. Light, subtle strokes of mascara cling to her lashes, accentuating the color of her eyes, two different hues of brown; the left eye a much lighter shade than the right.
A black Jameson Irish Whiskey racerback clings to her curves, accentuating her hourglass figure. A delicate silver chain hangs around her neck, an unknown pendant playing hide-and-seek in the plunging neckline of her tank.
She cuts her mismatched eyes to your glass. “Do you want another, or are you calling it a night?”
Without a word, you shove it toward her. She raises a questioning brow at your actions, lips quirking up slightly, but to your surprise and thankfulness, she doesn’t say anything else. She just grabs the bottle of your favorite liquor and refills your glass for the third time. As she works, you take a moment to study her.
She was new in town. Landed a job as a bartender. Quiet, kept to herself. A walking enigma as no one really knew anything about her. Hell, you weren’t even sure what her name was. All anyone knew was that she moved to Yuuie shortly after you and Katsuki had called it quits. But from her accent and manners, you would’ve thought she was a local. She fit in well enough, seeming to belong with the rest of you, as if she’d been here the entire time.
Setting the glass back in front of you, she gives you a small smile. “Here you go, darlin’.”
You blink once. Twice. You then seem to realize that you still need to pay for your drink. Snapping out of your daze, you reach into your pocket to pull out your wallet. Your fingertips barely brush the stash of bills you have tucked away when the bartender shakes her head.
“On the house, hon.”
You stare incredulously at her. She shrugs, grabbing up empty beer bottles. “You look like you need it.”
You wince as the coolness of the glass seeps into your palms. “That obvious, huh?”
She snorts, wiping down the counter again before throwing the towel over her shoulder. “I’m a bartender; it’s my business to be observant. Kinda part of the job description.” Brushing back the stray hairs dangling in her face, she sticks out a hand. “I’m Blue.”
This time, it’s your turn to raise a brow. “Blue? Like the color?”
An expression settles on her face as if she’s in another place, another time, but she doesn’t give you a chance to dwell on it or even ask what she’s thinking about. The look disappears almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a wistful smile. “Exactly like the color.”
“That’s not your real name is it?” You ask. Again, you lived in a small town. And small towns came with a variety of names. Some were vintage, a little older but still respectable: Beau, Imogen, Pearl, and Edmund. Others were very Southern: Cash, Oakley, Easton, Wes, and anything that ended in ‘Lynn’. And then there were the off-the-wall ones like Cooter, Gator, Coon, Younique, Texas, Amarillo, and a few others that were just plain ridiculous. All in all, Blue wasn’t too bad a name to be saddled with.
She shakes her head, a small chuckle rumbling through her. “No. It’s....a nickname. Well, one of them. Two different nicknames gifted from two very different people. Blue and Peach.”
“Peach?” The dubiousness of your tone causes her to throw her head back and laugh.
“A long story from a lifetime ago. I got so used to them when I was younger that I sometimes wouldn’t respond to my actual name. Feel free to call me either. I’ll respond to both, but if I’m being honest, Blue is my preferred choice.”
Stretching out your arm, you take her hand in yours, giving it a firm shake. “Well, nice to meet you then, Blue.”
Her eyes sparkle, wrapping her fingers around yours. “Likewise.”
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Even though the clock on your phone reads only a quarter past ten, the tavern was nearly jam-packed with patrons.
Several people crowd the bar. Few were playing pool or making bets on a game of darts. Others had paired off and were line-dancing on the dance floor to whatever playlist Present Mic had geared up for the evening.
Laughter bubbles in your chest as you take another shot. You were tipsy, borderline drunk, your giggles growing louder and louder, everything becoming funnier by the second. You were finally beginning to unwind and relax a little.
Okay, you had relaxed A LOT.
Blue made you hand over your keys after your fourth shot of vodka. When you tried protesting, she silenced you with a glare that nearly rivaled your mother’s.
“I’ll give you a lift when my shift ends. Until then, these,” she jangled your keys in front of your face before dropping them into a glass jar that she stashed behind the counter, “are staying with me.”
You begrudgingly but gratefully accepted, especially as you were aware of the way Sheriff Enji Todoroki had been cracking down on drunk driving lately. You didn’t want to take any chances of getting thrown in the slammer and giving the town yet another reason to talk about you. The breakup was enough fuel to keep the fires going for a good long while.
