3-2-11
6:15pm
Summary–She hates losing. She hates losing to him. But the most important thing, he can't just take from her. She'll have to surrender it herself. Buttercup/Butch
Disclaimer–I do not own The Powerpuff Girls, which belongs to its respective owner(s) and is only being used in a fan-made, fictional story.
xoxo
Title–Winning Losers
By–Moon Prynces
xoxo
She haughtily walks onto the field with a few of her teammates, all chatting about random things and generally just full of excitement.
"This is one of our new students," the coach abruptly tells them, not looking up from her clipboard.
A few people glance at the newcomer, but she isn't one of them (still too busy laughing with some friends).
"He's decided to try out and wants centre forward," the coach continues in monotone.
This is what causes her to shut up and turn to him with her brows together.
"That's my position," she says out loud. Loud enough for everyone to hear and for him to look right back at her.
He watches her blankly, not quite sure yet if she is a threat as she wonders the same.
"We'll see what happens," the coach finally looks up at Buttercup with her no-nonsense attitude.
Two hours later, the team is wiping sweat from their faces and tugging at their shirts to get some air flowing. Ten minutes after that, he...Butch is smirking while she glares and grinds her teeth.
She doesn't have to act as though it's the end of the world. It's just a middle school soccer team. Their school doesn't have the funds for separating the genders but no one ever seemed to mind. Until now.
He is good, she gives him that. He does deserve the spot, she knows. But it doesn't make the heartbreak any easier.
She leaves as soon as practice is over without a word to anyone, not even to congratulate him like a good sportsman should.
She just lost something to him. And she swears it will be the last time.
xoxo
She is wary of him after that, although they are teammates and need to trust each other. Which is probably why her defenses are lowered slowly over time and they eventually become friends (though the term is used a bit loosely).
Along the path of getting to know him (which is mainly just through soccer and then the classes they share in high school) she becomes aware that he is actually quite a...cocky bastard.
It doesn't dissuade her from being in his presence or talking to him though, because he gets to know her as well. And so he knows she can easily handle his...enthusiasm.
But what she comes to find as time passes...is that she's always losing things to him.
He grabs her favorite pens when she isn't looking, because he never seems to have one himself. He "borrows" her notes to study from, forcing her to use her sister's. And he takes up too much of her time, always coming over to irritate her or drag her out to movies he wants to see.
She doesn't seem to care though – no longer holding onto her previous, childish grudge.
Well, not until now.
"I need that back," she tells him while still rummaging through her locker. "It's my last one," her voice warns him darkly.
Butch is too busy playing deaf and pretending to examine her pen. "What was that?" he looks to her with an overly-done innocent expression.
Buttercup turns to him after slapping her locker shut loudly and glares. Instead of asking (demanding) for it a second time, she just holds out her open palm.
"What do I get in return?"
"To live."
He smirks like the idiot he is and holds out the pen for her...to miss as he pulls it back quickly.
Buttercup growls and tries again to snatch it, which only causes him to be an asshole and move it further out of her reach every time. Soon it's dangling in the air above her head, with him using the height difference to his advantage.
"Butch," she says through her teeth as the bell rings.
Then he sighs heavily and lowers his arm so she can grab the object. She shoots him a suspicious look and cautiously reaches forward to take it.
Butch smirks as her hand lands in his and he closes it in a grip that she cannot escape.
The halls are getting empty but the dozen or so stragglers glance at the two. Anything to delay getting to class.
Buttercup starts to fight his hold because she knows she can win, even without resorting to some below the belt tactics. But then he leans in closer, looming right before her face and her eyes widen in shock at the unexpectedness.
He smiles briefly, leans closer still, tilts his head and she feels his breath on the side of her neck for a moment before his hand lets go of hers and he pulls away without a trace.
She sees him smirk insanely, looking satisfied at her stunned expression. And he didn't even do anything!
Well...
Her brows come together as she loses something more: her sanity.
"Damnit Butch," she curses under her breath while he casually saunters down the hallway.
He still has her pen.
xoxo
She gets irritated with him quickly after that. Because now she knows.
Every time he walks into a room or grins in her direction or sits down with her during lunch makes her want to punch him in the face for being so arrogant and selfish and victorious.
Because now she knows...a lot of things.
Knows that he is exactly the kind of guy she should stay away from. The kind that can take everything she has and leave her with nothing but his smug laugh. The kind that...that she can see herself getting involved with.
But she's Buttercup and not only does she hate losing, but she hates the mere thought of losing anything to him – rekindling that previous, "childish" grudge.
So how did she get into her current situation again?
Oh yeah, because she loves soccer and he knows it.
See, the rest of her team had left the field an hour ago when practice had ended, but she had (ridiculously) stayed behind to kick around that damn ball some more.
And that's when he had come casually walking out there with his hands in his pockets, giving her a pensive stare. It did take her a few minutes to notice him, and then she wished she hadn't.
"Can I help you?" she had asked flatly, only glancing up once to see him and then fixing her gaze steadily on the ball.
"Yeah. Where have you been lately?" Butch had questioned incredulously. "I haven't seen you around since..."
Since she'd made the conscious decision to stay away from him. Since she'd realized that the only way to avoid losing anything to him would be to not be in contact with him at all. Because even though she wanted to believe she could fight it...he had a way of getting around her defenses.
"Been busy," she said curtly while trying to move further down the field, and away from him.
