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ponstermenis-writing · 2 days ago

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Barely Above Minimum Wage

tags// Disabled Johnny Cade, Christmas Fluff, The Gang is a bunch of troublemakers, Johnny Cade is a sassy man with crutches TLDR; Johnny Cade, a severely underpaid high-school substitute, is forced to deal with some of the most troublesome students (the gang) for a whole day. Godbless.

“Are you free on Wednesday the 16th?” —is the email he receives incredibly late on Tuesday, the 15th.

Of course he’s free. He’s fresh out of college and not doing much else but cook and clean in his new apartment just to keep from becoming sedentary. It’s a new town, new state, new country. He barely knows anyone out of work—and even then it’s not much. He’s a substitute so he’s not there as much as other teachers—though with the amount of folks quitting and going on strike he might get a permanent spot.

”Yes, I’ll be free tomorrow.” He replies, trying to type professionally even as he eyes try to pull themselves shut. He gets sent a paragraph in the next seconds—so she knew I was free, that bitch—that he quickly decides could’ve simply been ‘come in at 7:30 tomorrow morning’. He’s barely able to set his alarm before he passes out.

Waking up was like being punched in the face. He slammed his fist down on the old alarm clock six times before it shut up—subconsciously he’s already thrown it out the window, but a new one is expensive.

He takes an ice cold shower and fixes his sleep-riddled appearance. He pulls on a red sweater and blue jeans—adding a scarf, gloves, and a huge varsity jacket for the inevitable walk there. He manages to get out of the house right on time, giving Scott (his ginormous sheepdog) a big fat kiss on the forehead before heading there.

The walk is slow and cold—snow had been leisurely falling all week. It was safe to drive in—especially with the big snow plows—but his dark blue beetle from the 1960s that is moments away from exploding in the parking garage probably couldn’t handle it. He knows he shouldn’t be walking in the snow—the doctors warned him not to put too much strain on himself, but he does anyway—his crutches get buried and he’s sure it would actually be easier to walk without them.

He got in a pretty bad car crash right after college. His father had actually come to his graduation—just to spend drive back angrily complaining about how ungrateful he was for not mentioning them in his speech. He was clearly drunk and after a few snide comments from Johnny, he drove both of them off of a bridge and into an empty road below. It had killed him instantly, Johnny had to sit in the smashed car for an hour before they got him out.

He eventually got control of his legs back. He could drive and walk now—but he couldn’t do either for long without help. He was given crutches—loftstrand was the scientific name, but he liked elbow crutches more.

“You’re late.” The desk lady says as he walks into the office at 7:43. Her names Scarlet—Johnny likes her well enough, even though she has a tendency to be blunt. Johnny gives her an awkward smile, walking up to here desk. “Bad traffic.” he excuses, rolling his shoulders.

“You walked here, Johnny, I can see the parking lot from my desk.” She smiles just a little to let him know she’s teasing him. “I’m gonna go out on a whim and say you didn’t read the email?”

Johnny frowns. “I skimmed it.”

She gives him an exasperated look, handing him a sheet of paper. “We need someone to watch six kids before break starts—I assumed you’d be able to handle it.”

“It’s six kids, why wouldn’t I be able to?” He feels himself getting a little defensive. She’s usually one of the few folks who don’t look down on him—”They aren’t regular kids.” She stands, gesturing for him to follow her. “I’m sure you’ve heard some stories about our most troublesome.” She gestulates, waving her hands about as she talks. “You’ve got the lucky assignment to watch them all.”

“Why me?” He shivers. He knows he’s not very intimidating—he’s treated like a student more often that he is a teacher. And from word of mouth the only way to deal with those boys is to have them fear you. “Is Tim busy?” Tim Shepard, the only other substitute for this whole school. He’s ten times as scary as Johnny is—Tim’s usually the one to deal with detention, he’s the one Johnny got the horror stories from.

“Yup.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s covering Mr.Sniders English class.”

“Wonderful.” Johnny groans, pulling off his jacket. “So, what? I just watch them for an hour until they get sent back to their classes?”

She laughs, placing her hand on his shoulder. “That would be too easy! You’ve got the whole day with them.” She pauses at the detention room door. “Good luck!” She gives him a teasing smile before walking off. She must know that he can handle it—she’d disperse them into empty classes if not. But sometimes Johnny likes to be undermined—because how in the world is he going to survive this?

He lets out a loud sigh before entering the room, pleased to find it empty—of course those kids wouldn’t be early, what was he thinking?

Johnny drops his stuff on the large desk in the front of the room, unhooking his arms from his crutches and doing his best to move the seats. He arranges them into a row that’s two seats wide—they have the big science desks in here, which is stupid consider the actual science room doesn’t have any.

Sometime through his rearrangement—The vice principal rolls around. It takes Johnny a moment until he realizes he’s there.

This guy, is a HUGE dick.

Because of the amount of ‘hoodlums”’—his words, not Johnny’s—the man’s only job is pretty much to take care of anything that goes wrong. And he loves it—he’ll take any chance to talk down on a teacher or student if they dare break any rule he decides it semi-important. He especially doesn’t like Johnny—purely because they went to rivaling colleges, and the only thing keeping this guy alive is reliving the glory days.

“Mr.Cade.” He says as walks in—even though he, for a fact, knows Johnny’s first name—startling the other. Johnny sighs, straightening himself before the other can gibe about his posture. “Mr.Sheldon.” He says, plastering on a fake smile.

”I’m sure the receptionist has already made what you’re doing pretty clear,” he begins. Johnny wants to scold him for calling her ‘the receptionist’ but knows it won’t go far. “She gave you the attendance sheet, correct?”

Johnny glances to the paper he left on the desk, nodding.

“Use your words next time, it commands more respect.” The man scolds. He hands Johnny a few papers—giving him an annoyed look when he takes to long to unhook the crutches from his arm.

“This paper on top is going to be most important,” he begins, pointing to a sheet with some kind of table on it. “As you can see, each of the student’s names have boxes off to the side. If they do anything against the rules, I want you to write it down here so they can be dealt with accordingly.” He sucks in a breath, “We aren’t afraid to give them detention over break.”

“Ah, the naughty list.” Johnny says with a joking smile, scanning it over—he couldn’t help but notice that some student’s space for writing was bigger than others. His smile turns into an awkward laugh when he notices the stern look on the man’s face. “This is no laughing matter, Mr.Cade. These kids can do some very serious damage.”

”Right, of course.“ Johnny nods, flipping through the stack.

“The rest of it is just work that their teachers left.” He pauses. “They don’t have to do it, but if they start getting rowdy I suggest assigning it.” He all but snatches the stack from Johnny’s hands and straightens it out. “I expect I won’t have to see you again today, right?”

”Y-Yes sir.” Johnny says before he can stop himself. The other smirks—he loves intimidating people, Johnny hates that he gave him the satisfaction. “Wonderful.” He says, making his way to the door after setting the tidy pile on Johnnys desk. “Oh, and make sure you turn in that attendance sheet the second they all show up. It’s important we keep a close eye on them.”

”Of course, thank you.” Johnny says, deflating once the door closes.

The bell rings a moment later and he knows they’re gonna start coming in soon. He rushes to his desk—hiding the crutches under his desk and trying to make himself look presentable, draping the jacket over the back of his chair and pulling forth the papers he was given. He doesn’t want to give those kids a single thing to make fun of him for. Hidden between the papers were what looked like character cards. With little photos of each student in the corner of the page. With their names and student numbers to the left. It looked like each of the teachers had written him actual descriptions of these kids. Which, is so wild that it’s actually funny.

It’s definitely against some kind of rule…

He skims through a couple anyway.

Keith Mathews,

A jokester. He’ll try to prank just about everyone in the room, watch your back. Even if you don’t get the joke, laugh along. Don’t engage with any of his other shenanigans unless you’re ready for a write up.

He’d seen the boy in passing once or twice. He was never not laughing or messing with someone. Johnny didn’t realize he was that bad. But after seeing his record underneath the description he decides to never think that highly of him again.

Darrel Curtis,

Pretty good kid. Doesn’t like being talked down to, best not to boss him around much. He’s got a tendency to blow up—don’t mess with him or his brothers too much or you’ll deal with the bruising. Careful, he manhandles.

Johnny has to stop himself from laughing at the description. He’s seen him around a lot. He’s a senior—big on the football team. Johnny thought he was an adult several times. He didn’t realize Darrel was such a troublemaker—he was the most sophisticated on his team, especially compared to that Paul friend of his.

The door opens before he can read another. He quickly tucks the paper away, no doubt looking very suspicious. He’s not sure how kids would feel about their teachers writing warning descriptions of them, but he doubts it’d feel good.

A younger looking boy walks in—he’s gotta be a freshman or a sophomore. He’s got auburn hair and big green eyes. He gives Johnny a weird look as he walks past, not saying anything before taking his seat in the back of the room. Johnny can feel the boy staring—no doubt wondering who the rando sitting at the teachers desk was.

“What’s your name?” Johnny asks after a minute, trying to sound friendly and not nervous. The boy looks him up and down, furrowing his brows. “Who are you?” He asks almost accusingly, eyes stuck on him.

“I—uh, I’m the substitute. Mr.Cade.” He quickly recovers, holding up the badge around his neck with his name on it. The boy gives him an unamused ‘sure you are’ look. “My name is Ponyboy Curtis.” He says before ducking his hand back down to read his book.

Yeah, great talking to you kid.

Johnny sighs, grabbing the attendance sheet and putting a check next to his name. He makes sure the other isn’t watching before he takes a look at his page.

Ponyboy Curtis,

Good student, hardworking. Not much of a troublemaker. But he has the tendency to talk back. He’ll follow anything his friends and brothers do, best to keep them apart.

Johnny quickly notices that three students have the same last name. He sighs, tucking the sheet away. Clearly, Ponyboy was just a smart aleck who couldn’t keep his mouth shut—not to mention that the ‘does whatever his friends and brothers do’ seems to be made very true. All of the infractions on his record line up perfectly with the others.

He can’t help his own nervousness as it takes longer and longer for the kids to show up. He heard what they did to the last guy who took Tim’s place. Dumped water on him as he walked in, threw shit and destroyed his things, relentlessly bullied him for having the surname Hancock, and then chased him out to his car with rocks—after, of course, they spray painted it with obscenities that made the devil twitch.

Not to mention he really hated being in a room alone with this kid. He wasn’t really paying attention to Johnny, but he still felt like a bug under a microscope.

Two students walk in a moment later. They both give him the same reaction Ponyboy did, heading to a set of two seats in the front corner. “Who are you?” The blonde calls loudly, a dopey smile on his face. “Geez Soda, keep it down.” The black haired boy next to him laughed, though matching his loud tone.

“I’m the substitute.” Johnny says slowly, figuring out who they were by the photos and putting checkmarks by their names. They both share a look, shaking their heads. “No you ain’t.” The black haired man—Steve, shakes his head. “What are you? Like, 15?”

Johnny decides to not engage—he’s unable to keep his eye from twitching, and he’s sure the two notice.

The other two walk in with quick succession. They look at him like he’s an alien, refusing to acknowledge him verbally. Johnny sighs when the bell finally rings, ducking his head down. Darrel sits down next to his youngest brother, seemingly not planning to cause trouble either. Two-Bit idles around his desk for a bit—no doubt waiting for him to talk first. Johnny’d knows not to—He sits down beside an empty seat eventually.

The late bell rings and he decides not to worry about the absentee. He’s going through some of the work papers while they silently watch him—he pretends not to notice. All of them have been given a truckload—even if it’s for the troublemakers, he feels bad giving them this much.

He’s sectioning it all off when the door is thrown open. A blonde with shaggy hair and light eyes saunters in, slamming the door shut being him. Johnny glances up, furrowing his brows. The boy—Dallas—is already staring at him. He looks Johnny up and down before stepping closer. “The fuck are you?” He commands, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Your substitute.” Johnny mutters. “Please sit down an—“

Dallas snatches the attendance paper from his hands. Johnny gasps, furrowing his brows. Dallas spends a moment looking over it with a grimace. Johnny tries to stand and take it—his legs buckle awkwardly, the walk in the cold was no doubt gonna ruin his day. He has to use his arms to hold himself upright.

The boys all laugh as Dallas holds it over his head. Johnny fails to grab it several times—he realistically couldn’t get it even if he could stand. Dallas smirks, taking note that Johnny’s teetering one on arm before just barely shoving him back so he falls into his seat. He can’t help his pained wince, squeezing his eyes shut. Dallas gives him a single confused glance before walking back to his seat, paper in hand.

Johnny doesn’t think it’s worth it. But Mr.Sheldon seemed pretty adamant that he turned it in on time and he’d rather not get torn a new one. With a sigh, he leans down and grabs his crutches from under his desk. He leans on one and pulls himself up, getting his arms inside slower than he’d like.

He knows for a fact that he’d get his ear talked off about needing crutches—students have made fun of him before, even taken them a few times. But when he lifts his head—those boys look mortified. Dallas especially looked like he’d just seen a tragedy. Darrel smacks him on the back of the head, snatching the paper from his hands and walking it to Johnny before he could move.

Johnny thanks him quietly, setting it down. He glances around the room, furrowing his brows. He gestures for Keith to stand. Which he does immediately, that petrified look still on his face because he no doubt had been planning something to do to him earlier.

“Can you walk this to the office for me, please?” Johnny asks, handing him the attendance form. Two-Bit’s face twists and he is very obviously holding back a joke about how Johnny couldn’t walk there himself. Instead he just nods. “Don’t take too long, the vice seemed adamant we get it to him.”

Two-Bit just nods before bolting out the door. He knows it’s not smart to send a troublemaker into the hall without supervision. But it’s smarter than leaving six alone in the room, right?

Johnny spares an exasperated glance his way before stepping back behind his desk. He very quickly decides he’s not giving them all that schoolwork. He rummages around in the desk before pulling out a stack of Christmas themed coloring sheets—definitely meant for kindergarten students. He decides it’s better than nothing, pulling himself back up to his feet. He practically hobbles around the room, handing a few of them out. Darrel furrows his brows when he's given one. "How old do you think we are?" He asks, irritation clear in his voice. Johnny sighs. "It's either this or the buttload of homework your teachers gave out. Which do you prefer?" He raises a brow, getting silence in response. Ponyboy is the only other one to talk to him, taking his paper with a guilty look—no doubt for his friend's behavior. "Sending Two wasn't a good idea." He says just as Johnny begins to turn away. "Huh?" He asks, turning around to face him again. "Keith." He says, like he's an idiot for not knowing what the hell he meant by 'Two'. "Sending him in the hallway by himself wasn't a good idea. You should probably go get him before another teacher does." Johnny frowns. 'Do I look like I can go get him?' is what he wants to say, but instead he just shrugs. Ponyboy doesn't say anything more. "Hey Johnny," Steve calls, yelling back to him and snapping his fingers like he were a dog he needed the attention of. It didn't help how he perked up at the mention of his name. It takes him a moment to realize that Steve should, most definitely, not know his first name. Johnny looks back at him, noticing a wallet—his wallet, with all of his money and his ID—in his hand and it looks like he's reading off of it. He quickly steps forward and snatches it, tucking it into his back pocket. "How did you—" He begins before shutting his mouth with an audible click. He can't even turn around for one second, can he? "We need something to color with, man." Steve says with a smirk, eyeing him like stealing his wallet was some sort of achievement. With any other person it would be, but Johnny barely any feeling in his legs right now and stealing something from that general area wasn't a hard thing to do. Johnny hands them a few boxes of colored pencils and lets them hand it out to themselves, already wishing to be home. The room quickly becomes too silent for his liking—because they were actually coloring. Sodapop literally turned around to show his younger brother his work, to which he received a thumbs up and a comment from Darrel about coloring in the lines. Darrel and Dallas were the only two not coloring. Darrel laid back against the wall with his eyes closed, Dallas just stared at him like he was thinking. Johnny couldn't tell if he felt guilty at all, but quickly decided he didn't care. After a while he decides the silence is too much to bare. Johnny pulls himself back onto his feet and rummages around the large closet behind his desk. He finds a few Christmas movies and a TV on a cart. He rolls it to the front of the room and rummages through the old VHS's. He doesn't notice Dallas reaching over him until he has one of them shoved in his face. The Grinch, the original animated version. He spares a glance his way, Dallas looks at him expectantly. He can't help his small laugh, tucking the others in the cart before putting in the tape.

Dallas had the biggest reputation of them all. Johnny wasn't here often—but when he was he always heard his name. Sometimes it was stories of getting arrested—again—or how one of his coworkers had to deal with him doing something-something that day. Grown adults were scared of this seventeen year old.

He personally doesn't get it. Johnny sits back down at his desk with a sigh, happy to not be on his feet any more. Most of them are still coloring away, sparing occasional glances up at the TV. Dallas is very obviously pretending not to watch the movie, Darrel has one eye peaked open to look too. He wonders why all of the other teachers seemed so horrified at the very mention of these kids. Sure, they are a little obnoxious—but anyone with patience could deal with them for the day. Then, a loud, angry knock is heard on the door.

He should’ve knocked on wood.

Everyone’s heads shoot up. Ponyboy gives him a knowing look, Johnny not-so-gracefully rushing to get the door.

Mr.Sheldon has Two-Bit by the back of his jacket collar—like someone holding a kitten by the scruff of its neck, but the kitten is an evil ginger who apparently can’t be trusted alone for two seconds. “Mr.Cade. A word?” The vice principal askes through gritted teeth, all but shoving the other in the classroom while he chuckles. Johnny spares a glance back before following the man outside, shutting the door behind him.

“What did he do?” Johnny asks, feeling nervousness rise in his chest. Mr.Sheldon is bigger than him, and meaner. He also has no problem getting in his face and yelling, no matter how much people tell him not to. “He’s been going around playing ding-dong-ditch! Do you know how many calls I received in the last ten minutes?!”