To keep yourself from reliving the event and becoming a blubbering mess, you impulsively decided to ask Blue to tell you about herself.
She gave you a look that you couldn't quite perceive before sucking in her bottom lip and whistling to her partner.
"Neijire! I'm taking ten."
Your eyes travel in the direction of Blue's attention, landing on the bouncing figure of the other bartender. She wore nearly an identical outfit to Blue’s, but her shirt was more strategically ripped to bare more skin and bore the Jack Daniels logo instead of Jameson. She was happily putting a hefty bill into the Tip Jar, but Blue's words turned her mouth down into a pout.
"You're just now taking a break? Blue!" Neijire scolds, throwing a rag at the back of Blue's head. "You need to take your breaks as they come. Being on your feet for hours gets real exhausting real fast. I don't need you burnt out during your shifts."
Blue gives her a sarcastic salute while Neijire just rolls her eyes. She reaches across the counter, grabbing a pen, scribbling something down on a notepad. Ripping the paper cleanly off, she shoves it into Blue's hand, her golden eyes glittering in the low lights of the bar.
"Go ahead and give this to FatGum. He'll whip up something for you in the back. Take all your missed breaks and get yourself some dinner too. I don't want you back behind this counter until you've eaten something, you hear?"
“Neijire-chan! Can I get another over here, sweetheart?” One of the patrons calls, holding their glass up.
Neijire winks at you both, tucking back a curly lock of lavender-purple hair. “Welcome! What can I get y’all started with?”
Blue limbos under the ‘employees only’ trapdoor and plops herself beside you on a cushy barstool, grinning. "What do you wanna know?"
"Anything,” you answer, slamming your shot glass down after swigging the contents. “Do you like living in Yuuie? What's your name? What's your sign? When's your birthday? Do you have any tattoos? Have you ever done anything illegal?" The questions were pouring out of you like water from a leaking spicket.
Blue laughs as she hands off her meal ticket to one of the passing waiters, setting it on top of his empty serving tray. "Thanks, Mirio!”
The blonde bows at the waist, a thousand gigawatt smile flashing. “A pleasure, Miss Blue.”
She waves him off, shaking her head at him and his antics before turning back to you. “This sounds more like an interrogation than a getting-to-know-you icebreaker."
"Well, it's not only me that's curious. The whole town has been abuzz about you since you got here. You're like a mystery novel with no ending."
Blue's face scrunches up in disbelief. "I'm an open book! Hit me."
“Do you have any pets?”
Her entire face lights up when you ask her that.
"Do you wanna see my cat?"
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And that’s how you found yourself about an hour later, learning everything there was to know about the elusive new bartender.
She whipped out her phone, showing you pictures of a tiny white kitten with a splotched black tail and scattered salt and pepper patches on her face and back. For reasons unbeknownst to you, she named it Queso Mozzarella but lovingly calls her 'Mozzy' for short. Your heart squeezed at the absolute adorableness.
After Blue put her phone away, she began to tell you about herself, bit by bit. Almost like putting together a 5000 piece jigsaw puzzle.
One of the first things she told you was her favorite flavor. Any and everything peach.
"I actually got the nickname 'Peach' when I was in elementary school because I always brought a fresh peach for lunch, even when they weren't in season."
She despises oranges, mainly because she's allergic to them.
"I swell up like a Goodyear Blimp. It ain't very comely."
She likes chocolate milk, mozzarella sticks, forget-me-not flowers, 80's movie soundtrack music, and her favorite color is blue (real surprise there).
"Told you, I'm an open book."
But the thing that shocked you the most was when you discovered that your previous assumption about her had been right. She did grow up in Yuuie.
"Born and raised."
"Then why did you move away?"
Blue fiddles with the basket of fries that came with her mountain of a burger. She’d polished off most of her food, playing with the remaining bits she couldn’t quite eat. Mirio dropped it off earlier, as well as a giant glass of sweet tea. He had playfully ruffled her hair despite Blue's protests before disappearing back into the sea of dancing bodies.