Butch just rolled his eyes and shrugged off his jacket. "You mind if I join?"
She looked up with wide eyes and almost stumbled over the ball. "Well I–"
He smirked, which was what he did best, and asked, "What? Afraid of losing to little ol' me?"
And that was how things went and that is why she's currently dragging her feet up and down this damned field, making sure to keep the ball in her possession and blocking his would-be goals.
All the exertion made her want to collapse. From one full day of school, to three hours of practice, plus an hour of her personal training and then Butch challenging her to an impromptu, "friendly" game?
Butch notices the exhaustion, but when he's about to comment he also realizes the greater effort she's putting forth to beat him. So instead of being nice and considerate, he just steps up his game.
No mercy.
Buttercup doesn't pay attention to her sluggish limbs and slower-than-normal reflexes. She doesn't quite realize how bad this game is going. Her four goals don't mean anything when he's got twice as many.
His brows furrow at the fact that he's now at twelve and she's just got six. It definitely isn't her usual performance and so he pauses with the ball between his feet to stare her down, just two meters from him.
"You look ready to keel over. Just give up already," he tells her, because lord knows he won't do it.
She glares, twitchy and with eyes darting to the ball. "No," she practically shouts defiantly.
Somehow, in the next two minutes, she gets the ball and another goal but really only succeeds in looking ready to pass out. This is why Butch eyes her critically before whisking the ball away again.
"Why can't you just admit defeat?" he asks plainly, running the ball in a circle around her as she wipes her face with the back of her hand.
"Over my dead body," she replies simply.
Which isn't all that funny because it looks pretty likely to happen.
He stops, looks at her and suddenly stoops down to pick up the ball. "Okay, we're done."
"What?" she whips around to where he's standing behind her. "No, we're not. Give me that!" And then stalks over to grab the ball, which he pulls away from her reach. It's just a repeat of that day, though she's too intent on continuing their game to notice. "Why don't you give up?" Buttercup snarls.
Butch looks taken-aback at the suggestion. "What– No!"
"Oh, so then it's always me who has to lose?"
His mouth opens to reply but then he thinks over the question. "Always you?" he asks instead.
Buttercup shuts up and stands still. She gnaws on her lip before saying, "Just give me that."
He pulls the ball away and this time drop kicks it to the other end of the field. "Now what were you saying?" Butch turns to her with an all-too-pleasant smile.
She watches it go in angry surprise before turning to him. Then she glares deeply, and hates him even more. "That's not fair. None of this is fair."
And though Butch would like to think she's referring to the fact that she was exhausted when they started their little match and that she'll have to drag herself down the field to retrieve the ball...he definitely feels the underlying tension. There's something more to her words.
"I can't just let you take everything you want from me," she mumbles, seemingly to herself.
Butch strains his ears to hear this and stares in confusion.
There's nothing but silence as she examines the grass in thought and he tries piecing things together.
"There is one thing I haven't lost," she suddenly tells him, looking up again. "You take my pens. You steal my notes. You waste my time and you require as much attention as a puppy – it's pathetic. You always need my opinion on something, like you can't think for yourself and then drive me up the walls every time you smirk like you know something I don't."
He stands there and lifts his brows knowingly, which pisses her off a bit.
After a moment he says exasperatedly, "You won't lose it to me, or let me take it. You're not the type."
Buttercup is surprised at the clarity with which he's speaking. He knows.
"You'd have to surrender it," he continues with a deep, hard stare.
She flinches and then shrinks back at the truth. "I'm not good at surrendering."
He smiles briefly and shrugs. "It happens sometimes. You learn."
"I don't want to–" She halts abruptly and cringes at her next words. "To lose more things."
"We could always just trade then."
Slowly at first, the gears start turning and conjure up a suspicious, slightly disbelieving expression as she ponders his words and the look he's giving her.
Always wanting her opinion? And attention? And just being in her presence for no reason other than to (seemingly) annoy her?
She watches a slow, deliberate smile spread across his face. It is so unlike his usual smirk that her eyes widen and her insides squirm as if they're in a conga line.
"You think you're so slick, don't you?" Buttercup says with a roll of her eyes, ignoring the gravity of their conversation.
"I do," Butch grins. "But apparently you don't."
She sighs and folds her arms. "Okay, well...I guess I can...stop avoiding you now."
"Ya think?" he says sarcastically. Then he holds out a hand. "So, truce?" She looks at him funny. "So nobody has to worry about losing things and whatnot."
Buttercup nods and walks closer to grasp his hand. Which he grips and doesn't let go of. And though her heart jolts and body trembles, she doesn't fight him. Doesn't try to pull away.
Butch smiles hopefully.
She's learning.
And who knows, maybe in the end they'll both lose something and win something. A trade, just like he suggested.
xo end xo
Inspired by the following lines from Sarah Dessen's book, "Along for the Ride" and from page 202. The lines are as follows:
"I'm not good at surrendering."
"No one is," he said. "But sometimes, you lose. Nothing you can do but admit it."
I'm not sure how I feel about this. I think it was different in my head. I think I might write something else, and a bit similar, using those same few lines as inspiration. Depends how satisfying this feels when I reread it a few more times.
Also, I somehow found myself writing in present tense. There is a slight flashback where I go back to past tense for a bit but I'm sure I was clear enough. Present tense is pretty interesting, and it's hardly ever used in writing (or is it just fiction?).
As always, thank you for reading and tell me what you think.
3-7-11
1:56am