kristen

eleventeen- she/her - CKY enthusiast

[hyper-dino]

HYPER DINO’S MASTERLIST!! AGAIN

Boys names are alphabetical- Jackass then CKY.

I do not write for Deron Miller.

I do not write ships of real people

There’s some guys that aren’t on this list that I will write for but they just aren’t on this list, e.g Novak, CKY band members, HIM members, Bloodhound gang members, etc.

F! Reader- 🎀

GN! Reader- 🧸

Fluff- 🍬

Angst- 🕯️

Smut-🫀

Platonic- ⭐️

JACKASS BOYS

Bam Margera

Chris Pontius

Danger Ehren

Dave England

Melting Point 🎀🫀

Johnny Knoxville

Ryan Dunn

Ask Bam 🧸🫀

Steveo

CKY BOYS

Brandon DiCamillo

Bumps 🎀🕯️

Lost and found 🧸🍬

Jess Margera

Joe Frantz

Almost, nearly, all but 🎀🕯️

Raab Himself

Rake Yohn

[hyper-dino]

hey guys

I wanna write

What cky boy is in the tumblr psyche at the moment

any Raab lovers around? he’s been on my brain

Hope you are are good

[hyper-dino]

Hey

Why is there a massive INFLUX of the most obviously ai written stories on Tumblr

(Not my jackass and cky people I know you wouldn’t do that)

BUT WHAT THE HELL

Has anyone else noticed this?

[hyper-dino]

“Cky girl this,” “Cky girl that”

imagine all the shit they would ask to put in your handbag.

Like actually imagine.

Their pockets are full or the thing is too big and you end up walking around with like a deodorant can and a BB gun and a guitar pedal and four beanies and skate trucks and a bottle of vodka in your bag because they don’t wanna carry it.

“Y/n, look after this for me?”

“Can I put this in your bag?”

“Where’s my (insert any item they own bigger than the dimensions of their pocket)?”

“In my bag.”

[chayawaxman]

ive been craving some ehren stories… maybe something angsty? Xx

lots of love 🦖

ehren mcghehey - (slightly) angsty headcanons!

— when he’s excited, he can’t hide his slightly mischievous smile. he’s also super talkative when he’s nervous, so it’s you who has to listen to him rambling about snowboard tricks when you’re waiting with him in the dentist’s office.

— he just can’t stand other people being condescending or rude towards you. ehren doesn’t shy away from pulling someone outside to set the record straight and remind them not to interrupt you or undermine your expertise.

— after a heated argument, he tends to distance himself from everything – he knows that he can say a few words too many when the emotions are high, so he prefers to avoid it.

— he’s usually the one who apologizes first after a fight. he can’t hold the grudge for too long – also he hates to see you upset.

— ehren’s not the best at hiding his emotions. when he’s mad about something, he tends to nervously tap his fingers on a table, desk, or a steering wheel. he also grinds his teeth when he falls asleep right after an argument, but don’t tell anyone!

— he has a couple of comfort movies that always help him survive his seasonal depression symptoms. out of all of them, he especially loves The Big Lebowski, Dumb and Dumber and Legally Blonde.

— ehren doesn’t feel comfortable discussing serious matters over text, so if you're arguing, he will drive up to your place to talk it out, until you feel that the matter is settled.

[hyper-dino]

where my Joe frantz lovers at just u WAIT till u smell what the Rock is cooking. I got some straight fire on the way.

[hyper-dino]

MELTING POINT- DAVE ENGLAND X READER 🎀🫀

Desc: You’re Bam’s sister, and when you plan a winter getaway for the group after filming Jackass 2, you realise pretty quickly you were underprepared for the weather. When you come in from the snow, the only person there to help warm you up is Dave, and he’s been fighting the temptation of Bam’s little sister for far too long.

A/n: Woah. Dave England is hot💔 Feel like I’ve sort of neglected him for a while. Enjoy the first instalment of my Festive wintery stories. (Baby Dave on snowboard!!!!! 🥰🥰)

Warnings : Smut, P in V, Oral, unprotected

Word count : 1555

The Sierra Nevada mountains, California.

That is what you got for a crew Christmas trip when you put the planning in the hands of two women. Of two Margera women, to be more specific. Once you and Ape put your brains together, you came up with the cutest stuff.

Of course, your brother hated you for it.

“What the FUCK? A log cabin? Are we in a fucking hallmark movie, y/n? The only part of Nevada we should be setting foot in is Vegas. No snow.”