"My dad was in the military. He ended up getting promoted to a higher rank and stationed in another country the winter I became a junior. He packed us up and moved us overseas before I could finish the year out." A heavy sigh escapes her lips. She picks up a French fry, dipping it into a small bowl of ranch dressing. That was yet another thing you learned about her: she hated eating ketchup with her fries.
It drops back onto the checkered parchment paper in the plastic basket.
"I didn't even get to say goodbye."
You slightly sober up at the sadness in her tone. However, before you or she could say anything else, a frazzled-looking Neijire rushes to y'all's end of the bar. "Blue, it's the Pre-Midnight Rush. I need some help back here."
Blue nods. “On my way, darlin’.” She wipes her hands on her jeans, standing.
“Back to work, then.” She pushes the basket towards you. "Here. You should eat something to soak up all that alcohol you've been drinking."
You take it, deciding to heed her advice. She rounds the bar, walking to the sink to wash her hands before clocking back in.
“Hey, y’all,” she greets the fresh flood of customers alongside Nejire. “Pick your poisons.”
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"So why did you come back?" You shout at her over the pumping bass. Present Mic turned the tunes over to his DJ in training, Kyoka Jirou around midnight. The later it got, the louder the music became. And Jirou seemed to prefer it that way.
Blue vigorously shakes a silver canister before pouring a pink margarita into a salted glass. She throws a cherry in the middle of it, topping it off with a sliced lime before handing it off to the person who ordered it.
"My gramma is sick," she answers, shoveling ice into a few glasses. "I'm the only person willing to come take care of her."
Blue didn't seem too keen on delving into details, and you were smart enough to take the silent hint and not ask. You’re nursing your eleventh, maybe twelfth drink? as she steers the conversation away to lighter subjects.
She regales you with a story of how the town flirt and electrician, Denki Kaminari, shocked himself on an electric pole after he tried hitting on her as she was walking home with her groceries the other day.
“He kept giving me a thumbs up from the back of the ambulance and muttering ‘yay’. I feel so bad but I couldn’t help but laugh at him,” Blue chuckles as she polishes another pint glass before putting it on the shelf. “Bless his heart.”
“Sounds like a typical day for him.” You slur, a hiccup escaping your lips. “He gets electrocuted so much that everyone in Yuuie calls him Sparky.” You chug back the rest of your bourbon, belching loudly. “Except for Jirou. She calls him ‘Jammingyay’.”
Blue gently pries the glass from your hand. “Jammingyay? Well, that’s certainly creative. I always used to call him Pikachu.” She places it in the sink, eliciting a drunken whine from you. “Sorry, sugar. I’m officially cutting you off. You’re three sheets to the wind.”
“Am not,” you insist, but your vision blurs and you aren’t sure which Blue you’re looking at. The one on the left or the one on the right. Both of them frown at you.
“Yeeeeaaah, definitely time to call it quits. You’re as full as a tick on a bloodhound.”
You burst into a deep belly laugh at her euphemism. Your laughter ends, as does the song that had been playing. Some rough feedback from the speakers grabs everyone’s attention, as well as the tap-tap-tapping of someone’s finger against a microphone.
“Alrighty, y’all. It’s that time of the night. Karaoke hour,” Jirou announces, stirring up the crowd as they erupt into a fit of cheerful hollers. “You know the rules. Take a number, pick a song, and sing your little drunk hearts out.” Jirou places a couple of spare mics on her counter as a slew of girls immediately rush her DJ station.
You scoff. “Who would wanna do something as dumb as karaoke?”
Blue flips a bottle behind her back, catching it before filling up a row of shot glasses. She takes out a lighter from her pocket, flicking it before setting the row on fire. They burn for a couple of seconds before she whips out two coffee mugs, setting them over the shots one at a time. After the flames die down, she passes them out to awaiting patrons.
“I dabble in it from time to time. It’s a good way to get your emotions out or feelings across.”
“You’re joking, right?”
She shrugs. “To each their own. We all cope in different ways.”
You feel the corner of your mouth twitch.
“Blue! I need a pitcher of sangria and three whiskey sours!” Neijire shouts the orders as she places more bills into the Tip Jar and rings up tabs.
Blue sighs, glancing up at you from under her lashes. “Never a moment of peace around here, I’ll tell ya that.”
As she makes her way to Neijire, you replay her words over and over in your head.