“I…how is he even doing that? We don’t have doorbells.”

”Well, we’ve got a comedian on our hands! He’s been making doorbell sounds with his mouth loud enough to disrupt whole hallways! What the hell were you thinking!?” His voice gets louder and louder and Johnny backs himself against the door. He’s very much regretting foregoing his crutches.

“Well, I thought it’d be better than leaving them all alone in there. They cause more trouble together than—“

”Use your brain! Call someone down to pick it up, you imbecile!” Mr.Sheldon is positively fuming, his cheeks are red and he’s slowly getting closer and closer to hysterics. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“Think? Yeah, I can tell.” He lets out an angry sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “You’d think after being in America for five years, you’d understand how things work around here.” He grumbles. Johnnys too petrified to comment. “From now on—if anyone has to leave the classroom, I want you to call up to the office and get a chaperone.”

”Yes sir.” Johnny nods, grasping onto the door handle to keep himself upright.

“You haven’t been working here long. If you keep messing up like this it’s only a matter of time before you get fired.” Johnny knows it’s a thinly veiled threat. The man had threatened his job several times before—its not like he really has the power to get him fired, but just the mention sends a shiver down his spine. “Of course.” He nods, sparing a glance back at the incredibly silent classroom. All of them are staring through the small window on the door. The boys in the back of the room quite literally got up to watch.

“I hope we won’t have to have this conversation again.” Is all the man says before walking of, the soles of his too-shiny shoes slapping against the linoleum loud enough to make the other flinch.

Johnny sucks in one final gasp of air, turning and letting himself back inside. He manages to make it to his desk without fumbling too hard, ducking his head down to not see the stares of the others.

“Good going Two,” Dallas says sarcastically, loud enough for the whole class to hear. “You got the cripple in trouble.”

Johnny’s head shoots up. He’s used to being called that, it’s not a shock to him anymore. But he still wants to smack that boy so hard his nappy hair comes off. Sadly, there isn’t much he can do without actually getting fired. It’s clear that the initial shock of him being on crutches has worn off. Now he’ll have to deal with his least favorite part about having them.

Two-Bit chuckled at Dallas’s comment, but his face faltered at the look on Johnny’s face. He doubts any of these kids are capable of feeling remorse for more than three seconds, but Two is kind enough to not say anything further. It could partly be Darrel glaring down his back too.

They are quiet for a while. Johnny replaces the movie when it ends, nobody acknowledges him. There’s the occasional snickers and menial trouble-making.

Dallas balls up his paper and lobs it at Johnny’s head. Johnny simply ducks out of the way and lets it hit the back wall. Dallas looks annoyed—Johnny quickly realized it was more because he didn’t yell at him instead of his horrible shot.

Not long after, Two-Bit stands and gets behind Johnny’s desk. Johnny keeps his eyes down and lets him pick up the chalk. He scratches away for only a minute before snickering and walking back to his seat.

Johnny spares a glance at the board when Two has his backed turned—it read “#1 Crip” with a crudely drawn hand holding up a gang sign and an arrow pointing to his head. He simply rolled his eyes and went back to his work, much to the red-heads chagrin.

They get a little rowdy when Two-Bit starts getting bored again. “Hey, Johnny—“ he calls loudly. Johnny glances up at him—he honestly doesn’t care about them knowing his first name, but he’d hate to have them find him outside of school. “How old are you, man?” He asks, leaning his head in his hands.

Johnny sighs. “I’m 22. Why do you ask?”

Everyone’s heads eventually shoot up one by one. Two-Bit opens his mouth to speak, Steve interrupts. “No you ain’t.” He says in disbelief, looking him up and down. “Man, you’ve gotta be younger than us.”

Johnny can feel his own teeth grind together. There is nothing he hates more than the ‘young’ comments. He understands he doesn’t quite look his age. He’ll never understand why it’s such a big deal.

“How would that work? I’ve already been through college.”

“So, you ain’t one of them ‘student—teachers’?” Sodapop asks, squinting his eyes. Johnny simply shakes his head, already having enough of this conversation. “So—you’re old enough to drink and shit?” Two-Bit snickers. Johnny has a sinking feeling the man knows what being drunk feels very well.

“Legally, yes.“

”Do you?” Dallas askes, leaning back in his seat and raising his brows. “I’m not answering that.” Johnny deadpans. “Cus’ it’s true?” Dallas asks, leaning forward on the desk with a smirk—He’s much like Two-Bit in the fact that he can’t sit still, the chair creaks as he moves. Johnny has to hold back an annoyed groan. The only thing that saves him from this harrowing conversation is Darrel standing up.

He watches in confusion for a second before realizing he’s going to leave. “Wait—“ Johnny calls as he gets his hand on the door. Darrel spares a single glance back at him before continuing on, exiting the room just as he gets his crutches under his arms.

He’s able to catch up before he gets to the staircase, standing in front of it. Darrel rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and glaring down at him—which is really easy considering he’s a whopping 6’3 and Johnny’s on the cusp of 5’7—and that’s without his permanent slouch.

”Move.”

“I’m sorry, you have to wait for—“ Johnnys begins, catching his breath. Darrel puts his hand up to silence him. “Get out of the way. I’m not Two-Bit, I won’t do anything stupid.” He groans, uncrossing his arms and somehow looking more intimidating. Johnny can’t help his own stutter, praying the younger won’t simply crush him for being in his way.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you—but if you get caught—“

”Then I won’t.” He says with a sense of finality. Before Johnny can respond—Darry grabs him by the elbows, lifts him off the ground with a horrifying ease, and sets Johnny back down safely behind him.

“You can’t just—“ Johnny begins, his mouth closing with an audible snap when the other turns to glare at him.

“I’m serious. I don’t need a damn chaperone to go to the bathroom.” Darrel seems to notice just how wide Johnny’s eyes are—he lets his shoulder relax and gives him a guilty look. “You might want to head back before they do anything they’ll regret. I heard some talk of trying to lock you out of the room.”

Johnny opens and closes his mouth several times—finally he decides to accept defeat, struggling back to the classroom before they could do just that. By the time he got there, the boys were all sitting down and the door opened with no struggle. He wonders if Darrel lied to him to get him to leave him alone—either way, none of his business.

Darrel did come back a few moments later—no vice principal in sight, thank god. The boy’s all seem rather surprised that Johnny let’s Darrel walk by without any repercussions. They go back to the quiet—shockingly well behaved, for now—students they were before.

It’s not silent for much longer of course, as the lunch bell rings.

Johnny becomes suddenly aware that he didn’t actually inquire about what to do for lunch. Everyone’s heads shoot up, looking at him expectantly.

”Uh—How many of you need to get school lunch?” He asks, though he’s sure none of these boys could even make a sandwich. “We all do.” Darry is the first to answer, standing.

“Damn are we gonna have to get chaperoned to the cafeteria again?” Two-Bit asks, frowning. “Can you even—like, walk that far?” He turns to Johnny, raising a brow. He actually has to stop himself from taking the stapler and hurling it at his head. “Yes, I can walk that far.” Johnny grumbles between gritted teeth. “Now, sit back down. I have to figure this out.”

The boys all groan but take their seats. Johnny grabs the phone on his desk and rings the office, thankful that Scarlet was the one to answer. “Hey Johnny.” She says, he can hear the smile in her voice. “How’s hell going?”

“Just wonderful.” Johnny mutters, playing with the phone cord. “Look—I wanted to know what they do for lunch. They all have school lunch and someone told me they always need a chaperone.” He and Scarlet have many crude names for the vice principal—but he is the type of person to go over call logs, so they’d best not use them.

”Oh, right.” She says. He can hear her rifle through some papers. “Tim usually just walks them there and back—but with you condition I wouldn’t suggest it.”

“What are you, my doctor?”

“No. But I saw you hobble up the stairs this morning.” She laughs loudly at her own joke. “I’m not saying you can’t walk them there—if you want you can send me their lunch orders and I’ll grab them for you.”

Johnnys knows for a fact that everything about these boys scream ‘free or reduced lunch’—he should know, he was on the list too—so they won’t really have to worry about paying for he food. But at the same time, some petty part of him wants to walk there just to prove a point.

So, he does.

“I’ll walk you guys there.” He says simply, standing up and pulling the crutches under his arm. A few of them share looks and Johnny knows they want to comment—but they keep their mouth shut. He lets them all out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Tim usually makes them walk in a single-file line—Just to be an asshole—but Johnny doesn’t want to do that.

The boys look a little surprised when he lets them walk in more of a misshapen circle instead of a line. He also notices that they same to form a bubble around him—whether it’s consciously or not, he’s a little confused by it. They probably just don’t want to be seen being walked in the hall by a teacher—but the way some of them are standing, like they’re trying to be intimidating, makes him wonder if this is their pathetic attempt to protect him.

A kid going the other way pauses at the sight, staying close to the wall to get out of their way.

The lunch room is filled with students—way too many for his liking. Johnny gestures for them all to join the lunch line, standing close to the wall to watch them. A few of the students who’ve had him before recognize him, turning around to talk to him.

”Hey, man, look who’s here.” A Soc boy—Jeremy, he thinks his name is—snickers, prodding Johnnys side. The kids in this school have a tendency to treat him less like a teacher and more like a student—he hates it so much it makes his blood boil. “Hello Jeremy.” Johny says with a sigh, giving him a quick smile before going back to watching the troublemakers.

Jeremy seems annoyed by Johnny ignoring him. “Hey, so are you ever gonna get out of these?” He asks, lightly tugging on Johnny’s crutches and almost making him fall. Johnny takes a tentative step back, forcing his body as close to the wall as it would go. “Stuck with them for life, I’m afraid.” Johnny tries to say in a joking tone.

Jeremy starts grabbing at them harder—his friends all snicker as Johnny tries and fails to get him to stop. “Y’know, the only way you’ll ever walk right is if you just drop ‘em. Maybe then everyone won’t think you’re one of them special handicapped folk.”

Johnny just grimaces. Jeremy had manages to tug him away from the wall and closer to their lunch table. He’s about to actually yell at him when Jeremy stops all at once. His eyes are wide and his mouth snaps shut alongside his friends—they all quickly turn back around. Johnny gives them a confused look before following Jeremy’s eyes.

Darrel stands behind him—lunch in hand—he’s got this menacing look in his eyes that only goes away once they boys completely stop bothering him. He doesn’t dare meet Johnnys eyes and he decides that’s good enough for him.

Two-Bit and Dallas cause a bit of trouble in the lunch line trying to steal one of the soda’s they keep for the kids who pay extra. It ends up making the whole line pause while the lunch ladies tear into them—leaving Johnny and Darrel standing awkwardly beside each other.

“Do they always do that?”

Johnny startles at the suddenness, glancing up at Darrel. He’s got a look in his eyes that Johnny can’t quite understand—some5hing akin to pity. “Huh?” He asks dumbly, furrowing his brows.

“Do students always mess with you? Even the normal ones?”

The question makes Johnny pause. The kids all treated him differently then the rest of the teachers—he’s so used to it that he often forgot just how differently they talk to him.

“Yeah.” Johnny shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me none.”

Darrel grimaces. “I hope you know we ain’t like that. They just like messing around—they don’t mean anything by it.” Darrel says after a few moments of silence. Johnny quickly realizes that he’s talking about the other troublemakers. “They aren’t all bad. Just—Rowdy, I guess.” He pauses, meeting Johnnys eyes finally. “You’re a lot less scary that Tim is. ‘Makes them think of you more like a friend then a teacher.”

Johnnys know not many people think of him as an adult, but—Ouch, man, way to rub it in.

“I know.“ Johnnys shrugs. “I wasn’t the most well behaved kid either, I get it.”

Darrel gives him an odd look but doesn’t say much else. The rest of the boys join them and they walk back to class. They get a little louder as they go down the stairs—trying to shove each-other down for shits and giggles. Steve knocks into Ponyboy on accident and makes him drop 99% of his lunch on the floor.

“You dick!“ The youngest shouts, shoving him back.

“Sorry, man, you were in the way.“ Steve says simply, snickering a little alongside Two-Bit. Ponyboy groans loudly, scooping all of his now inedible—the grounds here haven’t been washed in years—food onto the ground and tossing it in a trash can at the end of the stairwell.

“I’ll give you some of mine.” Soda whispers, nudging him lightly.

They get to the classroom and Soda hands Ponyboy a decent handful of fries before letting him walk back to his seat. Johnnys not sure why but he feels guilty—he doubts these boys are in a much better situation then he was growing up. Reluctantly, he pulls out his lunch and moves the water bottle and carrots off to the side.

He stood and handed the container with his actual meal to Ponyboy. Pony gives him an odd look, opens it, grimaces, and looks back up at him with a ‘what is this?’ look.

“It’s cacciucco. Try it, you’ll like it.” Johnny says, handing him a fork and walking off. Darrel gives him a look that’s almost thankful before looking down at the food, matching Pony’s expression. Ponyboy looks up and Johnny—who’s watching him expectantly—before taking some of it on the food and putting it in his mouth.

Johnnys fully aware that most of the people here think Italian food is just spaghetti and pizza—which, yeah he had a lot of both of those growing up… but there’s better stuff too.

Pony’s eyes go wide and he goes to take another bite, A few of the boys turn in watch in awe as he eats something that no doubt looks unappetizing. Two-Bit leans back and takes some before Ponyboy can stop him—squeezing his eyes shut like he’s preparing for something horrible, before nodding and whispering to the rest of them that it’s ‘actually really good’.

Johnny’s happy to see them all try some and like it—Steve comments that Ponyboy should thank him, seeing as he wouldn’t have gotten it without him.

By the time they’re done eating, Tim Shepard rolls around. He knocks on the door before walking in, effectively scaring all of them into thinking the vice principal is back.

The boy’s all share exasperated looks when Tim peeks his head inside the room. Tim rolls his eyes, sauntering to Johnnys desk and looking out at them all before glancing back down at Johnny. “How’s the doghouse?” He askes, raising an amused brow.

“I dunno, haven’t been to your place in a while.” Johnny replies before he can stop himself. A few of the boys snicker—which reminds him that they are there—oops. Tim ignores his comment by sticking his tongue out at him before looking back up at the students.

“You haven’t been too annoying, have you?” He announces to the room, squinting his eyes at Dallas and Two-Bit in particular.

“They’ve been fine, Tim.“ Johnny says before Dallas can show the man a very specific hand gesture. “Whatever you say.” Tim says like he doesn’t believe him, shoving his hands in his pockets. It’s silent for a moment—Tim clearly wants to say something. Johnnys not sure if he wants to hear it.

“Are you here for a reason or are you just bored?” He asks finally. Tim leans back on his desk, giving him a fake look of sadness. “Wow, can’t even make sure you’re okay without you yelling at me.” He complains, kicking Johnnys leg lightly just because he knows Johnny can’t do it back. “I actually am here for a reason, though.”

Johnny raises a brow.

“They we’re handing out shit for the teachers—y’know how they are around the holidays. Snagged us both some.” He says, pulling a bag of candy out of his back pocket.

“Thanks,” Johnny smiles, tucking it into the desk. “I don’t think you have to ‘snag’ it, though, seeing as we are both teachers too.” Tim shrugs. “Old habits die hard.” He says simply. It takes a second for them both to notice everyone is staring at them. “What?” Tim asks loudly, tone changing to a more annoyed one that Johnny’s used to hearing.

“Didn’t know you were capable of having a civil conversation.” Darry is the first to respond, raising his brows. Tim rolls his eyes, flipping him off before turning back to Johnny—who looks rather shocked. “You can’t just give the middle-finger to a student, Tim.” He says, exasperated, slapping the other on the arm.

“Man, I’m telling you—the school board does not care with these guys.” Tim whispers, sparing a glance back. “I could go over there right now, and punch Dallas in the face. I promise you I wouldn’t even be suspended.”

“Don’t talk about punching kids, Jesus.” Johnny whispers back, giving him an unapproving look. Tim just shrugs, pushing himself to his feet. “You boys, behave.” He says, pointing at each student individually before walking off. Dallas manages to actually flip him off this time, getting a stern glare from Johnny. "Hey—you mind feeding the needy, huh?" Steve asks the second time is gone, eyeing the chocolates. Johnny glances at him, glances at the chocolate, and looks back at him again. He takes one out of the bag and hands the rest to him. "Share with the other's, okay?" He says. Steve gives him a look like he's crazy—mainly because he didn't think Johnny'd actually give him any, especially the whole bag. "All of them?" He asks, raising a brow. Johnny just shrugs and goes back to his computer.

The room gets bored quickly after that. They’ve gone through every movie worth watching, the coloring sheets are done, and Johnny doesn’t know what to do to entertain them. He could just give them the work—but as someone who had to do worksheets over Christmas break, he’s not really feeling like doing that.

Eventually they all start talking, it’s quiet enough that he can’t really hear what they’re saying, but he hears a snicker or two and immediately knows he should be worried. Two-Bit and Dallas stand up at once. “We have to go to the bathroom.” Two-Bit announces, barely holding back a giggle when Dallas smacks him.

“Together?” Johnny asks, raising a brow.

Neither one of them respond, looking at him expectantly. Johnny sighs and goes to call the office—the second the phone’s in his hand they both bolt, getting out of the door before Johnny even realizes they moved. He sits there and just gapes at the wide open door for a second.

He spares one glance at the four still sitting there, before deciding that he’s just going to have to accept defeat and run after them. He stands and pulls the crutches up and under his arms. “Don’t. Move.” He commands, biting off the end of each word. They all nod but immediately stand to watch him leave by sticking their heads out of the door.

“Is he gone?“ Ponyboy whispers, Johnny disappearing down the other end of the hall. “I dunno, Pony—What do you think?” Steve teases, rolling his eyes and re-entering the classroom.

“Y’know, we could’ve just pretended we were talking to him and then steal the paper.” Darrel says, leaning on the door frame. “That would take all the fun out of it!” Sodapop smiles, sitting down at the teachers desk and rummaging through the papers.