“You don’t say that when you’re go to Helsinki to kiss Ville Valo’s snowy ass.”

You shot back, and immediately regretted it, sprinting across the house to avoid the wrath of his raised fists.

Eventually, tensions eased. Bam’s distaste dropped from 100% to about 65%, which you optimistically nudged toward 50% by the time you made it to the airport.

At the airport, you met Ryan, who seemed decently happy about going to the mountains. It was hard to judge though. All of the boys held a certain level of cordiality with you, as Bam’s sister. And even though you’d seen the worst of them at points, helping out with the occasional stunt or prank, you were forever and ever Bam’s little sister, and there was nothing you could do to ever change that. It made it hard to know if they disliked what you had planned.

The cabin was massive. Eight bedrooms (six doubles, two single) so some people had to pair up like a weird, dysfunctional Christmas carol. Bam and Ryan claimed one double, Steveo and Pontius another. Wee Man and Knoxville selflessly offered themselves up for the singles, leaving you a large room with a picture-perfect view of the snow-laden peaks.

Steveo, never taking his mind off of Jackass, started talking about how it’d be an amazing location if the boys had decided to shoot instead of… whatever this “vacation” was supposed to be.

The first night, everyone got settled.

There was a fire lit, the boys figured out they could get to the local bar with a ten minute walk down to the hummer, and then another ten minutes into the town.

You caught up with the boys you hadn’t seen in a while, and ended up watching Love Actually or at least a good half of it with Ryan and Pontius before the boys decided they wanted to hit the bar.

Dave, however, declared he was calling an early night. Not his scene, he said.

You didn’t go out either. Maybe it was a lingering argument with Bam, maybe it was just feeling off. Maybe you just needed to be by yourself. Either way, you stayed behind, calling April and Phil to gush about the cabin, pointing out the view, the ridiculous fireplace, and the general absurdity of it all, before changing in to something warm to sleep in. Sweatpants, and a pullover hoodie that once belonged to Bam.

When you went to turn off the lights and close the curtains, your eyes wandered to the snow outside. It was calling you. It looked like something from a movie. It was pristine and white. You thought about living like your brother, and just doing something that didn’t make any sense for once, just because it was fun, even if it was on a much smaller scale than what Bam usually got up to. So you went out, hoodie, sweatpants, it didn’t matter. You ran and jumped and kicked up powder, threw snow at nothing and you laughed, all on your own.

You came back inside soaked through, cheeks red from the wind, hoodie dripping meltwater. The cabin was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and the snow hissing against the windows. Dave’s in the kitchen, leaning on the counter with a half-empty mug of tea.

When he turned and saw you, his eyebrows shot up.

“What the hell, y/n? You look like you went swimming in it.”

“Okay Mr Oregon snowboarder, suddenly you have a problem with the cold?”

Dave blinked, incredulous. His eyes flicked to your clothes, half wet and clinging.

“Uh…you need to get changed. You’re soaked.”

“Just a little.”

“Y/n,” he said your name like it was a sigh “You’re literally shivering.”

You laughed but it came out shaky. “I’m literally from the East Coast, Dave. I’m made for this stuff.”

He gave a small laugh but it faded quickly as he reached for your sleeve. The fabric squelched under his fingers. “You’re freezing,” he muttered, half to himself. Then, quieter: “You shouldn’t stay in wet clothes.”

Before you could answer, he tugged gently at your sleeve, meaning to help you out of it, and when the hoodie came off, the air felt thin. You were left in a simple cami, and his eyes flicked down once before he forced them up again.

“Go change,” he had to swallow before he could get the words out.

Dave’s rational brain screamed at him. Bro code. Hands-off. This is Bam’s little sister. But rationality was losing the fight. His hands itched to brush the damp strands of hair from your face, to press a dry towel to your skin, to do literally anything that wouldn’t technically cross the line.

“I’m fine,” you teased, still breathless. “Look, I’m not even that cold—”

You grabbed his wrist and pressed your cold fingers to the back of his neck. He jumped at the contact, laughing despite himself. “Jesus! You’re ice!”

You smiled up at him. “Told you.”

The sound of his laugh lingered between you, warm and low. His hand came up almost instinctively, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. The touch was gentle, but his thumb lingered at your jaw a second too long.

Everything stilled.

You could feel his breath when he finally spoke, so quiet, you were unsure if it was to you or himself.