‘We all cope in different ways.’
The first song gears up on the karaoke machine, lyrics displayed on an ancient projector screen. Familiar chords of a song you loved singing on long road trips start to filter out of the speakers, and the soft, subtle backup vocals of Dolly Parton croon in your ears.
You had no idea who was currently butchering one of the best songs (in your opinion) that Dolly Parton ever created, but you couldn’t help but want to sing along.
“Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that? Here comes my baby, draggin' my heart behind. He's drivin' me crazy! Who says love is blind? He's got a wanderin' eye and a travelin' mind, big ideas and a little behind. Out with a different woman every night, but I remember when he was mine.”
And how had you been coping? Not moving from your couch in several days, refusing to change out of your ratty pajamas. Hygiene had been a foreign concept during the first week or so after you and Katsuki had called it quits. You didn’t shower. You didn’t bother putting on a new outfit. You hardly opened your blinds, reveling in your misery in the dark. Netflix should have sent you a medal for watching nearly every romcom known to man on their streaming platform, all while sobbing into your ice cream cartons. You deactivated every platform of social media from your phone because you didn’t want to see how happy he was without you and didn’t want to give yourself any opportunities to fall into a deeper spiral of stalking his accounts. You chose to send your liver into an early grave and your bank account into the red with how often you frequented the bars and dives around town, doing your best to forget him.
How he smelled: like burnt sugar and salty caramel. How he tasted. How it felt when he held you in his arms. Like you were the only person he wanted to touch. To kiss. To love.
“Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your high heel boots and painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Waltzing right in here lookin' like that. Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? When you could stop traffic in a gunny sack. Why you're almost givin' me a heart attack! When you waltz right in here lookin' like that I just can't stand it. To see him on the town, he's out slow dancing with every girl around. I'm a softhearted woman; he's a hardheaded man, and he's gonna make me feel just as bad as he can. He's got himself a mean streak a half a mile wide Now he's dancing on this heart of mine.”
You feel as if the song is directed at you. Like an evil version of Cupid crawled from the depths of hell just to play with your already broken heart strings. That, or the person singing just had it out for you. Either way, each word hit you like a slap to the face.
“Ooh, Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your high heel boots painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream.Why'd you come in here lookin' like that?”
Tears stung your lower eyelids as the song ended and the crowd exploded in whooping applause.
Maybe whoever just got off the stage was in the same boat as you. Still in the tender stages of a splintered heart, trying to figure out how to put the pieces together. Perhaps that was their way of doing their best to move on and start fresh.
‘We all cope in different ways.’
How had you been coping?
Not well. Not well at all.
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“Darlin’? Darlin’, you still with me?” A gentle shake to your shoulders startles you, causing you to jump a little. Blue retracts her hand. She meekly tips her head. “Sorry to wake you, sweet pea, but I’m nearin’ the end of my shift.”
You yawn, rubbing some of the sleep out of your eyes. “What time is it?”
“Nearly two. You fell asleep about thirty minutes ago.”
You grimace, rolling your neck from side to side. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. If we had a decent taxi service or some type of Lyft or Uber, I would’ve gotten you one a while ago. Let me just get a few of these stragglers and then I’ll take ya on home, okay?”
You yawn again. “Thanks, Blue.”
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ain’t nothin’ but a thing.”
“No,” you blurt out. She stops in her tracks and stares at you. “It’s not.”
“It’s just a ride home. I ain’t really doin' much, sweet pea.”
“It is a big thing.” You insist. “It’s a really big thing. Thank you.”
She shakes her head. “No, really, darlin’, it’s--”
“You’re the only person that hasn’t treated me like I’m made of glass.”
There’s a heavy, pregnant pause.
“Well, why on earth would I do that?”
“Because he broke up with me.” Damn you for drinking so much. You always were a bit of a talker when you got more than two sips of alcohol in you. You lost count of how much you consumed this evening, and now you were no better than the town’s gossip columnist who went under the alias of Mount Lady. Here you were, bearing your heart and soul to someone you didn’t even know, but you couldn’t stop yourself.
Blue tilts her head to the side, her eyes searching yours. “Who broke up with you, sweet pea?”