They all knew about the ‘naughty list’. Of course they did, every teacher who ever had to deal with them got one. None of them wanted to stay in school during Christmas break—Darry usually wouldn't allow this, but he had work and couldn't miss it. Sodapop and Steve go through the papers on the desk while Darrel and Pony keep watch for the door. They doubt Johnny's gonna catch either of them—but any other teacher could come barreling in here. Their plan wasn't foolproof by any means. They were just gonna stash the paper someplace and hope Johnny doesn't notice until the end of the day—he doesn't seem like the kind of guy to actively try to get them in trouble, Darry thinks he's a bit of a doormat. If his employer talked to him the way Mr.Sheldon did, it'd be brought right to corporate. "Found it!" Soda exclaims waving the paper around in the air. Steve snatches it from his hands to stash it—he pauses when he takes a good look at it, furrowing his brows. All three of the others simultaneously ask why he's doing it, crowding around them. Did he write scathing accounts of whatever they had done that day? Did he make up crazy things to get them in trouble? No.

In fact, he didn't write anything. The paper was left exactly like it had been handed to him—aside from a few doodles on the margins.

"Huh?" Darrel mutters, taking it from Steve. He was sure his run to the bathroom would at least be mentioned. If he pulled that with Tim in charge he would've been dragged right to the office. "So we just did all of that for nothing?" Pony asks, crossing his arms. He hadn't done much of anything—Johnny didn't really talk, so he didn't even have the opportunity to say something snarky. And hey, he's not gonna be an ass to the guy who gave him free food. "Looks like it.” Darrel mutters, setting the paper back down. “Maybe they gave him more than one.” Steve says, already going back to the now messy pile. “Surely.“ Soda agrees, joining him.

They had gone through the whole stack and were in the middle of putting it back when Ponyboy jumps and starts whisper-yelling. “He’s coming!” He says frantically. “I just saw him at the end of the hall, hurry up!”

They all bolt back to their desks, leaving some of the papers awry but hopefully not enough to be noticeable.

Johnny walked in with Dallas and Two-Bit the collar, both bent in half because he couldn’t quite keep his arms up. Two practically face-plants when he lets go, scrambling back to his desk without a word. Dallas goes back to his desk as well, resting back on his hands. “Did you hide it?” He asks, looking back at Steve and Sodapop, only loud enough for them to hear.

”No—he didn’t write anything on it.”

”Seriously? Talk about a doormat.” Dallas scoffs, sparing a glance Johnny’s way. He sleeve was caught on his crutches and he was currently trying to pull them free.

“Did he seriously catch you guys?” Ponyboy asked. Leaning forward to peak around his older brother. “Are you kidding? Of course not.” Dallas says, turning to face him fully. “Tim saw us and helped him out.” He pauses. “Do you seriously think that cripple could catch me? If the cops of New York City can’t—“

Dallas gets a tap on the shoulder—He gives Two-Bit and odd look, but the redhead is just staring forward. Dallas turns to see what he’s looking at. Johnny is glaring at him, he’d no doubt heard what he said.

“My bad, man.” Dallas shrugs, turning to face him fully. “You get it though, right? It’s not like you don’t know your legs are fucked up.”

Darrel gives him a hefty smack on the back of the head for that comment. But of course, Dallas takes note that he’s getting under the man’s skin—he can’t help but see how far he can go.

“He’s been a cripple his whole life, it’s not like he’s not used to it. It’s just the truth.” Dallas says to Darrel, turning only he head to look back at him. “I mean, even if he could walk right—he’s like 5’2, he couldn’t catch me anyway.” When he faces forward again—Johnny’s right there.

He gets a slap so hard that the sound reverberates off the walls—there’s a red handprint on his cheek, and the skin is hot to the touch when he reaches up to touch the stinging skin in disbelief.

“Don’t you dare call me that again.” Johnny bites, a tone that’s uncharacteristic for him. “I am not a cripple, I am not a child,” he glances up at the rest of the room. “and I certainly don’t need pity from a bunch of angsty teenagers who can’t seem to keep their shit together for more than ten minutes.” Everything is said in a cold, biting tone. Every boy in the room sits and watches with wide eyes and open mouths.

“And by the way, you clearly aren’t that hard to catch—seeing as you’ve been in prison six times in the last 8 months.” He practically sneers, his hands curling into fists. “Now sit down, do your work, and stop acting like the drop-outs everyone knows you’re gonna be.”

He doesn’t give the blonde a moment to respond, going and sitting back at his desk. Dallas sits there for a moment, gaping with his hand still on his cheek. Just as he’s about to get up and give the man a piece of his mind, he hears slow clapping from the doorway.

Tim leans against the frame, clapping slowly and giving Johnny a surprised-yet-proud smile. “See, this is why I like this guy.” He laughs, standing up. “John, can I talk to your for a second?”

Johnny sighs but stands up, giving the room one final glare before heading outside and slamming the door shut behind him. It takes only a single second before they stand and go the door, trying to hear their conversation.

“You alright?” Tim asks, nudging him.

”Of course I’m alright.” Johnny says, crossing his arms. “We weren’t that obnoxious when we were kids, were we?”

“You weren’t, I probably was.” Tim chuckles.

“I just don’t get it—When I was their age, I couldn’t stand it if an adult didn’t like me.” Johnny says, tightening his fingers around his biceps. “Did I do something to make them hate me? Am I that annoying?”

Tim scoffs, smacking him upside the head lightly. “Don’t say shit like that.” He scowls, shaking his head. “And no, you’re not. They were worse with me when I first came around. Honestly, they still probably treat you better than they do with me.” Tim pauses, glancing down at the boy. “They all didn’t deal with uh—what you did, y’know? It’s still a miracle to me that you weren’t just like they were.”

Johnny rolls his eyes. “The only reason I ever did anything right was to get out of that house.” He shrugs. “Besides, the only reason they treat me better than you is because they pity me. And yet, I don’t think I’ve ever been called a cripple more times in my life.”

Tim sighs, glancing back at the door. “I can smack ‘em all real good for you, if you need.”

”I kinda already did.” Johnny scratches the back of his neck. “I oughta apologize, huh?”

”Did he apologize to you?” He says it like he knows who it was—but then again, he could probably guess. Even if he didn’t have a bright red handprint on his face, Dallas’ll always be an asshole. Johnny thinks for a moment and shakes his head. “Then don’t apologize to him. Lord knows he doesn’t deserve it.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything, furrowing his brows.

“I got something that’ll get you in a better mood.” Tim says finally. “How about you come over to mine tonight, huh? Curl’s has been missing you.”

“Has he?” Johnny laughs. “Guess I can’t say no to that, huh?”

”No, you can’t.” Tim says matter-of-factly. “I’ll see you tonight, good luck.”

Back in the room, the boys all listened with the same horrified looks on their faces that they had earlier.

“Good going, Dal.” Pony says, kicking him lightly. “You pissed off the one teacher that wasn’t an ass.”

”Watch your mouth, Pony.“ Darrel scolds before he can stop himself. “You’d better apologize to him, Dallas.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will.” He mutters—trying and failing to hide that he was a little upset with himself too. “I didn’t think he’d care that much.”

”Bullshit.” Steve says, rolling his eyes and getting back to his seat. They all are sat by the time Johnny enters the room again. He gives them all a suspicious look before heading back to his desk, squinting his eyes at the messed up papers. “Did you guys mess with these?” He askes.

Ponyboy, fearing a slap of his own, quickly shouts—

“No sir!”

Johny just gives him an odd look before putting everything in a neat stack and carrying on. The room is deathly silent for a few minutes—all of them refusing to speak or move. They all stare at him expectantly, jumping when the man lifts his head up.

He sighs, pushing himself to his feet, foregoing the crutches and just leaning on the desk.

“I apologize for my outburst.” He says, giving an awkward smile.

“Dallas deserved it—“ Two-Bit begins, getting a loud smack on the back of his head from the blonde beside him. Johnny can’t help but laugh, shaking his head.

He spares a glance out the window and smiles, an idea forming in his head. “How about I make it up to you, huh?” He says, catching everyone’s attention. “We might be able to sneak outside if anyones quiet in the hallway. I’m sure Tim’ll cover for me.”

It’d been snowing for the last few days—it was finally starting to stick and was at just the right height to go outside in. While just about all of them were much too old to go outside and play in the snow, they all jumped at the opportunity.

“Really?” Ponyboy asks excitedly, causing his brother to laugh.

“Eh, why not.” Johnny shrugs.

The group immediately stands and begin to talk excitedly—no teachers have let them play outside in the snow since elementary. Johnny ducks around the desk and grabs his crutches, struggling to get them under his arm while the boys all but tug him along. Darry shoos them all away—he attempts to help Johnny walk, only to be shoved off.

“I can walk just fine.” Johnny says, glaring at him before he can stop himself. Darry blinks at him for a moment before nodding, shoving his hands in his pockets awkwardly. “So empowering.” Two-Bit snickers, getting shoved half-way to the ground for it. Johnnys barely able to grab his jacket from his chair before he’s dragged out of the room like a rag doll.

They all head out of the classroom quietly. Once again, the boys seem to walk around Johnny in a protective circle of some kind. He can’t help but roll his eyes. Johnny ducks his head in Tim’s classroom and all but begs him to cover for them—to which he says he’ll try his best. They all grab their gloves and scarves out of their lockers, Darry has to strangle Dallas with one until he wears it. Johnny let’s Steve and Soda sneak into the gym and steal a football before they all head outside.

Johnny takes them out to the football field—which is just far away enough from the office for no authority to see them but close enough to be on campus. Johnny opens it with his keys and lets them all inside, shutting the fence gate behind them. He lets them all run off—Ponyboy face-plants within minutes, and Dallas is already trying to climb the fence and leave.

Its just tall enough that he knows nobody’ll make it—Johnny’d climbed a lot of fences as a kid, he knew the right heights that wouldn’t let anyway through. Eventually Dallas gave up and joined the rest of them.

Darry soon joined Johnny on the sidelines, watching the boys play.

“You’re not gonna join them?” The older asks, gesturing to the group currently tossing a football back and forth. Darry scoffs, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m too old to be playing in the snow.” He says, shaking his head.

“Are you now?” Johnny asks with a laugh—in his eyes, all of them are kids. Darrel doesn’t quite seem to like that. “I don’t see what you’re laughing about. If you joined in every’d think you were Pony’s age.”

Johnny pauses, furrowing his brows and looking up at him. “Hey, I’m still an adult, y’know. You’d better watch what you say.” He says with no real malice behind it. Darrel raises a brow. “You’re only a few years older than me.”

Johnny squints up at him. “I’m three years younger than you.” Darrel adds, making the other all-but gasp. “Huh? Aren’t you a little old to be a senior, then?” Johnny asks, looking him up and down.

Darry seems to think for a second—like he’s deciding if he wants to say something. Finally, he does. “I had to take a gap year because my parents died.” He pauses. “Someone had to provide for the family.”

Johnny looks utterly horrified, ducking his head down quickly. “Oh my good—I’m so sorry, I didn’t—“

Darrel laughs, ruffling his hair—if he hasn’t just got the ‘dead parents’ answer, Johnny would smack him just as hard as he smacked Dallas. “It’s alright.” Says Darrel, still laughing. They are silent for a second, Johnnys face still masked in absolute horror.

“Since we’re asking personal questions,” Darry says finally, looking down at the other. “How exactly did you get you crutches? It doesn’t seem like you’ve always had them.”

Johnny grimaces. 1, because he pretty much just said it’s clear Johnny has no clue what he’s doing. 2, because he’d rather have a heart attack and die then answer that damn question. “That’s too personal. I’m not telling a student that.” He says simply, shaking his head.

“You asked me about my dead parents.”

Johnnys gapes. “That’s because I didn’t—“ He cuts himself off with a loud sigh, his body tensing when Darry looks at him expectantly. “My dad drove me off a cliff after my graduation.”

Now, It’s Darrel’s turn to look horrified.

“Oh.” He mutters, averting his gaze. “Did he…mean to?” He asks, quickly adding—“I’m sorry, I should ask that—“

”Of course he did.” Johnny says like it’s no big deal, kicking his feet in the snow. “I think he wanted to kill me. He never did like me much.”

Darry stares at him for a long while, Johnny refusing to look him in the eye. He’s not quite sure why he told the boy that—he really wished he just lied. “I heard what you and Tim were saying to eachother.” Darry says finally. Johnny shrugs. “I figured there was a reason you guys were being so nice to me.” ”It’s not—“

”Pity?” Johnny askes, raising his brow and finally look at him. Darry makes a guilty face before he can stop himself. “It’s okay, man, I’m used to pity by now.” Johnny gives him a sweet smile. “I mean, look at me!”

Darry just grimaces, shaking his head. He looks like he wants to say something else but keeps his mouth shut. Johnnys already looking around for an excuse to get out of this conversation, Steve and Soda give him an excuse—wrestling in the snow.

“Hey!” He calls, taking a step forward. They both pause, look at him, an then get right back to it. Johnny rolls his eyes, walking up to them and managing to pull Soda off of him. “None of that, okay? If any of you get hurt, I’ll get in trouble.”

Soda gives him a guilty look.

Johnny raises an expectant brow.

”We won’t!” Steve says finally, pulling himself to his feet. Soda nods quickly. Johnny just rolls his eyes, giving them one lalook before going back to the sidelines.

Darrels looking at him with wide eyes—Johnny doesn’t have to wonder why for long.

“Your jacket—“ he says, furrowing his brows. Johnny gives him a confused look before looking begins himself—he’s wearing his college’s varsity jacket, since it’s the warmest one he owns. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Did you go there?”

Johnny gives him an odd look—why would he wear a jacket for a college he didn’t even go to? He had done his last two years of High-school in America, and ended up getting a full-ride to The University of Oklahoma—more specifically, the Norman campus.

“Yeah, man.” Johnny laughs. “Why do you ask?”

”I uh—“ Darrel rights himself, like he’s trying not to fangirl. “It’s where I want to go. I heard they had a really good football team.” He says, shrugging. Johnny glances up at him, smiling. “They were pretty good, as much as I remember.” He says—it’s clear Darrel wants to ask, so he keeps going. “I bet you have a chance—I got in on a full-ride soccer scholarship, and I wasn’t half as good as you are at football.”

Darrel gives a weird look—Johnny can’t help but get defensive.

“I wasn’t always on crutches! I wasn’t a pity player, I swear.”

“That’s not why I looked at you like that.” Darrel says, looking him up and down. “You got a full-ride sports scholarship and you…chose to be a teacher?”

That catches Johnny off guard. He knows that it’s becoming more and more obvious to the general public that teachers make shit salaries, but he’s never had a kid comment on it….to his face. His mouth opens and closes for a minute. “Well—I can’t exactly play soccer, can I?” He says finally, making the other laugh.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh.” Darrel rights himself—giving Johnny a guilty look. “It’s okay, you were supposed to.” Johnny shrugs, leaning back and forth on the balls of his feet.

They’re silent for a few minutes, watching the rest of the boys tackle each other and lug a football at each other's heads. It’s cLear Darrel wants to say something, he waits until Johnny’s messing with the rubber handle of his crutches.

“If it’s you jacket, why’s it so big?” Darrel asks finally, glancing down at him.

Okay, ouch.

“Well, uh…” Johnny scratches the back of his neck. “I couldn’t really afford me own… I got this one for free—but I didn’t get to choose the size.”

Darrel gives him a look that he can’t quite comprehend, he’s spared a look Dallas’s way. Not that he has time to wonder what that means, it seems the second he’s looking away they’re already plotting against him again.

He feels the biting cold of the snow before he realizes he’s laying face first in it. Someone’s on top of him—Jesus, this guy needs to lose some weight—and rolls off just as fast as he jumped onto him.

Johnny hears a loud bout of laughter and realizes it’s Two-Bit, pushing himself up to a kneel and seeing firey red hair. “Sorry man!” Two manages between laughter. “You just—God! That was funny!”

Johnny blinks at him twice before rolling his eyes.

He goes to stand, someone grabbing his arm and dragging him to his feet. He can’t help that yelp that leaves his mouth at the unexpected contact. He looks at the perpetrator, seeing Dallas Winston of all people. Dallas hands him his crutches without looking at him, kicking Two-Bit in the ribs twice as he scrambles to his feet.

“Uh—Thanks.” Johnny mutters, getting his arms back in the crutch.

“No problem. He’s an asshole.” Dallas shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets quickly. Johnny watches and sees his shiver, frowning. Dallas doesn’t have a scarf, gloves, or a hat like the rest of them do. He’s got a thick leather jacket, dark jeans, and cowboy boots. And as someone who grew up wearing something similar in this weather, Johnny can’t help but feel bad.

“Are your hands cold?” He asks. Dallas opens his mouth—no doubt to say no—but Johnny has already taken his off and has them thrusted towards his chest. Dallas blinks one, twice, then shoved them back towards him. “Those want fit me.” He says like a petulant child, shoving his hands in his pockets again.

There’s an odd look on his face—one that only got worse when Johnny handed him his gloves. It takes him a moment to understand what it is.

Guilt.

Dallas let’s out a sigh, rolling his shoulders like he’s gearing up to talk.

“Look,” he begins. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier—I was being a douche.”

Johnny has to stop himself from gasping. Dallas was known for never apologizing—he kicked a pregnant teacher in the stomach in sixth grade, when the principal told him he could’ve hurt the baby, he said she could just open her legs and make another just as easy. Last year he slammed a kids head into the locker so hard that it gave him a concussion, and he just shrugged it off.

One glance to the left and he can see Darry pretending not to watch them, he’s sure that the other is making Dallas do this.

“It’s alright, I’m used to it.” He quickly realizes that’s not the argument he thought it was. Dallas looks even more miserable, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be, man. It ain’t right to say shit like that.” He pauses, finally making eye contact. “Darry uh—told me what happened.”