“Bam’s gonna kill me.”

“Then don’t tell him,” you whispered back.

It was almost funny, how natural it felt when he leaned in. Slow, hesitant, like he was giving you a chance to stop him. You didn’t. The space between you disappeared, and his lips met yours. Soft, uncertain at first, then warmer, steadier, until he got confident enough to wrap his arms around you, relying on not so well developed memory to drag you along to his bedroom, teeth clashing. Your hands were all over him, his shoulders, chest, his arms, his back. You wanted to remember how this felt.

He pushed you down on his bed, moving his mouth to your neck and chest. He bit and sucked gently, trying not to leave marks, as if you were both in high school. He peeled the damp shirt off of your body, and tossed it on his bedroom floor, before asking you to lift your hips and doing the same with your sweatpants.

You were in nothing but panties, and he was still fully clothed.

“Not fair,” you breathed out, and he laughed a little bit.

You pulled his shirt up, and he groaned as you ran your hands all over his body. He shoved one hand inside your underwear, letting out a low, “fuck,” and breathy laugh when he felt how wet you were. His fingers rubbed your clit slowly. You reached for his hair, pulling at the blond locks, before he took a massive hint and pushed himself below the covers, kissing your stomach, your inner thighs, your clit before lapping his tongue over your pussy, curling two fingers inside at the same time, slowly.

He stopped, and pushed himself up to speak into your ear “Can I fuck you, y/n?”

“Mhm hmm.” You nodded, slightly dazed from the way he ate you out. He too was half lidded, tired looking, but smiling at your desperate expression.

His pulled his pants off, letting his dick out of his boxers. He rubbed his head on your wet folds.

You whined out “Just put it in”

He knew, looking at your flushed face and begging eyes that he wasn’t gonna be able to last as long as he normally does.

“I had a really nice dream that started like this.” He smiled down at you, pushing hard in.

You locked eyes, both of you audibly gasping at the initial feeling of it being inside you. Dave was big enough. You felt every inch slide inside of you. You were quick to tighten your legs around his waist, not wanting him to pull out, and he was rubbing his thumb on your clit, wanting you both to cum in sync.

He was teasing, mocking, moaning along with you. If you said “I’m gonna cum,”

He’d go “ Mhm, you’re gonna cum?”

You never really thought Dave had it in him, but he was fucking you, slow, and deep, and hard.

“You’re fucking beautiful, y/n” he breathed out between thrusts, and you came hard

He kept fucking you through your orgasm until he came inside of you. He dropped down to lay beside you, both breathing heavily as he pulled the duvet over your bare bodies, the reality of the situation started to hit you.

You just fucked Dave. And you really fucking liked it.

All you could think about was when he’d be ready to go again.

[hyper-dino]

LOST AND FOUND- BRANDON DICAMILLO X READER 🧸🍬

Desc : Late night search for a denim jacket with Dico. Very cute, very fluffy. Biblically accurate Dico.

A/N : Hey lol x

Word count : 1507 (yeah.. that’s right 😉)

West Chester was colder than most people thought.

Especially once November hit. Ape always had a motto for you: “If the month has an R in it, you better get a coat on.” It wasn’t a bad rule to live by, honestly, it saved your ass more than once. You’d learned that unless it was May, June, July, or August, a jacket was non-negotiable. It kept you from those humiliating days when you swore you were a meteorologist, insisted it was warmer than it looked, and ended up with your teeth chattering.

The boys usually threw caution to the wind and wore whatever they felt like. Somehow they were always cozy enough anyway, even if that meant hoodless “fashionable” jackets instead of actual coats.

Why were you thinking about jackets?

2:47am

Dicko-

denim jkt lost. coming over.

You didn’t bother wasting your balance to text him back. If Dico said he was coming over, unfortunately, he was coming over. You told him three separate times that he hadn’t left his jacket at your house. He said you were wrong. That was usually how these things started.

It was just before three when he arrived at your door. You tried your best to make it to the door as soon as you saw him walking up the driveway so he wouldn’t get the chance to knock, or yodel in the letter box and wake up the house.

You caught him after one round of his “shave and a haircut” rhythmed knock on your door.

He was grinning like an idiot when you opened the door.

“Someone got dressed up nice. You were looking forward to my arrival?”

He looks down at your Teenage mutant ninja turtle t-shirt and fuzzy Christmas pyjamas pants before stepping into your hallway, uninvited.