A bitter laugh nearly chokes you as it collides with the sob rising in the back of your throat. The same tears you tried keeping at bay earlier decide to form a prison break and escape the confines of your eyelids, slipping down your cheeks.
“The Great Explosion Murder God of Yuuie, Katsuki Bakugou.”
You weren’t sure if it was the strobe lights coming from the dancefloor or the way your tears caused impairment of your already compromised vision, but you could have sworn in that moment that Blue blanched.
“Ka...Katsuki....Bakugou?”
“Yeah,” you swipe at your eyes with the heel of your hand, sucking snot back in before it could drip from your runny nostrils.
“I’m...I’m so sorry, darlin’.”
She says it with so much sincerity that you know she means it. Truly means it. Not like the other people in town who said it to you so flippantly. No. Blue was different. And maybe that’s why you felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with her, sans all the alcohol running through your system. Because Blue had something a lot of folks in Yuuie didn’t. A sense of realness.
And that was something you needed right now. A real friend.
“I hate to leave you like this, darlin’, but I gotta finish these orders. Will you be okay for a few minutes by yourself?” Blue apologizes, handing you some napkins. You take one and angrily blow your nose.
“I’ll be fine.”
Blue’s upper teeth knaw at her bottom lip as she looks at you, skepticism written all over her face.
“I promise I’m fine.”
“Okay....I shouldn’t be longer than fifteen minutes. We’ll leave right after that.” She reaches up on the shelf to pull down some beer steins, ready to run them under the taps. Once they were filled to the brim, foam spilling down the sides, Blue slides the beer down to Neijire for her to pass on to the people who ordered them.
“Blue?”
“Yes, darlin’?”
“Thank you.”
A small burst of air leaves her nose as her face relaxes enough to gift you with a gentle smile. She opens her mouth to reply to you, but the sound of the double Western-style saloon doors draws her from the conversation.
“Welcome!” Blue shouts over her shoulder. “We’re fixin’ to get ready for last call soon. What can I--”
Shattering glass can be heard in the quiet pause between music selections.
“Blue!” Neijire hurries over to her coworker, mindful not to step on the broken pieces. “Are you okay?”
You glance up to see Blue’s wide eyes staring at something behind you. You assume her concerned gaze is directed at whoever just came in. Her skin pales, and you see her visibly gulping. “Oh, sugar honey iced tea...”
Neijire follows her line of sight. Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.
“Uh oh.”
Her eyes dart from you, to behind you, to you, to behind you again. She snatches the towel out of Blue’s hands, firmly shaking her as if trying to snap her out of her daze.
“Blue, you’re shift is over. Go home.” Neijire says in a tone you’ve never heard come from her before. “Tamaki and Mirio can help me with the mess, but you should go. You need to go.”
You stare at the two of them in bewilderment. Why were they looking at you like that?
The stomping of boots encroaches on your space, coming closer with each step.
“Cat got your tongue, dumbass? What the hell are you starin’ at me for?”
All the blood in your body turns to ice at the sound of a gruff, grating voice. One you were all too familiar with. One you hoped you’d never have to hear again. Not since the day he left you in a cloud of dust, never to look back.
Blue is in front of you in a millisecond, seemingly teleporting from one end of the bar to the other. “Hon, I’m clockin’ out now. Grab your stuff and we can go.” Blue reaches under the counter to grab your keys. But you don’t move. You can’t. You’re glued to your seat, your hands shaking.
“Leavin’? I just got here! Neijire, what the hell kinda service is this?” The voice draws closer until it’s directly behind you. A hand slams down on the surface of the counter, right next to you, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. “I swear this town ain’t got nothing fuckin’ going for it anymore.”
You try swallowing, but the lump in your throat won’t allow anything past it. You squeeze your eyes shut.
Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t. Look. Up.
“Service can be refused if the occasion calls for it and the occasion is callin’ for it. My shift is over and I’m headin’ on to the house. You need somethin’ you ask Neijire and you ask her politely.” Blue huffs, irritation and disdain coating every word.
“Who the hell do you think you are? My mother? I already got one old hag harpin’ on me day and night. I don’t need another.”