It doesn’t take Johnny long to realize he means the crash. He’s about to send a glare that boy’s way, before realizing there is no way he could’ve told Dallas that in the amount of time it took Two-Bit to get off of him. He was definitely listening to their conversation. Little creep.

“It’s nothing to feel bad about.” Johnny says, not looking at him. “You’re a kid, it’s kinda’ your job to talk bad about adults, huh?”

Dallas blinks at him. “You really don’t care?”

Johnny just shrugs.

It takes Dallas a moment to do anything. He digs a hand in his back pocket and pulls out two twenty’s. “I stole this when you weren’t looking.” He says guiltily, letting Johnny snatch it from his hands and tuck it back in his wallet. “I can’t even hate this, it’s pretty impressive.” Johnny was sure he hadn’t turned his back to Dallas for more than two seconds.

Dallas, once again, looking utterly confused when he just accepts it.

He spares a glance behind Johnny’s head, rolling his eyes. “Hey,” he says, nodding to the space behind him. “You might wanna duck.” he says simply. Johnny has no time to react. Dallas grabs him by the jacket collar and tugs him down. When he’s let go, he notices a crushed snowball rolling down his chest.

“Thanks.” Johnny can’t help but laugh, sparing a glance back at a petrified Steve. Dallas shrugs. “Guess I owe ya’.”

Johnny looks at him confusedly.

“You never filled out the list.”

“Huh?” Johnny mutters, still very much not catching on.

“The list of shit we did? You didn’t write anything down.” Dallas explains, raising a brow. Johnny blinks—when did they get a look at that?

“Well, you guys didn’t do anything that bad. Not compared to what I expected, at-least.” Johnny shrugs. Dallas once again gives him that guilty look. “That little stunt you and Two-Bit did, running through the halls, pushed me very close to writing something down.”

Dallas looks like he wants to smile but then steels his gaze. Does this guy always try to intimidate the people he’s apologizing to? Because he’s doing a damn good job. “Just because you expected it, don’t mean it’s right.” Dallas says coldly.

“So… what you’re saying is that you want me to fill it out?” Johnny teases, raising a brow. Dallas opens his mouth to speak, getting a snowball to the side of his face. “Don’t you dare!” Soda, the one who threw it, calls. Dallas wipes the snow off his face and immediately goes to chase the blonde down.

Meanwhile, somewhere across the field, Darrel leans up against the fence. Someone grabs him from behind—he reels around, ready to punch the anonymous person in the face before he sees familiar head of blonde hair.

”Paul?” He asked, confused. “What are you doing here?”

Paul shrugs. “Got out early.” He says, glancing at the group outside. “What about you? Who let you guys out here?” Darry opens his mouth to speak—but Paul sees him before Darry can answer. “Jeez—that guy, huh?” He grimaces.

Darrel frowns. “What about him?”

“I’ve only had him once or twice.” Paul shrugs, seemingly noticing Darrel’s change in demeanor. ”Theres nothing wrong with him, I mean, other than the obvious.” Paul laughs, cutting it off awkwardly when Darry doesn’t join him. “Y’know, some of the fella’s dads used to go to school with him. Apparently he used to not be able to speak a lick of English.”

Darry had noticed his accent—but honestly he never would’ve assumed English wasn’t Johnny’s first language. “Good for him, English is hard to learn.” He shrugs.

Paul deflates a little when he notices Darrel isn’t joining him. Darry’s never been one to make fun of people—but he’ll laugh along if it’s his friends. He’s definitely gotten more stoic ever since his folks died.

“Let me know if you guys need help messing with him—what did we do last time, key their car?” Paul smiles, nudging him. Darry grimaces. “We’re planning on leaving him alone.” He shrugs. Paul gives him an odd look. “What, Cus’ of his legs? Y’know I think he’d be upset to hear that.“

Darry frowns. “It’s not pity.” He says quickly, too defensively. Paul’s always been good about picking up whats going on with him.

“Then, what? You taking a liking to the cripple or something?” Paul asks, rolling his eyes when Darry doesn’t answer. “You’ve got a bleeding heart, man.”

Darry wants to defend him—slap Paul I’m the face for calling him that like he did when he called Ponyboy a loser to his face. He hates that he wants to treat Johnny like his little brother. He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need protection. Yet…

”You better watch what you say about him. He slapped Dallas across the face earlier.”

Paul’s eyes go wide. “Seriously?!” He asks, leaning over the fence to squint at Johnny. “And I thought he was a doormat!” Paul chuckles. “I always thought you were gonna be the first to smack some sense into him.”

“I still might.” Darry shrugs.

Paul just chuckles, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Well, call me if you change your mind.” He says, walking off before Darry could answer. Darry just rolls his eyes playfully, turning back to the group. He turns just in time to see Soda frantically trying to escape Dallas Winston. Johnny blows a whistle with his finger just in time—making them all pause and turn to him—Darry might have to steal that tactic.

“We gotta head back inside.” He calls loud enough for them all to hear.

They all wipe the snow off of themselves as they walk back to the building, following behind the oldest like a bunch of lost dogs. Johnny instructs them all to wipe their shoes off at the door—something Darry’s been trying to get them to do for years, but they listen only now. They make it back to the classroom without a hitch, just moments before the bell rings.

Johnny startles at the sudden sound, laughing. “Right on time, guys.” He says, pulling his jacket off. None of the boys get up to leave—Johnny gives them an odd look when he notices.

“Are you guys okay—“ he begins, cut off when half the group come barreling towards him. Ponyboy, Two-Bit, Steve, and Soda all run to him and pull him into a big group hug, Darrel and Dallas watching with a roll of their eyes. Two-But lifts Johnny clean off the ground. “We’re gonna miss you, man!” The redhead cries like a lady who’s husband is going off to war. Johnny frantically tries to push him off, very clearly not happy about his feet not being on the ground.

“Okay, okay, let go!” Johnny cries finally, Two-But dropping him quickly, careful not to hurt him. “You all realize I still work here, right?”

“It won’t be the same.” Ponyboy frowns. “Tim’s gonna be in here again…”

Johnny can’t help but laugh, ruffling the boys hair. “I’ll tell him to cut you guys some slack, okay?”

They all thank him hopefully—they he’ll still be the worst, it’s Tim Shepard after all, but maybe he’ll let them off easy once or twice. They all leave solemnly, trying to stay behind as long as they can. Darry’s the last out—partly to make sure none of the try to stay behind. Johnny’s a breath of fresh air for most of them, since the moment saw him they liked him more than the other teachers.

“Thank you.” Darrel finds himself saying, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Jesus, you guys ask like I found the cure for cancer.” Johny laughs, crossing his arms. “I’m just doing my job.”

“Very well, I’d say.” Darrel smiles. “I mean it, though. I don’t think they’re that well-behaved even with me.”

Johnny gives him a guilty look.

Darrel begins to walk to the door, hanging behind a few extra seconds. “Can I…?” He trails off, holding his arms out. Johnny blinks when he realizes he’s asking for a hug. Johnny just shrugs, hugging him first. “Have a good holiday for me, yeah?” He says, smiling. Darry can’t help but smile as well. “I will.” He says.

Darrel’s not used to being this open around adults—his cheeks burn red when Johnny gives him an odd look, he quickly realizes he’s blocking the door. “Sorry—“ he mutters frantically, stepping out of the way. Johnny just laughs. “You guys are some weird kids, y’know that?”

Darry just nods, giving him one final goodbye.

Johnny doesn’t notice something in his pocket until he’s home. He’s reaching to get his keys, a few papers falling out of his pocket. He does his best to bend over and grab them.

Unfolding them, he finds the silly coloring sheets he had given the boys earlier. Darry must’ve slipped them into his pocket when they hugged. Johnny can’t help but smile, already planning on hanging them on his fridge.

Maybe he doesn’t hate teenagers as much as he thought he did.

Johnny’s often asked about how he ever got the six most troublesome kids to listen to him—it got out quickly that they had a soft spot for him, especially when they always begged Tim to swap out with Johnny whenever he substituted for them. Every time he got the question he’d just shrug.

“Guess I got lucky.” He’d say.

#the outsiders #johnny cade #writing #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #darrel curtis #two bit mathews #tim shepard #ponyboy curtis #steve randle #curly shepard

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 2 days ago

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“So we have to figure it out, Dad!” Chris presses. “We have to! I can’t let her down!”

“You’re putting a lot of pressure on the prom, Christopher,” Eddie says. “You know, it’s okay, right? You already got into a great college! That’s the big thing.”

Chris glares at him.

Okay, that logic is not going over well, then.

Buck walks back into the living room and hands Eddie his glass of water.

“Thank you,” Eddie says.

Buck bends to kiss the top of Eddie’s head by way of response.

“Listen, Chris,” he says when he straightens out again. “I have a lot of wedding errands to run tomorrow, but if you and Ainslee can be flexible, I can try to fit your thing in.”

“Hon-” Eddie starts to protest.

“It’s really fine,” Buck waves a dismissive hand.

“Thank you, Buck!” Chris gushes. “You’re the best!”

Okay, it’s not like Eddie doesn’t want to do it. Jeez. He literally cannot.

“Hey, you know, if Mom can jet off to Cabo, and Dad is a hotshot at work, why can’t Ainslee drive herself?” Eddie asks. “Out of curiosity.”

If he made money like that, he’d be buying his son the

“Ugh, Dad,” Chris rolls her eyes. “She hates Los Angeles traffic.”

“Does anyone not?” Buck asks.

“She lives in Los Angeles,” Eddie says. “But yeah. Okay.”

“Dad!” Chris protests. “Come on. She has anxiety.”

“Hey, Chris,” Buck says. “Your dad has had a long, crappy day. I know Prom is super important, but maybe we can just keep that in perspective.”

Says the guy who was worried earlier that Eddie’s air boot might clash with his wedding tux. Right. But, you know what, Eddie will take it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Chris sighs. “Yeah. You’re probably on all kinds of pain medication making you foggy.”

“Uh…” Eddie frowns. He is not, in fact, high on pain meds.

“Sorry, Dad. I’m going to go back to my game,” Chris says.

“By all means, my most darling child,” Eddie says with a forced smile.

“Oh, yeah. I see what you mean, Buck,” Chris winces.

Chris walks back to his room, leaving Eddie gaping. Buck laughs and flops down next to Eddie on the couch.

“Is my son a monster?” Eddie asks. “He’s like a bridezilla and he’s not even the one getting married.”

Buck sort of snickers. “He really is.”

Eddie moans, defeated.

“Relax,” Buck says. “He’s just trying to impress this girl.”

Ainslee? The kid who complained for fifteen minutes that their classmate accidentally ordered votive faux-candles instead of tealights. That’s… Well, okay. Chris is the kid who still insists on a specific cranberry to popcorn ratio on garlands for Christmas… Maybe it does make sense.

“You think so?” Eddie asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Buck nods.

“He can’t be with her,” Eddie whispers. “Think of how insane they’d be together? That wedding? No thanks.”

Buck laughs. “Not everyone marries their high school girlfriend.”

“He’s a Diaz. We all do!”

“Listen, Eddie. He likes her, he wants to dance with her at Prom, maybe-”

“Don’t,” Eddie cuts him off.

“I’m just saying,” Buck continues. “He’s not really this crazy about a dance. He just has a fantasy in his head about Ainslee.”

Eddie sighs. “Guess that makes sense. When I was his age, my dad breaking a foot would not have kept me from going after what I wanted.”

“Mmm,” Buck nods. “I might have broken my dad’s foot.”

“I really hope it’s not a comparable scenario,” Eddie says.

Buck chuckles and squeezes his hand. “Obviously not. Just, relax, okay? Focus on healing that foot, and I will make sure Chris and Prom and the wedding are handled.”

Eddie sighs. “Thank you, hon.”

“And killing the probie.”

“Oh my god.”

#daisies and briars writes

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago

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...

#christ. so i was selected as the top candidate for the program i interviewed with on Friday #and im very annoyed and very pleased and also annoyed that im pleased #im pleased bc it means that they were impressed with what ive done to this point and they think i communicate well. which is cool #and the project is very very cool and id love to work on it #am annoyed bc this does put pressure on me to accept bc they can only put one student forward so if i dip out then thats it for them #which i find extremely stressful. and everything is just so much more complicated if i go to the uk for a phd #and i dont get the luxury of faffing about and taking a bunch of classes like i could in the us. ugh but it would b so cool to go back to #the uk and i wouldn't have to fucking drive. ugh. this project.#ugh its like my boss said #sometimes the project is more worth it than the school. id have crazy cool opportunities to learn things on this project #but at the cost of taking a lot of classes in the us. but every project is what u make of it #but im so fucking dyslexic thst its hard to learn outside a classroom bc i cant concentrate and i dont have a person talking me thru the #info. so idk idk. hopefully when i visit the other school ill kno how i feel #god but i loved living in the uk. and i could travel so much more freely there bc the trains and all that. im so fucking restricted bc im #so terrified of driving. i dont have good reaction speed and i space out too much and i get intrusive thoughts #sigh... but id be a whole 24hrs of travel away from my family instead of the 10hrs thst i am now #so id probably only get to see them once a year maybe? in contrast to 2 or 3 times #and im just worried something terrible will happen and then ill be like fuck i wasted all my time making myself miserable so far away #idk. im so tired. we had like a mile abd a half hike out to a site one way and we left at 7.30 got back at like 4 #it was a long fucking day. and im tried. and i have no filter. and when i talk too much it really annoys me #also! i got confirmation that i fucking suck at recording data. wow im so shocked. its basically designed for me to be terrible at #but its still slightly embarrassing. like srry i fucked up ur data. i cant write words correctly #literally i kept writing my Ls upside down today. why? idk that not how i see them. my brain just cant make Language right lol #whatever. my parents r calling tomorrow and i can info dump at them abt my dyslexia knowledge and my academic knowledge of biblical history #bc instead of listening to anything useful to my job. i choose to listen to lectures on neurology and theology. bc fucking idk #its interesting im relearning my bible lore from a non religious perspective. theology is fucking fascinating. ugh anyway #i shoulf sleep im so fucking tried #unrelated

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seilon · 2 years ago

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one of my number one pieces of advice for transmascs starting t or who want to start t is WASH YOUR FACE. when you wake up and when you go to bed. get a decent acne-preventing facial cleanser and an oil-free moisturizer or whatever works for you and have a routine– preferably before going on t so you’re already used to it. my doctor was really surprised that I hadnt gotten much acne since starting t (almost 2 years now) and though it’s also partly genetics, I know for a Fact based on how quickly my face gets oily now that it’d be infinitely worse if not for getting used to washing my face more often/thoroughly. remember. yes this is like Puberty 2 BUT you have the fuckin heads up this time and can plan accordingly and that makes a BIG difference

#kibumblabs #transmasc #trans man #advice #hrt #idk why I felt the need to make this PSA but. yeah its important #I also recommend using some tretanoin overnight if need be #I never had a legit skincare routine until starting t and now it’s like. a requirement #I need it to Survive #for reference I use aveeno clear complexion foam face cleanser and Trader Joe’s brand oil-free facial moisturizer #the latter i lowkey stole from my roommate cause she got it as a gift and never used it and probably it forgot it existed #not some specialized brand or anything but it’s surprisingly really nice- and I’m real picky about what I put on my face cause it’s real #easy for moisturizers to make me feel real greasy (and without any moisturizer my skin dries out and gets patchy dry spots)#it’s very light and odorless but it does it’s job and a little goes a long way #this sounds like a sponsored ad now but look. I’m just saying #honestly it’s a fucking miracle I didn’t get terrible breakouts in middle school during Puberty 1 cause man I. I didn’t take my eyeliner off #when I went to bed alot of the time. and I don’t think I really washed my face at all #I have no idea how I lived like that it would drive me fucking insane as an adult #half cause of skin being more sensitive to that sorta thing now but half because I’m just way more of a neatfreak for lack of a better word #now and it’s so easy for me to feel uncomfortable when things aren’t clean and cleaned in a certain way #anyway I’m rambling

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readwritealldayallnight · 3 months ago

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“-other than that, wasn’t so bad.” Simon says, readjusting the material of the balaclava across the bridge of his nose with his free hand. His other hand is busy, keeping yours warm as you lead him down sidewalk after sidewalk.

The two of you have just finished having Sunday morning brunch at a local cafe, something you insisted was becoming ‘tradition’ after the second time it happened. And according to you, after finishing eating, (Simon never wanting to hear a word about you paying for a thing) the next part of this lazy morning routine calls for strolling about at a pace that he would normally find pointless, if not downright frustrating. But for you, he slows down.

“Butcher’s an interesting first job.” You reply, nodding along in thought. You picture a younger Simon, fresh out of school, probably fresh faced as well. He was likely as tall, though not yet as muscular as the military would make him. A meat clever in hand, bloody apron around his waist, he was likely still inadvertently intimidating people back then the way he does now. “I was mostly just taking babysitting jobs until I graduated. Liked it well enough.”

“I actually had to babysit a neighbour one time, when I was younger. Actual baby at tha’ too.” He tells you with a chuckle, slightly shaking his head at the memory.

“What?” You laugh as well, the image in your mind now swapping out the meat clever in a teenaged Simon’s grip for a drooling infant. “How did that work out?”

“Neighbour comes bangin’ on our door, she’s carryin’ the thing, it’s screamin’ its bloody little head off,” You roll your eyes at the way Simon refers to the child, swatting his arm playfully but listening on. “She tells me her husband thinks he’s havin’ a fuckin’ heart attack. None o’ the other neighbours are home or answerin’ the door. ‘Fore I know it, she’s passin’ me the kid, askin’ if mum can watch her while she drives him to the hospital. Next thing I know she’s gone and I’m left with the thing.”

“Oh my gosh! Well where was your mum?” You ask, in disbelief that you’ve never heard this story from him before, half wondering if he’s pulling your leg.