“Your jacket isn’t here.” You said, rubbing your eyes, still adjusting to how you went from asleep to awake to standing in front of Dico in the space of about twelve minutes.

“Yea.. I know. You’re coming with me to find it. You were with me yesterday, you know where we went.”

You furrowed your brow. “Jess, Bam, Novak and Frantz were all with us too? You live closer to Jess and Bam… what?”

He shrugged. “Thought you’d remember better. Elephants never forget, right?” He barely had the sentence out before you smacked him into the chest.

“That was deserved, my bad.” He gets out between spouts of laughing at his own joke.

He bent over and grabbed a pair of your black converse and pulled them by the laces. He gestured his head at the bottom step of your stairs, as if to say “Sit down and put these on”

“All this for a stupid jacket.” You mumble, pulling on your converse, tucking the laces in instead of tying them.

“Nuh uh. No no. It’s not a stupid jacket. It’s the jacket. Napkins with genius written on ‘em in those pockets.”

You sighed, but grabbed your hoodie anyway.

The car smelled like cigarettes, and a room spray you’d forced him to take from your room because he’d spilled an entire stir fry all over the back seat four days prior.

You drove through West Chester, the heater fighting the cold, barely any cars around. Dico kept a running commentary. Accents, radio voices. You laughed until your face hurt.

You made it to your third 7/11 before he started to have doubts he would find the jacket. Nonetheless you went inside. You didn’t leave with a jacket, but you left with a sour apple slurpee and donuts, suspiciously reduced to fifty cents. (Dico insisted)

You stayed in the parking lot, eating.

“They’re stale.” He said while chewing, grimacing.

“They’re stale because they were like four cents.” You said, breaking off a small piece with enough icing to disguise the cardboardy taste.

“Maybe it’s good that it’s gone.” He finally spoke after a few silent moments.

“Are you being profound right now?” You laughed at him.

“Nah. The jacket knew I was recycling old material. I’ll think of new stuff. Those bits were never meant to be.” He wiped an imaginary tear.

“Yeah. Jacket got tired of your shitty jokes.” You smiled.

“You’re meant when you’re right, y/n.”

The car was silent then. Not awkwardly. Streetlights blurred on the windshield.

“This is like when you lost your Bad motherfucker wallet in senior year.” You laughed at the memory, pulling down the visor so you could look at your hair in the mirror. “Or your stolen fancy Bombay Sapphire glass… Or your Star Wars DVD that was actually in a Titanic DVD case.”

He nodded. “You helped me look for those, too.”

“We never found them, though.” You countered. “I’m kind of useless honestly. Phil was always better at that stuff. Once at Bam’s birthday, I lost an earring — an earring! At a Bam Margera party! Which is like a needle in a haystack…but Phil got out a flashlight and—”

“I think I lose things so often because I’m always looking for excuses to spend time with you.”

He ran his tongue over his bottom lip before he kept going, like he was steadying himself.

“You always wanna help me out. I could call you at three a.m. for anything and you’d still show up. I mean— I just think that’s… kinda our thing. I lose stuff, and you come help me look.”

You pretended to laugh, because it sounded like a bit. He didn’t laugh. He just kind of looked at you.

“Was that totally gross?” He tilted his head.

“A little bit.” You fought back a smile.

“Oh shut up. You loved it.”

Neither of you moved to start the car.

He dropped you off around four-thirty. The house was quiet, lights low. You hung your hoodie on the coat rack and stood there for a second, staring at it. Right beside it hung Dico’s denim jacket, folded over the hook like it had been waiting the whole time.

You didn’t move it. You just smiled a little to yourself, and went upstairs.

[hyper-dino]

Hi it’s me again I won’t promise that I’m back but here are some thoughts

• dunn doing the manspead hands behind head leaned back against couch (extra points if he lifts his hips to adjust his position)

• dico doing the tongue in cheek “oh yeah?” thing

•jess not hearing you at a party and bending down so you can talk in his ear (😫😫)

• tipsy or stoned bam listening (not listening) to you talk and he’s just staring at your lips going “mhm hmm” ,“yeah?”, “mhm”, “really? no way”

• Raab with a “here she is” and a smirk when you show up

Ok that’s all for now please add some im feeling this low effort vibe rn

[hyper-dino]

being a fanfic writer girl and having mutuals with non fanfic writer boys who talk like dico mixed with jimmy pop and make memes and and are always saying fuck you to someone or talking about balls makes me very judged but also like they would defend me in a time of need.