“I ain’t old and don’t you dare talk about your mama that way, Katsuki Bakugou. I will call her and tell her you’re causin’ trouble again. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Still the same ole’ tattletale, aren’t you, Blue? Even after all these years, you ain’t changed a bit.” He pauses, but you can hear the salacious grin in his tone. “Well, parts of you have.”
A resounding slap echoes in the air and you hear several gasps. Your eyes fly open to see Blue almost climbed over the bar, her arm raised high, palm a burning red. In your peripheral, your ex is hunched over, fingers pressed to the side of his face.
“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Explosion Boy. You never did. Don’t pretend like you do now.” You hear betrayal, hurt, and a slight tremble in her words. You stare at her.
Did they know each other?
But just as you opened your mouth to ask the silent question, the familiar sound of your keys clinking together snags your attention away from the scene unraveling beside you.
“Come on, sugar. I’ll drop you off.” Blue tells you, lifting up the trapdoor of the bar before closing it behind her.
A hand shoots out, clamping down on her upper arm. Her eyes shoot daggers at the person it’s attached to.
“Off in such a hurry, Blue? Always willin’ to start a fight, but ain’t ever willin’ to finish it. I was right. You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Get your hands off me before I have Tetsu knock you on your arrogant, conceited, spoiled little Southern ass.”
“Hah? That extra? Please. He wouldn’t last two seconds.” He tugs on her arm, trying to draw her closer, but his elbow knocks you in the back of the head. You weren’t expecting the impact, so it’s no surprise to you when you fall clean off your barstool.
You crash to the ground in a graceless, drunken fashion. You hear Blue call your name, several people shouting, (all of their insults and anger directed at your ex), and three or more pairs of hands reaching down to help you to your feet. However, one set is faster than the others. Warm calloused fingers encircle your wrist, yanking you up off the floor.
“Don’t toss them around like a ragdoll. Lord above, Bakugou. Sometimes I wonder if you’ve got anything up in that spiky head of yours. Then again, if your brain was leather, you probably wouldn’t have enough to saddle a Junebug.”
“Shut the hell up, you fuckin’ extra.”
“Don’t you swear at me.”
“I’ll do whatever I so fuckin’ please.”
Blue pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. “You could make a bishop mad enough to kick in stained glass windows with that outhouse of a mouth.”
You want to laugh. Really you do. The entire situation is like something you’d read from a tacky fanfiction, or would be a terrible scenario for one of your cheesy romcoms. You’re on the floor while your ex and new friend are above you, bickering back and forth like an old married couple.
It’s like a trashy Southern soap opera. With a Dolly Parton soundtrack to boot.
However, your entire world comes to a standstill when a pair of furious ruby eyes stare into yours.
Katsuki Bakugou.
His forehead is crinkled into those grumpy lines you slowly grew to love, once upon a time. Bits of his hay-colored hair poke out from beneath a black cowboy hat. He’s wearing a dark button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, displaying his muscular arms. A clean pair of Levi’s cling to his legs and ass, perfectly sculpting the body worthy of a mythological god.
So maybe there was some semblance of sense to his rodeo stage name. The god part at least. Because honestly, looking that fine should be considered a sin. You suck in your bottom lip, a not-so-subtle attempt to make sure that you’re not drooling.
Damn, boy.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He all but yells at you, giving you a hard shake.
The lyrics from the song from earlier dance around in your mind as your eyes drift down to his custom-designed cowboy boots. Black with bright orange X’s running across the front of them and olive green grenade emblems stitched to the sides near the top.
Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that?
“Did you hear me, or are you deaf now? I said, what the hell are you doing here?”
Your mouth works faster than your brain.
“Getting over you.”
His eyes widen, and for once in his damn life, he seems at a loss for words.
“W-what?”
“Getting over you. The only way I know how. Because we all cope differently, don’t we, Blue?”
She stares at you with such sadness that it makes you feel guilty for even asking her.
“I cope by drinking myself into oblivion, and you cope by inviting whoever the fuck you want into our bed. Oops. I mean, your bed.” The words are out before you can even process them, and you can’t take them back, even if you wanted to. Because, again, the more you drink, the more you talk.
And you drank quite a bit.
You really, really wish that you had gone through with the plan you first concocted when you first arrived. Because a concussed head was sooooo much better than what you just did. You recall what Blue said the moment that she saw Bakugou enter the bar.
