#to the church of glen powell with a stache and scruffy hair

[veritable-trash]

You Know The Rules

look at that stupid slutty mustache... god please answer my prayers just this once

Pairing: Finnegan(Everybody Wants Some!!) x Fem!Reader

Summary: God you hate him.

Word Count: 2K

Rating: M - mainly for drugs babayyyyy, weed, that good, otherwise it's pretty clean in these sheets(this time around)

A/N: haha. no one asked for this. but listen! all my glen powell sloots we need to remember the original. sweet daddy finnegan. mustached, shaggy haired, 80s baseball player i mean i couldn't have written a sluttier man if i tried. this movie isn't the greatest, but the music is dope, the outfits are cute, and it serves as a public service announcement that men need to start wearing crop tops IMMEDIATELY. this is a petition for men to start dressing like sluts again so i can finally be at peace. anyways this is completely and utterly self serving but the glen powell top gun resurgence just kept reminding me that this is peak glen to me. give me mustaches or give me death!

sorry that i haven't written... or literally done anything of value in an eon. my brain has given up and also i moved and am currently unemployed and am about to go travel for three months and want to write but have zero inspiration and tumblr makes me sad because everyone is so good at writing and i am a troll under a bridge. this is me trying to release the need to produce things of "value" because does that even mean anymore? i hope someone finds this a little fun because honestly i kinda did :) hugs and kisses <;33333

tell me what you think! i'm literally begging! on my hands and knees! the desperation is palpable yeesh