[hyper-dino]

ASK BAM- RYAN DUNN X READER 🧸🫀

Desc: You’re not in love with Ryan Dunn—at least, that’s what you told Bam. But when you show up at Ryan’s place that night, the line between what you say and what you feel starts to blur.

A/N: Sorry this is long asl- also looking for people to like pre-read my work and check grammar and if I’m using the same words a lot because I go blind to it after a while lmk if you’d be down

Warnings: Smut is kind of implied, Making out

Word count: 1609

“So, are you guys in love or not?” Bam inquired.

You’d suddenly began to regret the borderline lecture you’d given him on the ups and downs of your not-really-a-relationship-relationship with his best friend.

You told Bam about the time that Ryan had come to your house when you were sick, with medicine and at least attempted to try and make you something to eat. You told him about the times that Ryan held you and kissed you like nobody ever had before.

But you also told him about the time that Ryan ignored your calls for a week with no explanation.

So, the answer you gave to Bam about whether you and Ryan were “In love or not” could be one of a thousand answers. You could tell him what you thought the answer to that question was last week, or yesterday, or right now. They were all on a spectrum, ranging from rosy pink to dead black.

You rolled Bam’s splintered board left to right with your resting ankles, trying to distract yourself from thinking too hard about Ryan.

“Well?” Bam demanded.

You blinked your eyes savagely hard. “No. We’re not in love.”

Bam leaned back, and I thought for a second he was going to protest. “Alright. But does he know that?”

You ignored what Bam said, and said your goodbyes to him before giving him a quick, pathetically weak hug.

You told yourself you weren’t walking to Ryan’s house for any particular reason. Maybe just to clear your head. Maybe to prove to Bam that he was wrong, and you two could just be allowed to have a summer fling and be friends.

Ryan’s front door was unlocked, like always. You stepped inside without knocking, knowing he wouldn’t give a fuck, and saw him sprawled on the couch.

The TV glow shone against his skin, casting coloured shadows over his face. He looked up at the sound of the door closing, squinting at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

“You lost or something?” His voice was hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in a while.

You crossed your arms. “No. Just thought I’d stop by.”

Ryan sat up and stretched, the hem of his white t-shirt lifting up to show a sliver of skin. His eyes were very tired, but he smirked. “Yeah? Or did you just come over to crawl into my bed?”

You sighed. “No.”

Ryan was studying you. His gaze had that intensity that made your skin prickle, like he could see straight through you. You hated that. You hated the way he could make you feel so obvious.

“I saw Bam earlier,” you admitted, stepping inside. “He asked me if we were in love.”

Ryan let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Oh yeah? And what’d you say?”

You swallowed. “I said no.”

Ryan’s smirk fell for just a second. Then he nodded, tongue running over his bottom lip like he was thinking something over.

“Cool,” he muttered. “Good to know.”

Something about his tone pissed you off. It was like he knew that you wanted him to ask why you said no. So he gave you absolutely nothing.

“It’s true, no?” you pressed, hating the way your voice sounded. Like you were asking instead of stating a fact.

Ryan shrugged. “I dunno. You tell me.” His voice was lower now. “You’re the one who keeps showing up at my house to get in my pants.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t start that shit.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “What shit, (Y/N)?”

“Acting like I’m the only one who—“ You broke off.

Ryan scanned you up and down for a minute, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement. Without warning, he reached out, grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer. You let him, even though you should have pulled away.

His grip was loose, but enough to keep you grounded next to him on the couch.

“Well, if you’re not in love with me, why do you keep looking at me like that?”

Your pulse spiked. “Like what?”

Even though his lips twitched, there was no humour in it. “Like you’re waiting for me to prove you wrong.”

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve laughed, rolled your eyes, anything to break the tension that had settled so thick between you. But you didn’t.

“I’m not waiting for anything,” you murmured, but it came out weaker than you wanted.

Ryan exhaled a quiet laugh. His thumb brushed once over your wrist before he let go. You hated the feeling of its absence immediately.

“Yeah?” he muttered, leaning back again. “Then why are you still here?”

You really should’ve left. You should’ve left some snarky comment behind you and walked out before you let him get to you. But you stayed. Because you always do.

Because no matter how many times Ryan ignored your calls, or pulled himself back as soon as you thought he was letting you in, no matter how many times he made you feel like you were chasing something you could never catch. You wound up right back at his door.