Sugar Honey Iced Tea.
Shit indeed, Blue. Shit indeed.
Bakugou still stares at you, mouth hanging open. You reach over, placing your fingers under his chin, tenderly applying enough pressure that his lips slam together, shutting his mouth. Again, a feat you once thought to be impossible, but hey, you were just full of surprises tonight.
“Trying to catch flies, ‘Suki? It’s easier if you use honey.” You purr, hand falling to his chest. His heart flutters underneath your fingers.
“You drunk or somethin’?” He asks, clearing his throat as pink stains his cheeks.
Giggling, you lean forward, your lips mere inches from his.
“And if I am? What are you gonna do about it?”
His eyes narrow, glaring down at you.
“Alright, I’m breaking this up,” Blue announces, tugging on the sleeve of your shirt.
“Katsuki already did that for you,” you giggle, leaning back to look up at him. “Ain’t that right, ‘Suki? Dropped me like a sack of hot potatoes the moment I was no longer of any value to you.”
Bakugou says nothing, lips pressed into a firm, narrow line.
“Time to go home, sweet pea,” Blue urges you, all but shoving you out the door.
You throw up a casual wave, flipping Bakugou off in the same breath.
“This was fun, ‘Suki, Let’s never do it again.”
And with that, Blue guides you through the double doors, allowing them to swing behind you. Your lungs greedily suck down the cool night air, goosebumps raising on your skin. Your body leans on Blue as she walks you to her truck.
“Almost there, darlin’,” she assures you with each step. Finally, you’re brought to a halt in front of a navy blue Chevy Silverado. But before Blue can even reach over to open the door, you crumple into a sobbing heap. Your knees slam into the broken asphalt, but you barely register the pain.
The agony consuming your heart is enough. And after the scene you caused inside, you only gave the town more ammunition to use against you.
You hated this place. Hated this town. Hated the people in it. Hated him. But most of all, you hated yourself. Hated yourself for still caring about him. For still holding some kind of hope that things would work out and you’d be happy again.
With him. Just the two of you. Like you always wished it would be.
A pair of warm arms wrap around you, and you allow yourself to be held as you finally have the breakdown that’s been building up for the last three months.
“It hurts, Blue,” you blubber into her shoulder. “It hurts...so much.”
“I know, sweet pea. I know. And I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” She whispers, smoothing down your hair. “He was an ass anyway. Always has been.”
“But he was my ass. And I loved him. I loved him. I loved him.” You repeat, clawing at your chest, desperately trying to reach into the hollow activity of your ribcage and rip your heart out in a pitiful attempt to find some relief, hoping that if you were able to do it, it would make the pain go away.
Blue doesn’t have an answer. No magic cure or spell to help you through this.
But she’s there with you.
And that was more than you could have ever asked for.
"Why'd he have to show up like that? All decked out in his fancy boots and favorite button up and that hat. That fuckin' hat, Blue." You ask, salty tears dripping down your chin. "Just when I think 'to hell with him, I deserve more and better,' he waltzes on in like a damn movie star and steals my breath away all over again. Despite everything he's ever done, I love him. And I think part of me always will."
You look up at Blue through your haze of tears.
"Why'd he have to come in there lookin' like that?"
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Why'd you come in here lookin' like that? In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans, all decked out like a cowgirl's dream. Why'd you come in here looking like that?
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IT'S DONE. I HAVE FINISHED. I HAVE COMPLETED THE TASK BEFORE ME. ALL HAIL THE EXHAUSTED BLUE PEACH.
Seriously, I am so thankful that I was finally able to finish this request.
It's currently 2 in the morning my time and this entire scenario is probably flaming garbage that resides in a sewage plant because I wrote most of this half asleep. And before you tell me, yes, I am aware that it looks like the spirit of an 1800s author took hold of me and had a field day using commas for ridiculously long sentences. I KNOW.
But I had a lot of fun writing this, and if you don't like it, don't read it. It wasn't for you anyway. 😘
I write for my own pleasure and enjoyment, not for the validation of others.
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This is the first scenario of the Southern Roots Series. I will do my best to update as often as I can but life gets busy so don't expect too much out of me.
I really hope y'all enjoyed and I can't wait to write more.
Later, Taters! 💙💙
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