“She wasn’t home, I can tell you that! Only me and the new lil’ orphan were.” He utters, strengthening his grip on your hand as you start to hunch over with laughter.

“Okay so wait, you were home alone? Oh no! How long did you have to ‘babysit’ for?” You giggle.

“Well technically Tommy was there but he would’ve only been a hindrance, told him to stay in his room.” Simon adds, pulling his hand out of yours, only to wrap it around your shoulder, now that you’ve come to a standstill at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. “Fuckin’ nearly 4 hours went by before mum came home and took over. Longest hours o’ my life. I think that might’ve been the day I enlisted actually.”

You elbow his side as you continue to laugh, seeing that he’s teasing you at the end now. You open your mouth to tease him right back, but your eye catches sight of the shop you’ve been standing in front of, jaw dropping wider.

“Simon!” You’re pulling him with a strength he would otherwise be impressed by if he wasn’t so suddenly caught off guard, senses kicking into high alert now as his head swivels in search of the cause of your distress. “How have we never seen this before??”

Oh.

He should’ve known better.

He actually had been avoiding taking you down this street for a little while now, but had been too caught up in his story telling to notice the direction you’d taken in him. His subtle effort of wrapping his arm around you to tilt you away from the storefront obviously hadn’t worked out. He opens his mouth to answer, but can only sigh when you’re already making your way towards the entrance of the pet store.

“We’re only lookin’, right?” He asks loud enough for you to hear as he follows you in.

Wrong.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley fluff #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #readwritealldayallnight #cod fic #cod fanfic

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oakdrivingschoolcouk · 1 year ago

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Driving Crash Course in UK

Introduction:

Embarking on the journey to become a skilled and confident driver is an exciting venture. For those eager to hit the road swiftly and master the art of driving, Oak Driving School proudly presents its comprehensive "Driving Crash Course." Whether you're in Airdrie, Bellshill, Blantyre, Bothwell, or the surrounding areas, our intensive program is designed to accelerate your learning and provide you with the skills needed to navigate the roads with confidence.

Fast-Track to Confidence Oak Driving School’s Crash Course Program

Are you ready to transform from a novice driver to a confident road navigator in the shortest time possible? Oak Driving School’s Crash Course is your ticket to accelerated learning. Our program is meticulously designed to cover all the essential aspects of driving, ensuring that you not only meet but exceed the requirements for safe and responsible driving.

Mastering the Road Quickly

Located in Airdrie and serving the surrounding areas, Oak Driving School is committed to providing a crash course that goes beyond the basics. Our experienced instructors tailor the program to the unique challenges of Airdrie, ensuring you are well-prepared for all types of roads and traffic situations.

Drive to Success

In Bellshill and neighboring regions, Oak Driving School stands out as the go-to choice for those seeking a crash course that combines efficiency with excellence. Our program is structured to instill not just the skills necessary to pass a test but the confidence to navigate Bellshill's diverse road scenarios effortlessly.

Crash Course Excellence Bothwell's Choice for Rapid Driving Skills

Residents of Bothwell, rejoice! Oak Driving School’s Crash Course is tailored to meet the unique needs of Bothwell's aspiring drivers. Our instructors bring a wealth of experience, ensuring that you gain the skills required to navigate Bothwell’s roads with ease. Let's break down the components of driving crash course

Crash Course Excellence:

This phrase emphasizes the high quality and effectiveness of the crash course offered by Oak Driving School. It suggests that the program goes beyond the basics, providing a comprehensive and excellent learning experience.

Bothwell's Choice:

This part of the heading communicates that Oak Driving School's crash course is the preferred option for individuals in Bothwell who are seeking a driving program. It implies that the school has earned a reputation for delivering top-notch training in the local community.

For Rapid Driving Skills:

This portion highlights a key benefit of the crash course—rapid skill development. It suggests that participants in the program can expect to quickly acquire the essential driving skills needed to navigate Bothwell's roads with confidence.

Blantyre's Premier Driving Crash Course Experience with Oak Driving School

In Blantyre, where the roads vary from bustling city streets to quieter suburban areas, Oak Driving School offers a premier crash course experience. Our instructors are well-versed in the intricacies of Blantyre’s road networks, providing you with a well-rounded education.

Quick and Effective

For those in Aidrie seeking a quick and effective path to obtaining a driver's license, Oak Driving School's Crash Course is the solution. Our program is designed to efficiently cover all necessary skills and knowledge, ensuring you're ready for the road ahead.

Bothwell's Accelerated Learning

Accelerate your learning in Bothwell with Oak Driving School’s Crash Course. Our curriculum is structured to optimize your time and efforts, providing a thorough education that goes beyond the basics.

Unlock Your Driving Potential

Unlock your driving potential with Oak Driving School’s Crash Course approach. Our instructors are dedicated to helping you not only pass your driving test but become a confident and skilled driver, ready for any road challenge.

FAQs:

Q1: How long is the Oak Driving School Crash Course?

A: The crash course's length varies, but it's usually designed to be finished in a short amount of time—a few days to a few weeks.

Q2: Is the crash course suitable for beginners?

A: Yes, our crash course is suitable for beginners and individuals with some driving experience who want to enhance their skills quickly.

Q3: What is the pass rate for Oak Driving School’s Crash Course?

A: Our pass rate is high, thanks to our focused curriculum and experienced instructors. However, individual success depends on factors such as practice and dedication.

Q4: Can I choose specific areas to focus on during the crash course?

A: Yes, our instructors tailor the crash course to address your specific needs and concerns, ensuring a personalized and effective learning experience.

Conclusion:

The "Driving Crash Course" at Oak Driving School is a transformative event that teaches pupils how to drive with assurance and competence. Regardless of whether you're in Bellshill, Blantyre, Bothwell, Airdrie, or the surrounding areas, our crash course is customized to meet your unique needs. Join us and accelerate your path to driving success with Oak Driving School.

#Intensive driving course #Driving instructors #Driving lessons near me #Driving instructor near me #Crash driving course #Automatic driving lessons #How to drive an automatic car #How long does it take to learn to drive #female driving instructors near me #driving instructor in airdrie #driving lessons bellshill #oak school of motoring #airdrie driving lessons #Best driving school #can deaf people drive

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lindabrooksschoolofmotoring · 1 year ago

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Automatic Driving Lessons in Blackburn, Darwen, Great Harwood and Rishton?

Introduction:

Being how to drive is a necessary life skill, and as automated cars become more and more popular, automatic driving courses are becoming more and more in demand. As a respected driving school like Linda Brooks School Of Motoring serving the UK's Blackburn, Darwen, Rishton, and Great Harwood, we understand the special requirements of students and the advantages of automatic driving classes. The benefits of automatic driving lessons, the significance of selecting a trustworthy instructor, and how our extensive automatic driving programme may help you develop as a confident and experienced driver are all covered in this article.

Why Choose Automatic Driving Lessons?

Automatic cars have gained popularity due to their user-friendly nature, especially for beginners. Choosing automatic driving lessons offers several advantages, including:

1.1. Simplified Gear Shifting:

In automatic vehicles, there's no need to worry about gear changes, allowing learners to focus on other aspects of driving, such as road awareness and safe maneuvering.

1.2. Reduced Learning Time:

Learning to drive in an automatic car can be quicker than in a manual car, as it eliminates the complexities of clutch control and gear shifting.

1.3. Easier Traffic Navigation:

Automatic vehicles can make driving in heavy traffic or stop-and-go situations more manageable, reducing stress for learners.

The Importance of a Reliable Driving Instructor

Choosing the right driving instructor is crucial for a successful learning experience. Here's why you should entrust us with your automatic driving lessons:

2.1. Extensive Experience:

With years of experience, we have honed our teaching techniques to cater to learners of all abilities, ensuring each student receives personalized attention.

2.2. In-depth Local Knowledge:

As local driving instructors in Blackburn, Darwen, Rishton, and Great Harwood, we understand the unique road conditions and challenges learners may face in the area.

2.3. Patient and Supportive Approach:

We believe that every learner is different, and we adopt a patient and supportive approach to help students build confidence behind the wheel.

2.4. Up-to-Date Teaching Methods:

Our driving lessons incorporate the latest teaching methods, ensuring learners receive relevant and practical instruction.

The Comprehensive Automatic Driving Program

Our automated driving programme is meant to provide students the abilities and information they need to drive safely and confidently. What the programme comprises is as follows:

3.1. Introduction to the Vehicle:

We start with a comprehensive introduction to the automatic vehicle, familiarizing learners with the controls and safety features.

3.2. Road Safety and Awareness:

Our first priority is safety. We go through traffic laws, defensive driving methods, and how to recognise and deal with potential problems.

3.3. Maneuvering and Parking:

Learners gain proficiency in essential maneuvers, including parallel parking, three-point turns, and reverse parking.

3.4. Navigating Roundabouts and Junctions:

Roundabouts and junctions can be challenging for learners. Our program includes specialized training to navigate these areas confidently.

3.5. Motorway Driving (where applicable):

For learners preparing to drive on motorways, we offer guidance on safe motorway practices and building confidence at higher speeds.

3.6. Mock Tests and Exam Preparation:

We administer simulated driving exams to learners to ensure they are adequately prepared for the driving test, offering helpful feedback and building confidence.

Answers to Frequently Asked Questions

Is learning to operate an automated vehicle easier than learning to operate one with a manual gearbox?

Yes, many people believe that operating an automated vehicle is simpler than one that requires manual control. Manual gear changes are no longer necessary in automatic vehicles, freeing up the driver-training population to concentrate on other elements of safe manoeuvring and traffic awareness. For beginners, this may result in a shorter learning curve and less stress.

Can anyone take automated driving lessons?

Automatic driving classes are appropriate for students of all skill levels, yes. Our automated driving programme is made to meet your specific needs, whether you are a total novice or have some prior driving experience.

After gaining experience in an automatic vehicle, may I transfer to a manual one?

Yes, new drivers are only permitted to operate automatic cars after passing their driving test in one. You would need to take additional driving lessons and pass your driving test in a manual car if you wanted to operate one. However, many students discover that taking driving lessons in an automatic vehicle is a terrific way to build confidence before switching to a manual vehicle.

How many driving lessons will I need to develop my confidence?

Depending on their learning style and prior driving experience, each person will require a different amount of driving lessons. After a few lessons, some students could feel secure, while others might need more practise.

Conclusion:

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karmaphone · 1 year ago

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singlets stop presuming that everyone is multiple to some degree, actually challenge

#bruh there's a big distinction #does everyone experience dissociation? yes most people daydream and read books and lose track of what exactly they're doing while driving #the big distinction is SEPARATE personality states #if you do not have more than one of you in your head then you're a fucking singlet no matter how much dissociation you experience #there's a big difference between say someone with did or osdd and someone with dpdrd #can it run the whole gamut of experiences thereupon? yea. are there some people who don't align fully with either and who don't fall into #neat little boxes because that's not how the human experience works? yea #but there is a huge difference between acknowledging the level of dissociation that people experience every day and not integrating multipl #personality states between the ages of six and nine #it's a literal documented thing. there's research about it. it's not like systems are doing ALL of this in the dark #it's not like systems are out here pointing at singlets and being like You Have Exactly 0% Of What I Experience because it's just not true!#everyone experiences dissociation but not everyone has multiple fucking people inside them!!!#compare me losing entire days and weeks and remembering NOTHING except vague minute long snippets to people suffering in school from not #being able to pee when they need to #is much of our daily life traumatizing? yes. is it so traumatizing as a whole that Everyone's A Little Bit Multiple Actually? hell no #we make up 1-3% of the population not fucking 10-20 or 30-50 and certainly not 90 #I realize this comes off as super psychiatry approval-y which I personally don't believe much in but like. we'll take what fucking #scientific evidence of our existence we can fucking GET #I'm. literally Angry right now ****** will probably delete this later but jfc are you serious

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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

part three

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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bridgetteofhearts · 2 months ago

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Maybe it's the way he looks under my dress when he thinks I don't notice or perhaps his gentle touches when I'm pretending to sleep, but there's something about my new daddy that makes my body feel weird.

Mommy said he'd take care of us and he has. He pays for my school and whatever I could ever want. He's so nice to me, always driving me to school and picking me up too.

He insisted on calling him daddy, I was more than happy to do so. My real dad doesn't care about me, but daddy does, he makes sure I'm well fed, well dressed, he makes sure I don't have to long for anything anymore because he's always trying to make me happy.

The first time that mommy left the house at night to go clubbing with her friends I thought daddy would be mad, but he was happy to spend more time with me. We watched a movie and ate pizza, he tucked me in and kissed me goodnight. I woke up later that night to daddy caressing my belly, under my nightgown. I smiled at him enjoying his caresses and went back to sleep not knowing he was perving me out.

Whenever I get sick he takes care of me, bathes me and feeds me healthy food. Mommy loves daddy, she loves how much he loves me, but she doesn't know that daddy loves me more than she thinks. He can't help it.

Daddy is possessive, he has made it very clear that I'm not allowed to have a boyfriend. I understand why, boys are mean and selfish. I'm a good girl, daddy knows that, but he's a little paranoid, that's why cunnie inspections started.

After school he'd take me to my room and make me strip. His fingers all over my private parts felt so good, but I couldn't tell him that. Of course my wetness gave me away. What started as quick inspections then turned into one hour of daddy caressing me of kissing me down there until I melted all over his face.

It was our little secret, I never told mom... I never wanted it to stop, daddy's mouth felt so good, and if it felt so good... why stop?

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hellfire--cult · 1 year ago

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Harrington!reader who struck up a friendship with Billy after finding him crying. It wasn’t long until she developed a crush on the older boy. But she knew she was the least attractive girl in school, and on the cheerleading squad. Every girl was all over him, she never thought he’d see her that way.

Movie Night

I'm so sorry, I got carried away, and I made it super long, SO I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND I HOPE EVERYONE ELSE DOES this has: fluff, angst, mean brother persona on Steve's behalf, OOC Billy Hargrove, soft side.

wc: 8k (i got a lil inspired, no one requests Billy and I love to write him 😭)

Stupid Steve. Stupid school. Stupid fucking stereotypes.

You understand, you get it, the fucking sister of Steve Harrington should be the perfect girl, perfect as her idiotic brother. If only they knew that being in every single sport isn’t what Steve wants, it isn’t what he desires, it isn’t what he always dreamed about.

But it’s not that perfection they want from you, oh no. It’s not your fault you have bad eye sight so you have to wear glasses, and for some reason that made you fucking undesirable. Just because you are wearing glasses, and you’ve been wearing them ever since middle school, where there were minimum problems with it, and now in high school when you just want to be able to date someone, or even kiss, it’s almost impossible because of them.

So yes, you knew people didn’t want to be with you, and you knew that it was all because of the idealization of the Harrington girl not meeting their expectations. Jokes on them, every single fucking guy in school looks like stepped on shit.

When you finally got into freshmen year, you already knew Steve was the most popular guy in school, always boosting about it at the dinner table, father always saying how proud he is for Steve being the captain of almost every fucking imaginable sport. You looked up to Steve, you really did look up to your brother… Until you crossed those forsaken high school doors, and the only face your brother sent you was that of disgust and turned his back on you.

And that sets your fate.

Now as a Junior, your brother finally graduates this year. Ever since he started dating Nancy who is in the same year as you, he has relatively changed. At home, he now tries to invite you to hang with him at the mall, or tell you to have dinner together when your parents aren’t home… You declined his invitation every time. You prefer to eat dinner in your bed, alone, while he drives away to be with Nancy. Just you, your books, and some good music. You are fine.

It doesn’t help the fact that you have just one friend at school, and she’s not even always with you because she is Nancy’s Best Friend. Barb was always nice to you, and it’s the only one you talked to in class, because then in cheerleading practice, which you had to enter because you needed extracurricular credit because your parents said so, you were given the cold shoulder by every teammate there. You didn’t participate in the cheers really, you just wear the uniform every now and then and pass them bottles of water.

You just have to survive one year, just one more year and you can go to college, probably start anew, meet people, meet someone. You fixed your glasses on the bridge of your nose as you took notes while sitting at the bleachers, hearing the squeak of the tennis shoes of all the boys in the basketball team just going around. You hear a thump, making your eyes look up to see your brother laying on the floor, making you frown.

Then it made sense, as Billy Hargrove smirked, helping your brother stand up again.

You knew that he wanted to take Steve’s position as the most popular guy at school, getting prom king and all that shit. You have heard your brother complaining about him on the phone sometimes, maybe to Nancy or to one of his friends. From what you’ve seen, Billy looked like a tough and irritating guy, and there is no need for you to get close to him at all, and you really could care less about what he does to your brother.

And that is basically your everyday life. Invisible, and you’re fine with that.

You’re fine.

“Hey, can you believe that guy?” Your head snapped up to see your brother at your door, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. You raised your eyebrow at him, looking back down at your book. “If he takes away my captainship in the team, I will– Dad will fucking cut my head off.”

“That’s what you get for following his dreams from day one.” You mumble in a low tone, but he caught onto it, frowning at you.

“I have my own dreams. I don’t follow his.” You nodded at that while still not looking at him. You really could care two shits about all of this.

“Maybe Nancy can help you with this kinda stuff. I'm busy.” You heard shuffling at the door and then a sigh. You heard steps and you raised your head to hear him slam his door shut, and you knew he was probably getting ready to go to a party or something because of the music he started playing on his radio. Not once you were invited to one of those, not even by your own brother. He had hosted parties before, and you were commanded to stay in your room all night. The only time you came out of your room was to the bathroom to pee, and even then you had to wait because people were always making out inside.

You got up from bed, closed the biology book to then set it on your desk, looking over to your library of VHS’s tilting your head to check what to watch tonight. You picked Terms of Endearment and Sixteen Candles. Your collection was full of romance and dramatic movies because it’s just your favorite genre to watch. Same with your books, your favorite being Sense & Sensibility.