“Maybe I just like making sure you’re still alive,” you muttered.

Ryan smirked, tilting his head toward you. “You think about me that much?”

Your stomach twisted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But now he was watching you, and it wasn’t casual. His eyes flicked all over you, and you felt so aware of yourself, your crossed legs on his sofa, the way your hair fell, whatever way your hands sat. You wondered if what you were doing was weird or wrong. Of course it wasn’t, but the way he stared made you so conscious.

It was classic Ryan fashion actually. He didn’t like being the first one to break. He liked pushing people, waiting for them to crack. But for the first time ever, you weren’t breaking.

He shifted towards you, closing the space between you before you could even think too hard about it. His leg pressed up against yours, warm through the denim. His fingers found their way to your hair, featherlight, but intentional.

“So, if I were to fuck you right now, and it be the last time, you wouldn’t care?”

You should’ve said yes, or laughed, or maintained that you did truly believe this whole arrangement was nothing, and most surely not love. But when he pulled your head forward, you didn’t move away.

His fingers curled against the back of your neck, he was giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You didn’t.

Ryan let out a breath, maybe relief, maybe something different. Finally, his lips met yours.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was a kiss that didn’t leave any room for doubt, like he was trying to erase every time either of you had ever pretended like this meant nothing. His hand slid up, tangling into your hair, pulling you closer, like he was asking you to stop him.

You just kissed him back just as hard.

Because this was how it always went down . You’d say to yourself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just a summer fling, that you weren’t in love, but the second Ryan touched you, none of that mattered.

His other hand grazed your waist, fingertips pressing just enough to make your breath stop. He smirked against your mouth, like he noticed, like he knew.

Cocky bastard.

You pushed at his shoulder, just enough to push him back against the couch. “You’re such an asshole,” you muttered, breathless.

Ryan grinned. “You say that every time.”

You stared at him, chest still rising and falling too fast. His hair was messy, his lips slightly swollen, and you hated how he looked so relaxed while you were still desperately trying to catch up.

“Because it’s true,” you whispered back.

Ryan just tilted his head, still smirking. He reached out, hooking his finger through the belt loop of your jeans, not pulling, just holding.

“You still leaving?” he asked, voice low.

Maybe it was the right idea .

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Ryan didn’t say any more. He didn’t have to, really. His finger stayed hooked in your belt loop, a loose, lazy hold, because he knew you weren’t pulling away.

You grabbed his face, pulling him into another kiss, rougher this time, teeth grazing his bottom lip just to feel him react. He did, with a sharp inhale through his nose, his hands finally gripping your waist like he’d been holding himself back.

You felt him move underneath you, pressing up against you, and suddenly the couch felt too small, too uncomfortable, too not enough. Ryan felt it too, because in seconds, he was pulling you up, dragging you with him as he stood, hands steadfast at your hips.

His mouth didn’t leave yours as he backed you toward his room.

You knew how to get from his couch to his living room, eyes closed and backwards with muscle memory. You barely noticed the path you took,only that Ryan’s hands never left your skin. His fingers curled under your shirt, dragging it up, and you let him, raising your arms just long enough for him to pull it off.

Ryan smiled at the sight of you, then leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. “Still not in love with me?”

You exhaled sharply, pushing at his chest, not to shove him away, just to make him shut up. He only laughed, but before he could say anything else, you pulled him down onto the bed with you.

That was the last smartass comment he made for a while.

[hyper-dino]

BUMPS- BRANDON DICAMILLO X READER 🎀🕯️

Desc: You’re at a party, and hanging out with your ex, Dico, stirs up some feelings. You’re more than friends, but less than you once were. (nothing really happens except some reminiscing, sozzo xox)

A/N: First written piece in like.. 6 months?? I may be rustayy. I found it very hard to remember if I wrote in first or third person! So I guessed. Also back taking requests xx

Warnings: Female reader, very quick mention of injury, smoking, drinking, generally a bit angsty

Word Count: 1231

You leaned over Bam’s balcony, a cigarette between your fingers. You were cold until Dico had taken the liberty of tossing you a cream crewneck that you bought him. You pulled it over your head, staining the blue ringer neck with foundation. It was old, you knew he wouldn’t mind. The large hole in the stomach should’ve been a greater cause of concern.

“Thanks. I was freezing,” You said in between drags of your cigarette.

“Mhm.” He hums, his attention still largely on the party inside. His pupils were huge and his jaws were red.