masterlist yay yay!!!

~~~~~

College.

What a fucking heinous place. Filled with suffocating expectations, the constant need to pretend you’re someone you’re not because of everyone else’s supposed opinions of you. 

It made you want to vomit. 

And yet here you were, cowering in the corner of the kitchen at this stupid, lame, awful college party. A baseball party no less. Those absolute heathens. Probably the worst category of men on this campus by about 20 miles and you were definitely counting. 

The joint you haphazardly rolled in the absolutely disgusting bathroom crackles between your lips as you try to tune out every single person here and catch the steady baseline of the song playing hoping that that will somehow lull you into a state of calm.

This new weed sucked shit. All stems, all seeds, and got you high for about 30 seconds. You were going to kill Willoughby when you saw him. Honestly the only baseball player in this house you liked and even he was about to get moved right onto the shit list with the rest of the men of this house. 

Your friends had badgered you endlessly all week to ask Willoughby for the invite, not that you really need to even ask him. Girls? More than one? The baseball boys were already salivating like it was their last meal on death row.

The standards in this place were in the fucking basement. 

Some would call you a pessimist. Angry, bitchy, snippy, negative, the whole gambit and they might be right. But college was a fucking weird ass place that made your skin crawl and your anxiety spike and all you wanted to do was smoke your green, pass your classes, and watch your cartoons in peace, please and thank you. 

And then his voice cut through your slow building haze like a serrated knife on a chalkboard. Made of sandpaper.

“Sweetheart! I thought Willoughby mentioned you’d be here, and why am I not surprised you’re toking it up alone in our kitchen, my favorite little stoner weirdo.”

Finnegan.

The absolute ultimate fuck. 

Mustached, wide shoulders, shaggy blonde, crisp baby blues, he was everything your vagina yearned for until he opened his stupid mouth. And of course that was just as pretty as the rest of him too. 

You’d met him for the first time freshman year. Fresh faced and thinking the world was truly your oyster, he’d popped into your life in intro to philosophy and swept you away with his silky, fancy words and the fact that he looked like that. 

He’d invited you to the first baseball party you’d ever gone to and made you a special promise that he would be your knight in shining armor for the night. That he’d be waiting for your arrival, was counting down the minutes till you showed up at his door and he could dance the night away with you.

That was until you saw him sucking face with Tracy. Who was also in your intro to philosophy class. 

Obviously, you’d hated him to his core ever since. 

But for some reason he’d stuck around. Always kept tabs on you, always had a class with you, always found you at any party, bar, disco, literally fucking anywhere and it made you want to tear your hair out. 

He was your pretty boy kryptonite and you needed him to leave you the fuck alone.

“Oh Finny. Finny, Finnegan, fuckhead. You know I thought I’d somehow be able to avoid you tonight but it seems like my stalker persists no matter the obstacles.”

Smoke trickles from between your clenched teeth and he has the audacity to stare at your lips and grin.

Fucking grin!!!

“You wound me princess. Ain’t even gonna share that little pinner of yours, I mean the absolute cruelty of it all.”

The grins still blazing on his lips but in Finn fashion he has to play up his part. 

Clutching at his pearls, leaning against the kitchen counter like you’d just stabbed him straight through. Your eyes roll so far back in your head they almost launch themselves out of your skull. 

“No Finn, I’m not gonna share with the likes of you. Go find Will and get him to roll you one, he’s the one I got the weed from anyways. Or maybe go find some other poor unsuspecting girl to do the deed for you, but you ain’t getting shit from me. You know the rules sweet Finny: ass, cash, or grass and god only knows I ain’t taking any of those three from you.” 

You regret those last few words the second they enter the air between you.

Because Finnegan’s eyes drop straight to your mouth again and now he’s crowding you into the corner of the counter. 

“Oh sweetheart if you just let me show you what this ass can do I think you would be singing quite a different tune. You think I’m all bravado and show but you and I both know the two of us could be quite a duo. I just know you’re absolutely unreal beneath that veneer of hatred you slap on.”

He’s still staring at your lips, the joint hanging limply between them as you try and control your breath and not cough up a lung. 

Two can play this fucking game.

You take a thick drag, the tip burning bright orange and crackling like cinders and his eyes only deepen in shade. The smoke curls out and up into your nose and he stares at you his jaw dropping a little slack as you play him like the fucking fiddle he is. 

“Finn.” Your index finger trails up his arm as you ash the joint in the sink, and you can feel the muscles of his bicep twitch with the contact. “If you think I’m gonna let you touch me you’ve lost your god damn mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go find some peace and quiet. Away from you.”

Your voice is sticky sweet and he barely registers that you’re telling him off for the millionth time tonight until you’re traipsing out of the kitchen at lightning speed before you do something else you’ll regret. 

He got too fucking close this time around. You let him get too fucking close. 

Your feet stomp quick up the stairs to the only safe place you’d ever been able to find in this house. 

The roof. That blissful open space, like the crispest breath of fresh air it tasted almost minty. Your hands dig into your pockets looking for your weed, your lighter, and your rolling papers-

Fuck.

Of course you’d forgotten papers, predicable as always and fucking annoying as hell and you’re about to turn back down the stairs when your eyes land on something sitting on the windowsill. 

Finn’s wood pipe. 

You loved to hate it but it was his calling card. Stupid and quirky and so perfectly him that the sight of it made you heart twist just a little. 

Not that you would ever fucking admit that. 

Well beggars can’t be chooser as they say. 

It’s deceptively crisp out on the roof as you shuffle around other groups till you get to your super secret corner on the far side of the house. No one ever seems to want to venture this far and you could smoke in peace and tranquility as the rest of the party raged somewhere far, far away. 

The bowls packed, green just catching a smolder and you have to admit the stupid Sherlock Holmes pipe is kinda fun. Maybe you’d leave a fresh bowl packed for sweet Finn as a secret thank you gift. 

Maybe this weed was stronger than you thought. 

“Alrighty first you don’t share your joint, then you verbally assault me in my own house, and now you’re smoking out of my pipe? You really are trying to start a fight with me this evening now aren’t ya?”

Your eyes are red rimmed and your brain has that pleasant haze coating every synapse and you can’t find it in you anymore to really fight Finn right now. The stars look too damn good and the tree has hit too damn deep to let your hackles rise.

“You know maybe I’ve been giving you a bit of a hard time, but you damn well deserve it.” You smile around the pipe as you take another drag, but this time you pass it to Finn as he sits down just a little closer than usual. 

His fingers snag against yours as you pass it and you both flinch a bit at the contact, sparkles zipping up your arms.

He stays quiet this time around, pulling puffs as you both watch people flit around the grass below you, the party continuing into this seemingly never ending night. 

Friday’s, they really were something.

Your knees knock, fingers catching again as he passes the pipe back to you. Another pull fills your lungs and you lean back, back, back until your back presses down on the cool paneling of the roof and you let the smoke drift up and away among those pretty little stars. 

“Finn you can just be so fucking annoying sometimes, I just wanna shut you up for like five seconds so we can all take a fucking breather.”

He laughs at that. Real and deep, curling around the base of your spine as he turns to stare down at you and the feeling spreads all the way to your fingertips. All the way to your toes.

“I’m well aware, but it’s sorta a part of my charm. I’m just waiting for it to final start charming you.”

Your eyes click to his, haze lifting for a split moment, and his eyes twinkle almost brighter than the stars. 

“That’s such a fucking line and you know that shit doesn’t work on me. Fool me once and all of that jazz.” But you can’t stop staring at him and now his eyes color puzzled, a little hazy as he tries to decipher your words. “Oh come on, freshman year? You invited me to the party with all your fancy little words that you love to spin for me to only find you eating Tracy’s lips straight off her face? Honestly she still talks about that night to this day so I guess in a weird way kudos to you but man that did sting a bit.”

You chuckle around another pull and you go to pass it back but he’s clearly no longer interested in that. He seems very intent on memorizing every detail of your face under the stars and you can’t help but wiggle a little under his hyper focused gaze. 

“I-I didn’t know that you were there that night. McReynolds told me you’d left with some dude and Tracy was more than willing to fill in that blank.”

Oh fuck.

You’re both just staring at each other as moment after moment click like puzzles pieces. Every snippy comment, every lingering glance, every class, every time you just happened to run into each other all no longer strange coincidences and some secret hatred. Every little moment stitching itself together till it left just you and Finn. 

And there’s that fucking grin again.

But it’s softer this time, a little less sleazy and a little more lovely and now you’re sure his eyes are brighter than any star. 

Your own lips tick up with a soft, nervous smile.

His fingers card between yours and he brings your knuckles up to his lips, stupid mustache tickling your skin in ways that make you shiver. 

“I feel like nows the time to return to my earlier question since you finally shared some of that green with me, so what do I owe ya? Ass, cash, or more grass?”

You snort into the air between you and his grin splits into a megawatt smile and you finally let yourself tumble head first into kissing stupid, idiot, fuckhead Finnegan.

“Ass, 100%.”

~~~~~

tell me what you think if anyone is actually reading this because i'm bored and this site is lonely and i just want some weirdo friends who also think mustaches are peak sexiness. alright i need to go to sleep the psychosis is taking over :P