Steve left after a few minutes, and you made your way down to start your Friday movie night, and tomorrow will be the same, next weekend too. You should get more movies, you are on a roll of rewatching stuff by now. But it was at this moment, when you put the cassette into your player, and you finally sat down and started watching Sixteen Candles that it all simply fell apart.

Your rough facade crumbles down as you see the romance of the characters on screen, the friendship that is displayed in these movies, late calls with friends, kicking your feet because the guy you liked kissed you, or even called you to spend time with you. You stare absentmindedly at the screen as you see the kissing scene finally happening and your fingertips brush over your lips, just softly, tracing the shape of them.

After a few hours Steve finally returns home, completely sober and cursing under his breath. He sees the light of the living room turned on and some blue light shining on. He walked inside to find you asleep on the couch with the TV still on. He sighed, walking over to turn it off but then his eyes looked at your form, making his face completely fall down.

He bent over your figure to see the dried tears on your cheeks, falling down onto the couch. He looked over to the coffee table to look at what you were watching, getting hold of the case. You watch the same movie every Friday night… And every Saturday night. He rubbed his mouth with a frown to his face as he looked back at your frame. And he always repeats the same action every Friday night and every Saturday night.

He stands up to grab the blanket that’s over the couch to put it over your body, and with tears in his eyes he bends over to press a soft kiss at the top of your head with a quiet whisper that he always repeats and that you never hear, not that you would believe him anyway.

“I’m sorry.”

Monday came way faster than you expected, and the morning was even quicker. Your parents were still away on their business trip, but Steve and you knew they were just out on vacation by themselves. Why have children when you just push them aside?

You take out the lunch bag with your sandwiches in it, and you walk out of the school doors and into the football field which was deserted because it was lunch time, so it always gave you the best opportunity to head behind the bleachers to have some peaceful time for yourself, and that was until you almost dropped your bag as you screamed and flinched when you saw someone already there who snapped his head back at you.

Billy Hargrove.

Your breathing was heavy and your eyes were still trying to focus from the scare but as soon as they did you realized that Billy’s eyes were filled with tears, one or two might have escaped because you could see the glistening trail that they left behind on his cheeks. You were trying to talk to him, but then his eyebrows furrowed together, a tight angry look on his face.

“The fuck you looking at Harrington?” You flinched back at that, annoyance switching inside of you instead of fear. This guy was crying and has the audacity to sound threatening?

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just seeing Billy Hargrove actually having feelings is a sight.” His eyes snapped wide at your response, surprise crossing his features while he stared at you this time. “Who’s staring now?”

“Oh, right, sorry, it’s just that hearing you fucking talk for once is a sight.” You were taken aback by his response, mimicking yours. You sucked on your right cheek in annoyance as he wiped his cheeks away.

“Well, off you go.” He snaps his head at you, a frown on his features to then letting a smirk spread on his lips.

“I came here first. You go.” You scoff at that, shaking your head at him.

“No, I always come here at lunchtime, it’s my place.”

“Well, that’s lonely as fuck.” You know that. You fucking know that, he doesn’t need to say it to your face, not the heartthrob of the school. Before your heart could turn in pain you nod at him.

“Fine, take it for today.” You turn to finally walk away. Maybe you can eat at the picnic table in the forest? But sometimes the stoner would go there to deal, and you weren’t judging Munson really, you gotta do what you gotta do to survive.

“Wait.” You stopped on your tracks and slowly turned around to see Billy slumping down on the ground, his back resting against a column of the bleachers while he rested his forearms on his bent knees. “You can stay here if you don’t tell anyone you saw me like this.”

Who would you even tell this to? He might be scared that you would tell Steve about it, but Billy seems to not know you don’t actually have a good relationship with your brother, and you have just one casual friend in this school. You look in between the bleachers and towards the woods and then you look back at Billy, giving a sigh and finally sitting down with your legs crossed.

It was silent between you two, almost uncomfortable but not quite. You were eating your sandwich and you took out a bottle of water out of your bag too. You glanced once at him, and he was looking at the distance, just breathing slowly. You wanted to know what happened to him, because he didn’t seem like the guy that would cry easily. He looked at you, raising an eyebrow up at you.

“Why do you eat here?” He asks and you clear your throat, taking a sip of your water.

“Why were you crying?”

“Touché.” You gave a nod in understanding. You weren’t going to talk to him if he wasn’t going to talk to you. You looked inside your bag to grab onto the other sandwich, and you handed it to him. He looked at it with a frown and then back at you.

“If you’re here it means you didn’t eat. Basketball players need food.” You calmly say to him and he looks down at the sandwich, taking it from your hands, and then taking a bite out of it, grimacing in disgust.

“What the fuck is in this?” He looks down into it and you smirk at him, finishing off your own.

“Mustard and pickle sandwich.”

He ate the sandwich anyway. It was nice to eat lunch with someone for once, even if that person was Billy Hargrove and it would be a one time thing in your life… Though, it wasn’t. Billy was back behind the bleachers almost everyday after that. He wasn’t at all that persona that he was with everyone else with you. The cocky insufferable bastard you knew was all a mask, and you could see it when he told you about how Tammy Thompson tried to hide a fart with her cough in class.

“You’re fucking kidding…” You were giggling, covering your mouth as you both sat in front of one another, and the closeness slowly shrinking as two weeks went by of eating lunch with him.

“I am not, she actually thought it was discreet, but I heard it. Not that I said anything about it, but it was a total boner killer.” You raised an eyebrow at that, swallowing your apple that you were having as dessert.

“What, girls can’t fart Hargrove?” He rolls his eyes at you and then raises his hand to flick your forehead, making you wince and rub the skin he left in a red state.

“I didn’t say that. When you trust someone enough to do it in their face, sure. Not in the middle of class, and much less when you are a chair in front of mine.” At that you let out a laugh, throwing your head back. He chuckled and took a swig of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side so it wouldn’t hit your face.

“God, I really don’t pay attention to shit like that.” You took another bite of your apple and Billy was still looking at you, clearing his throat, making you look up at him.

“What do you do on Friday nights? I mean, your brother is at every single party but you are nowhere to be found.” He asks you and you feel your cheeks flush slightly at that. You look down at your apple and swallow your bite.

“I often watch movies. Have my own movie nights, sometimes with popcorn, and if I am feeling fancy, S’mores.” You gave him a small smile as you took another sip of water but Billy was still looking at you with a frown to his eyebrows.

“By yourself?” And you suddenly felt embarrassment washing over you. How pathetic were you? He is a guy that has every student in this school eating at the palm of his hand, plans of going out somewhere almost everyday, a date every single night, and you just watched movies and read books for company.

“I– I have to go.” You suddenly blurt out, standing up abruptly to then wipe your jeans from the dirt of the floor. Billy was following suit, doing the same thing, and about to stop you, but you were already walking away. You didn’t need the reminder of how stupid all of your life sounded. You didn’t need it from him. You were always reminded of it by your father, saying that you should be more like his son. Your mother says that at her age she already dated someone and had tons of friends. Steve showing off his new relationship and friends to you, keeping you in the shadows from everyone.

You didn’t need more reminders.

So when you got home, and realized Steve was already out of sight, probably at Heather’s party, you took your time to shower, put on some comfy sweatpants, a white t-shirt and a gray hoodie, and you grabbed your movies and went downstairs. Maybe they will cheer you up from all the stuff that has happened with Billy today. It’s stupid, you both don’t talk to each other all day, yet at lunch you just talk non-stop.

Sweet popcorn was today’s choice and you were already salivating at the smell of it all. Once it was done you put it in a bowl and headed over to the living room, turning the TV on, and putting Pretty in Pink in your VHS. Steve must be getting drunk with his friends by now, dancing to Roxette or something like that. You popped a single popcorn in your mouth and you were about to press play but you were interrupted when glass knocking was heard from the sliding door to the garden.

You jumped up in fear, eyes widened as you quickly turned your head and saw Billy fucking Hargrove outside the doors. You blinked once, twice, three times. Wasn’t he at Heather’s party too? You stood up from your seat, blushing at your attire but he already saw you in it, no time to actually go change. You fixed your glasses at the bridge of your nose as you walked towards the doors to finally unlock them and open a side for him.

“What the fuck are you doing here Billy!” You almost screamed at him, but he raised his hands up in a surrender mode and chuckled at you.

“By that yelling I am assuming your parents are still gone. Let me in, I’m fucking freezing.” He walks past you and you scoff at the nerve of this man. You close the door and you see him looking around with his hands inside his black leather jacket. Your eyes trailed downwards for a second, taking in how tight his pants were, but you snapped out of it, walking around him so that you were facing him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask again and he simply shrugs, still looking all around your house.

“Party was lame as shit, and you said there was a movie night here tonight. That seemed far more interesting than Tommy trying to do a keg stand and falling onto it, breaking his nose.” He walks to the couch, sitting down on it and he immediately grabs the bowl of popcorn from the coffee table. Your mouth hangs open again at this, going to the couch and sitting down next to him.

“You– I don’t need your pity.” You say to him, looking down at your hands as you played with the hem of the sleeves of your hoodie. He chuckles at that and shakes his head.

“Sweetheart, I don’t pity anyone. The party was really fucking boring.” He takes a popcorn in his mouth and he hums at the sweetness. You raise an eyebrow to look at him. You never thought Billy Hargrove would be on the sweet side of stuff. “So, what are we watching?”

A smirk formed on your lips. He was gonna fucking hate it, that’s what he gets for barging in your house.

Yet–

“I fucking hated Duckie.” You were wide eyed at him. He had paid complete attention to the movie, even giving small commentary that he really liked the fact that the girl stood up for herself. He turns to look at you, a frown coming to his eyebrows. “What?”

“I just… I didn’t think you like this genre of movies.” You reply to him, a little bit nervous for some reason and he smiles at you and then looks back at the screen.

“I never watched one of these. They have a lot of plot, and they’re interesting.” Your eyes sparkled in excitement and you grabbed his shoulder, which made him look at you alarmingly.

“You’re in for a ride.”

Billy came back again the next day, taking the chance that Steve was out at Nancy’s for the night. He then sneaked into your room while Steve slept and you played Grease on your small TV and VHS that were on top of your dresser. He actually enjoyed it, but despised it because it was a musical. The next time, he actually came through the front door, and you both finally watched Sixteen Candles together. Now, Saturday Night, Steve was at Nancy’s for a family dinner and Billy was taking out two beers from the six pack he came with.

“I don’t drink…” You say to him and he raises an eyebrow up at you.

“Daily or weekly, but you have tried alcohol. One beer is not going to kill you Sweetheart.” You nodded at that and you grabbed onto the can, sitting back down on the couch. You opened it as Billy walked towards you and plopped down with a huff, already taking a swig out of his can. You grimaced at yours and you took a tentative sip, lowering the can to look at him, completely disgusted by the taste and he simply threw his head back in laughter.

“Disgusting.” You say to him and he shrugs at you, sending a smile your way.

“It’s an acquired taste baby, you just keep drinking it, if you feel fuzzy you can leave it.” You felt your heart accelerate at him, feeling the butterflies exploding in your stomach. You didn’t know when your relationship with Billy took a turn for the better, but he actually sends a smile your way this time when walking down the halls, he sometimes greets you when you pass by him in the hallways, like he is not making it seem like he doesn’t know you.

So it was hard not to fall for him. It was undeniable at this point, and even if he was strong and mean, and an ultimate bully to everyone else, he comes here to your house, watches romantic comedies with you, eats popcorn with you, and you two talk about nonsense all evening. Nobody knows about this, and you’re happy to have this secret between the two of you. You can live in the fantasy a little bit longer.

“What did you bring?” You look at the cassette he got and you look at the front of it. You grimaced again and showed it to him. “The terminator?”

“Classic sweetheart, it’s an action movie, you gotta expand your movie knowledge a bit.” You didn’t want to complain, it was the first time Billy suggested to watch something he likes, and in reality you were interested in knowing it, and hopefully like it the way he does.

News flash, you didn’t like it.

“Why are there so many guns?! It's unnecessary!” You complain, your beer gone and you do feel a little fuzzy but not too much. You just felt giddy. He laughed at your side and shook his head as he drank his second can.

“That’s what action movies are, baby, they are irrational, little to nothing of plot, and shooting everywhere.” He says and you sigh at that, shaking your head. The room filled with silence as Billy looked forward, his smile slowly disappearing. “You know why I come here often?”

You straightened at that, blinked with confusion as you turned to look at him. You frowned when you saw how serious he got, just out of nowhere, and your belly turned for him, not in a romantic way, but more of a worry kind of nervousness.

“Because parties now bore you?” You ask him and he gives you one chuckle and then shakes his head, resting it on the backrest of the couch, looking at the ceiling.

“You help me distract myself.” He took a deep breath in as you kept looking at him and you knew it was something he was having a hard time talking about. “The day you saw me crying… I was actually afraid.”

“What?”

“My father… Let’s just say he has– a rough hand. Any slip up I make, I just get a punch out of it… I’m just so angry all the time, so unlike my fucking self and who I actually am when I am at school. I just let out my anger towards people, because I cannot take it out on my own father.” You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and you knew he was trying to choke back tears as he talked. Your heart just knotted at seeing him like this, feeling helpless, not knowing what to actually tell him.

“Billy–”

“And you… I tried to be mean to you… And you actually had the guts that no one had at this school yet. Talk back to me.” His head turned to finally look at you again and your eyes burned at his confession. “I couldn’t be mean to you… With you I can— I can be calm, watch a movie, talk about how creepy that Creel house is and how we should sabotage it– I mean, the only thing I talk with the people from school? Chicks, sex, cars, alcohol.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips, turning your whole body to face him, your legs coming to rest on top of the couch too, bending them and resting your side on the backrest.

“Well, I am glad I could help in some way… My house is always open for you Billy.” His eyes were just staring into yours now, the only thing being heard in the room were your breaths, until he finally talked.

“Can I kiss you?”

What?

There is no possible way you heard that from him. This is a dream, it has to be a dream. There is no way Billy Hargrove, your now friend, your crush, the guy you like has asked to actually kiss you. This only happens in movies, in books, and it never happens in real life, at least, not to you.

“W-Why would you want to kiss me?” And Billy’s features turned into saddened ones at your words. Don’t you realize how beautiful you are? He straightened up on the couch, his body turning to face you as well as both of your hearts jumped out of your chest.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” was his short answer. Your belly turned in pure nervousness now as your body grew a cold sweat. You never kissed anyone, and Billy seemed to know how to do it, and you were just too inexperienced. A flush came over all of your body as you fixed the glasses on the bridge of your nose and you looked down to avoid his gaze.

“I– I never–” You gulped, not being able to finish the phrase from how stupid it sounded. A warm hand was pressed on your cheek, making you lift your head up to look at him again, and you didn’t realize how close he got to you, his blue eyes staring into yours.

“I ask you again… Can I kiss you?” And you finally give him a nod. You weren’t going to miss this chance, not for one second. He still wants to kiss you despite you not knowing what you were getting yourself into. He smiled at you and grabbed onto your glasses, pulling them off your face and setting them on the coffee table. “They were just going to get in the way.”

You took a shaky breath in, his hand still on your cheek as he slowly leaned down towards you. You closed your eyes and his remained open to remember your features as he finally does what he has been wanting to do for the past weeks. At first it was a simple attraction of course, but he knew it was more than that, and he was scared as shit about it… But he never wanted someone as much as he’s been wanting you.

His lips connected with yours in a soft peck, brief, and you let a breath go out of your lips, only for another peck to land. Then another, then another that lingered there a bit more, and then the next one he just stayed there, and suddenly started moving his lips, guiding you as your heartbeat made you deaf in your ears. How do people do this and not faint at the spot?

The lip smacking was heard in the room as your hands finally were brave enough to travel, one scanning his bicep, the other one moving towards the back of his neck, feeling his skin under your fingertips. His free hand landed on your waist, not pressing too hard so that you know that he is being mindful of you. At this point, Billy would already be inside someone, satisfying his needs, but with you… He wasn’t going to do that, at least not now, not yet, and that is if you let him.

He wants to take care of you.

He pulled away for a second, his lips touching yours still as your breathing mixed with one another’s in soft pants. You were feeling as if you were burning all over, not knowing what was happening with you. You never felt like this before, and maybe it has to do with the fact that not only was Billy good looking, but you also feel more than just friendship for him.

“You okay?” You nod frantically at him, wanting more, giving him a peck on the lips making him chuckle in a low tone. “Sorry baby, but I need more.”

He suddenly pushed you back on the couch, crawling over you and you didn’t even think, you just wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he kept his bottom half away from yours, even if it pained him on his thighs from the strength he was doing to keep himself up. His lips connected with yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, the kiss suddenly turning into a very heated one as he suddenly licks your bottom lip a few times.

The butterflies in your belly explode as you open your mouth and his tongue finally slides in. You gasp at the feeling, your hands finding his biceps through his blouse, and you felt his chain hitting your neck at every movement. One hand was still gripping on your waist, while the other remained at your nape, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

You really can’t believe this is happening, not to you, not with Billy, it doesn’t make sense that he looked your way, it doesn’t make sense that he actually wants to kiss you, not when he has Heather on his tail all the time, or Carol even if she is dating Tommy. Or Janet. You always hear them talking about him in the bathroom, always planning their move on him, and this feels you with a sense of power, with a sense of accomplishment and pride in yourself.

Your hands ran through his hair and he groaned into the kiss, and that ignited so many things inside of you that you never felt in your life, and you wanted to hear more of it. Billy was trying his best to keep himself in a hovering position with you, but he was finding it harder and harder to do so. He can’t go on, at least not today when it was your first kiss. He didn’t want to scare you, even if your urges were the same as his, because he could feel your need to pull him even closer.