“Is Raab okay?” You gesture inside, referring to the boy who hit his head on the table about half an hour earlier, a large bump had grown by his eyebrow.

“Yeah. He’s fine.” He holds his hand out, palm inwards, asking you for your cigarette.

You hand it to him.

“Bumps are good, dents are bad. He’s got a bump. He’ll live.”

You nodded. Bumps are good, dents are bad. You repeated to yourself.

“You having fun?” You asked.

You mentally scolded yourself, the sharp sting of regret creeping in. How had you allowed it to get this bad? How had everything that was once so effortless turned into this uncomfortable exchange? The boy who used to know every inch of you, who had seen you at your best and worst, your flaws laid bare and still loved you for them, was now standing there, making small talk like you were just any other person.

You wished you could ask better questions, or talk about something more meaningful. These stupid half-assed topics were just acknowledging how far apart you’d grown, and it hurt so bad.

“Yeah. I’m having fun.” He nodded, his lips in a thin line, like he was thinking the same things as you. “Are you?”

He asks the girl standing alone smoking cigarettes outside of the party.

“Yeah.” You lied.

You entertained an idea for about two seconds— asking him if he was talking to any girls inside the party, or just in general— but you shut yourself down. It sounded quite sad and desperate, you thought.

He took another drag from your cigarette, the tip glowing orange in the low light. Your eyes never left him, never stopped examining him, the way his eyes didn’t focus, the way his shoulders slouched like he had weight on them.

“Still hanging out with all the guys?” You ask, the stupid, ridiculous, obvious question. It was more of a jab than a question, really. He still got to hang out with them all. You didn’t really. It was a big thing you risked, choosing to date one of the boys as the newest member of the group. It would be without any shadow of a doubt that they would all side with their old friend before you. Which you understood, but didn’t necessarily like. It left you on the outskirts, occasionally getting invited to events, for which they probably had get the “OK” from Dico.

His lisp pressed into a tighter line. “Yeah, of course. You know how it is.”

You nodded. You didn’t really know how it was. Not anymore. He handed back your cigarette, which was three quarters of the way gone by then.

“Thanks, man.” He said before he started talking o head back into the party.

Man

With no undertone of sarcasm or jokiness. For a lot of girls, your ex boyfriend calling you by your first name would be sickening after months or years of being called baby or sweetheart or angel. But for you, being called “Man” or “Bro” after a year of being called “(Y/N)” stung more.

Dico only ever called you by your first name. He wasn’t a pet name sort of boyfriend. You understood it, you never really called him baby or love neither.

He called you sweetheart once, on the beach in Fort Lauderdale you vacationed to, about three weeks before you broke up.

The sun was sickeningly hot, and the ice cream cone that sat in your stoned hands began to melt and dribble onto your bare thighs. You giggled, heads craned back against the salty rocks and shared a kiss that felt like you almost both knew it was coming to an end.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” He hummed, pulling your legs over his lap. He wasn’t saying it like a performance, it was real. He meant to say it.

Things just went downhill from there. Arguments and jealousy became normality. Going to see him felt more like a chore than something you wanted to do. You were both so jealous all the time, and neither party ever felt like they were being listened to. So, that one August night, when he called you on the phone and asked you to come over, you already knew what was about to happen. His voice was too sweet on the phone.

The whole thing was over within less than ten minutes. He left straight away, and you said the cliché “Let’s stay friends” line, not thinking you really would. But you did. You stayed his friend, sort of, just being weirdly in love with him but also hating his guts all the time, trying your best not to say something you’d regret whenever he was around.

You let the sting rush through you, and ultimately get the better of you for a few seconds until you decided you weren’t done talking to him.

“Brandon!” You shouted before he could get in the door.

He turned his head, lazily. “Hm?”

You didn’t say anything, which forced him to walk back over to you, hands in pockets, dragging his feet across the decking.

“Are we ever gonna talk about it?” You prayed, and regret swamped you as soon as the words left your mouth.

You could hear him take a deep breath.

“Maybe.” He admitted after a moment’s silence, his eyes not meeting yours. “Just not tonight.”

“I guess not,” you whispered, rubbing your thumb over the cream fabric of the crewneck. “Just feels like… it doesn’t have to be like this, y’know?”

He finally looked at you, his gaze heavy but distant. “I know. It doesn’t. But it is.”

[dangerehrensretainer]

I miss dico