The door suddenly clicked and both of your eyes snapped wide open, pulling away, looking at one another, panting heavily. Best scenario, it's your parents, and they would be thrilled that you actually, and finally, have someone over at your house… Now, worst case scenario–

“What the ACTUAL FUCK?!” You both sat up on the couch to look over at Steve, who was standing there in the living room, wide eyed, and his face reddened bit by bit. Shit.

“Steve–” You started talking but he raised his hand at you, to then point a finger at Billy.

“Get the fuck off my sister.” You wanted to roll your eyes at this, because why is he acting all protective now? You finally got some action in your fucking life and he wants to take it away from you.

“I don’t think she wants me to leave.” Billy dares to say, glaring at your brother who took a look at the coffee table, seeing the cans of beer. His mind started racing, and Billy followed his gaze, his mouth opening to talk but Steve was running up the stairs already. Your eyes widened and you pushed Billy off, standing up quickly and urging him to do the same.

“You have to leave!” You were trying to push Billy towards the front door but his feet were still planted against the floor with a frown to his face, and your head snapped to the stairs to see Steve running back down with his baseball bat in his hands. Billy’s eyes widen when Steve starts to approach him with a swinging motion.

“Taking fucking advantage of my sister is something I won’t take from you Hargrove, so get the fuck out of my house before I crush your skull in!”

“Shit, Harrington– Fucking listen for a second–” Steve’s baseball bat hits the backrest of the couch, and you could see the dent of the wooden under it that he created. Billy ripped himself off you and gave you a look as if asking if you were okay.

“I’ll talk to him, you go.” You tell him and he gulps, looking back at Steve with a threatening look on his face which Steve only scoffed at.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Billy says with a small squeeze to your hand as he walks out of the house, passing by Steve. Your brother follows him to the front door and he doesn’t walk back inside until Billy drives away with his Camaro. After the roaring engine can be heard in the distance, Steve slams the door shut, throwing the bat at the floor and stomping back into the living room where you were standing there with a glare on your eyes as if you were about to kill him.

“When I saw his fucking car out in front of the house I thought it was a stupid coincidence, and I come in here to see you about to have sex with the sluttiest man in the goddamn school! What are you thinking!?” You frown in anger at that, stepping towards him.

“I am his friend! I wasn’t going to have sex with him, and he wasn’t taking fucking advantage of me! I drank ONE beer, ONE!” You yell back at him and he fake laughs as he runs his hand over his face.

“The first time you have a guy in this house, and it is Billy FUCKING Hargrove. The one guy that I am fighting with for Captain at our basketball team, the one guy that gives me the hardest fucking time of my life at the moment, and you want me to just accept that he wants to be with you because he WANTS TO?” Your chest hurt at those words, your own coming out in soft stutters at Steve’s blind rage.

“He even asked me if I wanted to, and I said yes–”

“God, you cannot be this fucking stupid! He hates me, makes my life a living hell, and you seriously think that he is a nice guy!? You really think there is no ulterior motive!?” He yelled at you and his words were stabbing you in every part of your body, your head already spinning from how harsh he was being with you.

“Why? Is it impossible that he actually wants to be with me?” You try to say loudly at him, even if your fingers start to feel numb. He scoffed at that, looking at you.

“Yes, and I don’t think you are dumb enough to not see that.” He was referring to so many other things, and it was regarding Billy’s persona, in Billy’s actions, in his rivalry with him… And when he saw your tear rolling down your face, his anger evaporated as if water was being thrown at him.

“Okay…” Was your defeated response. You turned around to retrieve your glasses from your coffee table and Steve winced, clenching his eyes tightly together as pain rushed through his body.

“That wasn’t what I meant– Hey, listen to me, I really didn’t mean it to sound like that–” But you weren’t listening, putting the cassettes back into their cases and turning off the TV. You grabbed them and walked past him, going up into your room. Steve stood there, knowing he hurt you once again, not knowing what to do but run a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath as he started pacing back and forth.

He didn’t mean it to sound like no guy would want you, he didn’t mean it at all like that, yet the words coming out of his mouth betrayed him, completely. He doesn’t know how to make it up to you, because if he had given you the chance to go to the parties with him when you asked in your freshman year, many times, and told you yes instead of no, you would have more experiences, you might even have friends. If only he had let you come out of your room at his own parties when you asked him, almost begged him to let you participate, but he declined each time. Then in your sophomore year, you didn’t ask anymore, just accepted that he wasn’t going to tell you anymore about them, and you automatically locked the door whenever he hosted a party.

This year, he tried to invite you, many times. You always declined. You didn’t even want to eat dinner with him, and he knows you want to leave the house as soon as possible thanks to him. Even with your parents. For the past two years he had been so blind because of his father’s approval and the one of all the students in Hawkins High that he didn’t notice how your parents didn’t ask you stuff at dinner. All questions were always directed to him. He noticed this year, and he tried to tell them you had nailed your exams, and the only thing you got from your father was ‘As she should.’

He was the cause of who you were now. Not at all the bubbly and animated girl that asked him to raise her up like an airplane in their backyard, not at all the small girl that put makeup on him pretending she was a stylist, not at all the middle school girl that got excited to see him whenever she got home from school to tell him about what she learned that day.

He walked up the stairs and raised his hand to knock on your door, only to hear soft sobs on the other side, muffled. He wonders if you had also cried when he denied you all those times. He doesn’t know how to even make it up to you. He doesn’t know if he even can.

So the next day, when you didn’t come out of your room, he let you have your alone time. Now on Monday he tried knocking on your door, only to receive the notice that you felt sick. He tried walking in but your door was completely locked. His eyebrows twitched and his mind had come up with a plan. A plan he will terribly hate. A plan that might end up badly for him. But it’s what he deserves for what he did to you.

Billy looked everywhere for you, and even asked Barbara Holland where you could be. She told him that she hadn’t seen her at Science that day either, so his best guess was that you had skipped school. His jaw clenched when he asked other people about you and some of them didn’t even know what you looked like. He waited for the bell to ring, and he was going to tumble Steve down if he had to in order to see you. He didn’t care.

But when he walked out of the school doors to rush to his Camaro, he was surprised to see Steve Harrington sitting on his trunk with his arms crossed. Billy’s eyes hardened at the sight, walking towards him, tilting his head in question at the brown haired boy who was looking at Billy with a mix of emotions behind his eyes.

“Harrington. Get off my fucking car.” He says and Steve gulps as he looks to the side.

“I fucked up.” At that Billy’s eyebrows turned into a frown, but his fists started clenching as Steve kept talking, telling him everything, everything he did to you, and what he had said to you that night when Billy left.

While this was happening, you were combing your hair after the shower you took while sitting on your bed. You had taken a shower because you were greasy from yesterday already, and you really didn't want to get up, but you didn’t have a choice. Ever since Steve said that, you didn’t have the guts to actually call Billy because at some far away place in your mind, it made sense.

You were invisible, and suddenly you were noticed? It doesn’t sound real.

So maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it really was to get into your pants to mess with your brother, and that was honestly the most reasonable explanation for it. You frowned when you heard the door open downstairs, your door was left open so you could hear some drawers being open, to then hear steps coming up the stairs. Your eyes widened when you saw Steve slamming himself against the door frame of your room.

His eye was completely inflamed from a punch received to the face, his nose was bleeding and he was holding some ice covered in a rug to soak the blood in it. From what you could see, his lip was busted as well and his breathing was coming out of his mouth, almost in a pant.

“Steve, what happened?” Even in your hatred for him, seeing him this way made your heart fill with worry, pushing all of the other feelings aside. You were about to rise from the bed until Steve raised his hand up at you.

“I deserved it.” He looked towards the hallway and your eyes widened when you saw Billy coming into view, a pack of frozen peas on his right hand, his eyes glaring at Steve as he passed by him and into your room. His eyes turned to yours and you couldn’t help but look up at him, completely stunned. Steve groans and closes the door for you two as he heads downstairs.

“What… Did you…?” You stutter as you sit back on your bed, seeing Billy’s injured hand as he sat on your bed too, nodding as he looked at you.

“I sure as hell did. Fucker deserved it. He told me everything, from the very beginning, and also what he said to you on Saturday night right after I left.” You feel your face flush with embarrassment and you look down at your hands again. You are not understanding what is going on, nor why Steve would go and tell your life story to Billy. “Though I have to say… Your brother does care for you.” You scoff at that.

“Right. Like he cared for me the past two years.” You reply with venom in your voice and you feel Billy scoot closer to you.

“He knows. He knows what he did to you. Your freshman year was the punch on the eye, your sophomore year was on his lip… And what he said on Saturday was the one on the nose.” He lets out a chuckle and you feel mixed emotions to that. You were happy that he defended your honor, but Steve was still your brother and you didn’t want physical harm to come to him.

“Don’t punch him again… Please.” You slowly looked up at Billy and his blue eyes were already looking at you. Your heart rate picked up the longer he stared at you.

“Do you really believe what he said to you that night?” He asks you, a small worried tone behind his voice. You feel yourself gulp and you look away in embarrassment or nervousness, you no longer know.

“I– After years of feeling this way, it was a very possible scenario.” You say to him in a low voice, your fingers playing with each other. You see him put the bag of peas away, and his hands look for yours. You look down to see his right hand completely bruised up, some skin completely chipped off on his knuckles. You gasp at that and his hold gets stronger on you, making you look up at him. He was closer now, making your breathing get stuck in your throat.

“How can I prove to you that I want you? How can I prove to you that I like you, that I like you very much that I drive myself insane with this fucking feeling, because god knows I am not good with relationships…” For the first time you see a blush come to his cheeks, and his gaze looks down at your connected hands, like how you do when you get nervous. “But I wanna try that with you.”

Your heart leapt out of your mouth almost, not truly believing what was happening, but the bruised knuckles made it more real, the blush on his cheeks made you realize it was no dream at all. This man in front of you wants you, despite it all, and you both have so many broken pieces to pick up inside one another, but you figure that you can help each other. You can mend his heart back, as he can mend yours.

“I think… The first step would be a date…” You say to him almost in a whisper and he chuckles as he looks up at you. He squints slightly at that as if in thought as your smile grows on your face while looking at him.

“I have an idea for it. I think they are showcasing the new Rambo movie.” He says to you with a smirk to his face and your mouth fell open at that, shaking your head.

“I am not watching an action movie on our first date!” He chuckles at that, his face coming closer to yours slowly, and you feel magnetized to him as you both leaned into one another.

“Oh, I bet you prefer the one where the bad boy goes for the intelligent and perfect girl, that genre, right?” You squint at him, pretending to be offended by his words.

“Don’t act like you don’t like those movies Hargrove.” At that he chuckles, his left hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you closer to him, a soft breath hitting your lips as he talks.

“I might have a thing for romance.” His lips touched yours again, and you smiled through the kiss, your own hands resting on the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, to taste him even better. Your lips moved along with his, taking in eachother’s breaths, bodies coming closer at each second.

“Don’t fuck my sister, I draw the line there. Not today, not with me here.” You both heard Steve’s voice behind the door, making Billy groan in annoyance and pull away from you to glare at the door as the steps could be heard and another door closes down the hallway.

“I am punching him again.” Billy says and you were glaring at the door too.

“My turn.”

A/N: Well shit, I hope you enjoyed. IT TURNED OUT TO BE A ONE SHOT.

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sadhours · 3 months ago

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eat me alive

eddie munson x fem!reader

an: well here it is… my first eddie smut. i didn’t see this happening and i know y’all didn’t either. go easy on me.

cw: 18+, minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), drinking and cannabis use, unprotected (don’t be like me) p in v and some cum play/eating?

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

You’re pretty blitzed. The weed from Eddie’s joint pulsing through your veins. A stoned you don’t think you’ve felt before, but there’s a desire to impress the guy. So you smoked more than you normally would. The speakers in his room are loud. They drown out any outside noise and when Eddie talks, you can’t hear him. But you’re in a daze, watching his face light up as he blabs on. You think he’s talking about the song. But his hand is on your thigh, squeezing occasionally and it’s all kind of intoxicating. His hair bounces as he talks. You like how long it is. The longest you’ve seen a boy have.

His hand is warm on your leggings, the heat of it pulsing up to your core. And that wasn’t your intent coming over here. You don’t know Eddie well. But he’s friends with your brother and you think he’s kinda cute and really funny. So somehow, you’ve wound up in his trailer after school. Higher than you’ve ever been, holding a beer you’re taking a long time to drink while Eddie’s crushed like three of them. You don’t even remember how his hand ended up on your leg but you don’t want him to move it and you like looking at his face even though you can’t understand what he’s saying.

“This part!” he yells, retracts his hand and mimics playing guitar— air guitar. Bangs his head with this big smile on his face, stomping his foot with a force that has you feeling it under the mattress. A distant thought about how you’ll get home muddies your high and your face mimics it because Eddie leans back and turns down the music. “You okay?”

“How am I gonna get home?” you ask, your voice sounds foreign on your ears, like it’s far away and kind of underwater.

Eddie’s face contorts in confusion as he asks, “Do you have to go now?”

“No!” you shake your head, “But when I do.”

He laughs, reaches for your thigh again and squeezes, “I can drive you home when you do. You know the van we got here in? It can drive you home. If I control it.”

“Oh,” you giggle. You didn’t think about that. You feel so fuzzy and you’re really liking how his hand feels on your thigh. “Okay!”

He smiles. It’s sweet on his face and then he’s moving closer, nudges his forehead against yours, “Am I boring you?”

“No!” you insist, “I just feel weird.”

“Weird good or weird bad?” he asks, hand moves to your hip and you blink, trying to see him clearer.

“I’ve never been this stoned,” you confess, “But I think it’s good. The music sounds nice and you’re pretty.”

“I am?” he asks, cheeks swelling with his smile as he meets your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whisper with a slight nod.

“I like this music a lot,” he replies, “Makes me feel fuzzy. Do you feel fuzzy?”

“I do. Is that normal?” you ask softly, wrapping your hand around his bicep. You feel like you’re sinking into his mattress and he’s on top of you. But he isn’t really. He’s sitting up.

“It is normal…” he replies and then bites his lip, “Ya know what might feel good?”

“Sleep?” you reply with a giggle and Eddie mirrors it, then cups your cheek with his palm.

“Kissing.”

“Oh,” you swallow hard. He leans in, nudges his nose against yours.

“Does that sound nice?” he asks, sounds just as floaty as you feel.

You nod, whispering out a small, “Yeah.”

And then his lips are on yours, it’s soft and he’s right, it feels good. Kind of makes you even dizzier, but his hand on your face grounds you a bit and before you know it, you’re licking into his mouth. He meets it with a gasp and licks back. Soon, he is laying over you, holding himself on his elbows as he sucks on your tongue and rubs his own against yours.

He’s right that it feels good but it just makes you feel more stoned and you’re squeezing your thighs because there’s a desperate pressure building between them. His hair tickles the side of your face and you find yourself knitting your fingers through it, rolling your hips up at his. He responds with a roll of his own, more pressure than you gave him. Eddie moans softly, pulls back and looks down at you.

“Does it feel good?” he asks, all soft but out of breath.

“Uh-huh,” you nod and roll your hips up at him again. “Do you think it does?”

He nods slowly, grabs your hand and brings it to his crotch. You can feel his erection through his pants as he says, “Really good.”

You giggle and he mirrors it, maneuvers a bit to get more on top of you and his foot kicks over a stack of empty PBR cans on the floor. They crash down and his face winces, making you giggle even harder and wrap your arms around his neck. You pull him into another kiss, wrapping your legs around his waist. You can feel the strained but impressive length in his pants against your core and it sprouts a moan from you, swallowed by Eddie’s eager mouth as he grinds down against you.

Then he’s suddenly pulling back, looking at you with big, dark eyes, “Can I taste you? I wanna taste you.”

You nod enthusiastically and it’s a team effort to get your leggings and panties off. He pushes your legs up, thighs against your chest as he gets his mouth on you. Moans in appreciation at the taste, flicks his tongue against your folds as he squeezes the fat on the back of your thighs. You squeak at the sensation, heightened by your intoxication. You’ve never been this stoned and you’ve never felt a tongue on your cunt while stoned. It fucking sends you to another planet. Reaching between your legs to grip his mane, tugging on the loose waves as your back arches. Eddie repeatedly flicks his tongue against your clit, gasping and whining as he gets his fill. It feels like you should be the one making the noises but, god he really seems to be enjoying himself.

Picking your head off the mattress, you look down your body at him between your legs and he’s actually grinding against the air. His eyes meet yours and lord, they look desperate. Hair shaking, he moves his whole head as he licks you out. You pull on his hair and he moans loud against you. It’s all happened so quick but you couldn’t be happier. This is the peak of human happiness. It has to be. With Black Sabbath as a soundtrack, you’re on the quick train to a blissful destination. All thanks to Eddie’s determined tongue. Then he does something that sends you over the edge. Slips two fingers inside you and curls them. Pulls a sound out of you, you didn’t know you were capable off. Eyes closed tight, stars flashing behind your lids.

When you come down, he’s meeting your lips with his. You can taste yourself and it only makes you hungry for more. A whine from you is swallowed down by Eddie and he continues kissing you desperately. You’re almost overwhelmed but at the same time insatiable. He reaches down, slips his fingers back inside you as he licks into your mouth. You pant, reaching down to grab his wrist and he smiles.

“Sorry,” he exhales, “Too much?”

“Wanna feel.. wanna…” you try to catch your breath, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“This is making me feel good,” he assures you, curling his fingers with a devilish grin.

“It— oh, fuck— it does?” you reply in a moan.

He nods again, “But you want me inside you?”

Another gasp, another slow nod. You do, you really do. You can’t even begin to imagine how it would feel. Eddie’s moving to undo his pants, fussing with his belt as you pull his shirt over his head. Then you work on your top and bra as Eddie sheds his pants and briefs. His cock flops out and slaps against your pussy, you inhale sharply and he does too. Both pairs of eyes falling between your bodies, observing where his erection lays against your puffy pussy. Still watching, Eddie reaches down and rubs the tip of his cock through your folds. Circles it against your entrance and then slides it back up, slaps it against your clit for good measure which draws a high-pitched moan from you. He groans softly and then drags it back down, holds it to your entrance before his hips thrust toward, sheathing inside you once and for all and you’re gone.

Dizzy, you cling onto him and roll your hips. He sinks deeper inside and you keen, eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh, Eddie!” you whine, hands knit into his hair again and he replies with a kiss. Messy and stoned. A battle of tongues and teeth, his hips stuttering with these shy thrusts that feel like heaven.

He nuzzles his face against your neck as he pumps into you. It’s so warm and gooey and deep. You can’t keep your hands out of his hair, loving the way it feels as he pumps into you over and over. And it feels like it goes on for hours, continuing to meet for a kiss every so often. Open mouthed and needy. And then the cassette stops and Eddie groans, pulls back and walks over to the boombox. You watch his ass with intrigue, giggling softly as he grabs another tape and switches it for the one that ended. Iron Maiden starts to blast through the speakers as he turns, catches your gaze on his ass and laughs. He walks back over and smacks the side of your thigh, “Pervert.”

“Sorry,” you apologize through a smile, spreading your legs for him as you pull him back down on top of you.

He kisses you softly, mumbles against your lips, “I like it.”

You giggle, kissing back and Eddie reaches between your bodies. Lines himself back up and slowly sinks into the warm, pulsing walls of your pussy. He moans out, softly and rolls his hips. In and out, in and out. Until your eyes cross and your lips part, moan rolling off your tongue. Eddie gropes your tits then, circles his thumb over your perked nipple. A whine falls from you, the sensation extra wonderful with the cannabis induced sensitivity. He leans down and captures your nipple in his mouth. Moves his hand down and then his thumb is circling against your clit, persistent and firm.

“Eddie…” you exhale, a warning— letting him know what’s ahead but it hits you before you can say anything else. Euphoric waves pulsing through you as your body freezes up, back arching as you let out a broken moan. His lips are suddenly on your ear and the waves don’t subside like you except.

“That’s a good girl,” he pants out, “Give it to me, just like that. You’re so perfect.”

You feel like your orgasm extrapolates, magnifies and spreads out all over. Intense enough you feel tears pricking your eyes and the Iron Maiden song is all muffled. You don’t even realize you’re repeatedly moaning and gasping until you start to finally come down. Out of breath and fuzzy all over.

Eddie groans, low and deep as he thrusts even harder and faster. Voice a whine as he confesses, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You smile wide, wrapping your arms and legs around him and pulling him closer. But he panics, “No, no, no… can’t cum in you.”

A part of you wants to argue but you know that isn’t smart so you let up on the grip. He pulls out, strokes his cock hard and fast until he’s spilling cum all over your chest and navel. Stays upright like that as he catches his breath and your hands find his spunk, smearing it around and whining in the dazed, post-coital bliss you’re feeling. Eddie whines back, “Fuuuck…”

He watches you with curious eyes as you bring your hand up to your mouth and lick the cum off your fingers and palm. He wavers, panting heavy and then he’s smiling. Reaches for a dirty t-shirt and cleans up his mess on your skin. Leans down to give you a fat and sloppy kiss before he’s standing up again. Pulls a pair of sweats on and looks at you, “Be right back.”

In the time he’s gone, you’ve dressed again and sit on the edge of his bed to wait for him.

He comes back with a big cup of water, handing it to you and smiles, “That was fun, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say shyly as you take the water and gulp half of it down.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n

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bananami · 26 days ago

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The One Where Bakugo is Different With You (and your friends kinda called it but are too dumb to fully connect the dots) katsuki x fem!reader

No one understands what it is you did to make him like you. You insist that you didn't do anything. They don't believe you.

Bakugo isn't nice to anyone. He tolerates people. Sometimes. In fact, it's not like he's even nice to you. But he is different. And everyone has noticed.

"That's her seat, get up." He snaps at Mineta as the boy sits down next to him.

"What, she has to sit next to you?"

"Get. Up."

Mineta doesn't hesitate.

You've known him as long as the rest of them, but for some reason he seems softer toward you. Kirishima is the first to bring it up to him.

"Do you like her or something?"

"She's my friend, of course I like her."

"Denki is your friend, you don't like him."

"Hey!" Denki yells from the other side of the couch.

Bakugo just grits his teeth and doesn't respond.

Even when riffing with him, he takes what you say differently than he does with everyone else.

"What if I just cracked this egg over your head?"

He looks down at you. "I'd be impressed that you could reach."

"That hot head would probably fry it." Sero laughs at his own joke.

Sparks began to form from the explosion hero's good hand. "I will blast you out of this building!"

And forget about anyone else asking him for anything. He doesn't really do favors, not unless he's hounded to do them. But for you?

"I'm hungry."

Bakugo stands from the couch and holds out his hand to pull you up with him. "Let's go try the new sushi place down the block."

"I have an interview with the talkshow next week but they want me there at like six in the morning."

He doesn't even look up from his phone, where he's opening his calendar to schedule himself off of work that day. "I'll stay by your place and drive you in the morning."

A bag falls into your lap and the blonde plops down next to you. "They were on sale."

You open the bag to find your favorite candies, letting out an excited squeal. "They've been out the last two weeks."

"I told the guy to call me when he got a box in."

Denki tries to reach his hand out for a box but it's slapped away by the larger blonde. "Touch it or her and I will personally cut off that hand."

And then there's Kirishima's personal favorite interactions to watch. Something Bakugo has done since living in the dorms at UA, through your roommate years where all of you split an apartment to save up money.

Bakugo would get up to leave the room and stop in the doorway, staring directly at you. "Are you coming?"

"Where are we going?"

"Check your phone."

You would look down at your phone and laugh every time. "Are you embarrassed to say it in front of everyone?"

"Shut the fuck up and get over here!"

Everyone could read between the lines, and his blush on his cheeks.

But you'd never officially dated. Anytime any of the friend group would ask about it, you'd both deny it and change the subject. Kirishima and Mina would narrow their eyes in suspicion at you and one another.

"You just treat her different than everyone else." Kiri would point out.

"Friends don't look at each other the way you two do, especially not Bakugo." Mina would accuse.

The answers were always the same.

"Mind your own shitty business." Bakugo would snap.

"You all just look too much into things. He can be nice at times." You would always insist.

It would take all the way up until a random work party Bakugo's agency was holding for the truth to come out. For Denki to walk in on the two of you in the bathroom-

"Practically devouring each other! It was disgusting!"

Bakugo rolled his eyes. His arms rested around the back of the couch with you tucked close into his side. "See this is why we kept it a secret for so many years, you're all being so dramatic about it."

"Years?!" Mina screamed. "How many years has this been a thing?"

You tried to avoid all eye contact with her.

"Since high school." Bakugo replied with ease.

"Since high school?!" Your friends gaped.

"When we were all living in the dorms?" Denki asked.

"Used to meet up on the old training grounds to make out."

"The apartment we all shared?" Kirishima narrowed his eyes.

"Snuck into each other's rooms like every single night, can't believe you guys never caught us then."

"When we all were interning at the same agencies?" Sero threw out there.

"Bribed the scheduling team to put the two of us on the same routes."

"Ok wait, but you guys told us you weren't and you used to talk about the different people you would go on dates with right in front of each other- oh my fucking god." Mina facepalmed.

Bakugo laughed maniacally as you tried to hold yours in.

"So you were talking about each other? Every single time?"

"Every. Single. Time."

Mina sighed. "This is actually insane, I can't believe you never said anything."

"I mean it's not like we should be that surprised, besides," Kirishima chimed in, "it's not like they're secretly engaged to be married or anything, right?"

Silence.

"Right?" Kirishima's smile falters a bit. "Please tell me you two aren't engaged."

Bakugo blinks a few times before responding. "Ok, we're not engaged."

"Bakugo!"

"Did you think I was just really nice to her all the time for no reason?"

#bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #mha x reader #bakugo x reader #mha drabbles #bakugou x y/n #mha x you #mha x y/n

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artytaeh · 4 months ago

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as promised, here's a treat for my mattheo riddle girlies ‹3 i hope you like it and feels ?? canon ?? because i honestly think that this is sooo matt coded. anyways! tysm for all the love and support. 🌷

warnings : obvious explicit mentions of sexual content, meant for +18 readers; read at your own risk.

’⭑ 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 : 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌.﹙★﹚

﹙★﹚ in one word, mattheo riddle is messy. that's the way that mattheo loves the most: messy, passionate, nasty, almost impulsive. a mess of feelings and urges alone.

despite seeking for his own pleasure, mattheo prides himself as someone who can satisfy both himself and his partner.

WHEN EATING YOU OUT, mattheo doesn't hold back. incapable of sticking to something for a long moment, he's a mess— running his flat tongue between your lips, then kissing your nub with a loud wet sound; mattheo doesn't care at all if the lewd sound of his lips and mouth on you rival your own moans. he's here to ravish you, so take it without complains, yeah?

more often than not, mattheo is one to use both his fingers and mouth. languidly kissing your core, almost messily making out with your clit, mattheo stretches you out with his fingers, scissoring the tight walls before curling upwards— you swear that each time he does this, you can feel him smirking against your sensitive skin.

empty bedroom, broom closet, locker rooms aftee quidditch practice; mattheo riddle doesn't give a flying fuck.

he's loud and vocal, deal with it. what's there to be embarrassed about? let the whole school know how much mattheo loves to drop to his knees for his girl.

honorable mention that no one has the balls to make a clownery comment about it. mattheo sent assholes with broken noses to the infirmary wing for much less.

mattheo isn't one to spread your legs while eating you out. he wouldn't make your legs tired right in the beginning— the slytherin needs them strong, not sore, to keep up with the way he'll manhandle you afterwards.

besides, mattheo is insanely addicted to the feeling of your thighs clenching around his head, making him feel the warm and smooth skin of those inner thighs almost suffocate him, from his place between your legs.

non ironically jokes about that being the most heavenly way to die. mentioned it once during a conversation with his friends— about dying like this. with honor—, his smug expression deeply contrasting with your embarrassed one.

whenever possible, nevermind if he's having you sat on a desk, chair, or standing up against a wall with him on his knees for you— mattheo finds a way to have one hand pleasuring you, in sync with his eager tongue, and the other sneakily on your chest.

his fingers barely give attention to your nipples; he's so not sorry, but there's no way that mattheo can help himself— his hand cups your bare breast, yanking the bothersome bra downwards or pushing it upwards, anything to have his palm on that soft skin that drives him insane.

groaning, with his face buried in your middle, mattheo squeezes your chest with a greedy touch. damn right that all of you belongs to him.

﹙★﹚ : SOME KINKS OF HIS, might include:

⋆ spitting : mattheo has heard and ignored comments that refer to this as something disgusting; he can't help it— to him, this is so hot. definitely has a thing for spitting inside your mouth, whenever you're facing him, underneath his heavy body. would also spit on your core before being inside you, or eating you out. prefers to be the one giving, instead of receiving; even so, mattheo would find it hot if you did so on his cock, before giving him a handjob or using your mouth.

⋆ biting : all i say is, good luck. mattheo riddle can't properly put it into words, however, his love for bodies who look a bit more chubby, where his hands can grab and squeeze, are also enthralling to him because there's a lot of room to bite. thighs? he'll spend a long time there, even if mattheo doesn't have the intention to take it further— he just likes the feeling of your skin inside his mouth, biting into it! neck too, which can be a nuisance sometimes; you never know if mattheo is burying his face on the crook of your neck because he's sleepy or in the mood of creating more bruises there. hard bites. like, the ones that hurt like a bruise after a few days.

⋆ choking : this man loves to have a hand around your neck, as if it is a collar that dictates his ownership over you. his hand there, fingers curling around the skin of your neck that he positively filled with bruises, so easily cups your jaw, keeping your face on his direction, facing him. this same hand is the one that is quick to slap your face a couple of times, hitting your cheek with his fingertips— enough to make it sting for brief seconds, not really bruising your face.

well, the same can't be said about your hips, thighs and ass. mattheo doesn't hold back there.

⋆ anal : would do his best to convince, or at least tempt you into trying it once with you. even so, should you not feel comfortable with it, mattheo would happily hold on to what he can do instead— if your limit are plugs, and you accept to wear it sometimes, mattheo is already over the moon.

hungrily licks over it while using his fingers on you, his wet muscle feeling the skin of your rim and the cold metal of your plug, pressuring his fingers on it. would want to do it in positions that gives him a good vision of the plug inside you, thumbs brushing over the skin of your asscheeks and the toy deep inside your other hole. it drives him crazy.

however! if even plugs aren't something that you'd feel comfortable with or want to try, mattheo accepts that he wasn't able to make the idea tempting for you. and, like a good loser— which doesn't apply to quidditch— mattheo will be more than happy with what he can get. which means, leaving a mess of handprints, finger marks, vicious bites and hickeys on your asscheeks.

⋆ not a rope bunny : even though being tied up or doing so to his partner is something that some people view as, well, something to spice up a relationship— mattheo doesn't perceive it that way at all. even the thought of having you tied up isn't charming to him; if anything, mattheo might pin down your wrists with his hand for a moment, but that's as far as it goes, with restricting touches; because mattheo, too, loves the feeling of your hands on him.

and let me tell you: this man would hate being tied up. what do you mean he can't touch you? mattheo can promise to hold back from thrusting up or switching positions, to be in control— but please don't prevent him from touching you. mattheo would look at you so genuinely sad, that he can't cup your chest or feel the skin of your thighs, much less get your ass squeezed by his greedy, warm hands. :(

⋆ biggest victim of cockwarming : no, not even for a bet. mattheo wouldn't be able to resist the temptation. for starters, why would he entertain the idea of not moving at all? mattheo is all too starved and hungry for you to be still; he might hold on for a few moments just to satisfy your requests, but ultimately, his patience will run out and he'll show you how it's a hundred times better to do something about it.

⋆ ¹overstimulation : believe it or not, mattheo wouldn't purposefully overstimulate his partner. however, when intentional, only happens if mattheo wants to prove a point, usually fueld by jealousy— because whatever guy you were laughing with, couldn't possibly making you tremble and fall apart on his arms like this, right? and yet, mattheo might also be tempted to use this as a punishment for bratty behavior.

⋆ ²edging : rarely ever does this to his partner; mattheo enjoys bringing pleasure to you, not finding satisfaction on depriving you from an orgasm if he's got you so close, so high for his touch alone. rather than torturing you, mattheo finds more enjoyment on the sight of having you coming undone on his fingers, tongue, or cock. coaxes and encourages you to do so as well, having little to no care over clothes, sheets or surfaces getting wet.

HOWEVER, mattheo is one to dealy his own release. mattheo riddle is addicted to the feeling of pleasure given by you; your hands, mouth, the feeling of slipping inside you— mattheo never wants it to end.

strategically finds ways to last longer with you, by switching positions, giving him a few seconds to calm down, if he feels like he's almost there. won't ever leave you unsatisfied; even if he finishes before you, and can't go on, then mattheo is more than happy to make you come in another way.

⋆ experimentalist : mattheo let's you do anything and everything to him— leaving little room to things that he would never be tempted to try out. is there something you want to try? perhaps a new kink in the list? he's all for it, like a puppy trailing right behind you.

so you want to use him like a toy? suit yourself; mattheo is already on the process of stripping out his clothes, moving to lay down on the bed. something more risky? his fingers intertwine with yours, that devilish mind of his already thinking about time, place, and what he'd love to do with you. unironically, mattheo riddle would even let you put a bow on it, if you so much as asked him to do it. there's practically nothing that he shies away from doing with you.

⋆ blood / knife play : listen. if mattheo's kinks were to be explain with an iceberg, this one would be on the bottom of it. mattheo knows how bad this sounds— that the sight of blood can spark some worse assumptions about him, that are already as bad as they can get. even worse if he explains how charming it sounds for him, how it gets him hot and bothered, the idea of carving his initials on that pretty smooth skin of yours.

m.r. two letters, ones that he traces in random trees around school, when he's feeling bored of his friends' conversation. m.r., easy to write, due to previous practice.

it's a terribly territorial, even possessive craving of his; mattheo riddle can't excuse that urge that resonates deeply within him. and if you indulge this fantasy of his, or ask to do the same to him? mattheo wouldn't live for the embarrassment of how hard that would instantly get him.

﹙★﹚: FAVORITE POSITIONS. .ᐟ

⋆ REVERSE COWGIRL is a favorite of his, specifically for the heavenly sight of you, watching you struggle as he relaxes against the mattress. enjoying the show, his eyes darken as he watches you struggle to bounce on his shaft— feeling, admiring each time that your ass harshly meets the skin of his groin, prominent with each movement of your hips. no doubts that mattheo will smack your ass if your rhythm falters even for a second.

⋆ PRONE BONE, as soon as mattheo gets you as comfortable as you can get. fixing a pillow under your hips to make it easier for the two of you— not only getting you to arch your back, presenting your rear to him, but also to improve your comfort before he takes it all on you.

⋆ AGAINST A WALL works all too well for mattheo, as someone who prides himself on his strength and muscles, having a build that allows those obvious lines marking his four pack abs.

( mattheo would die right there and then, if you ever used them. as in, giving up on using any pillows to rub and grind against him instead, letting mattheo feel how wet he gets you over his firm skin. would have the best smoke of his life as he watches you, murmuring praises and encouraging you to use him as a toy. )

(...) ⋆ not just in bed, but in general— mattheo riddle loves displaying how strong he is; how much weight he can take and strength he has. the first he showcases with you on his arms; the latter he wordlessly brags with each dislocated jaw that comes from his doing. so carrying you and lifting you off the floor is a favorite, almost instinctive, action for mattheo.

sometimes he's so into this, that he won't seek for a surface— not even a bloody desk, much less the comfort of a sofa or bed— pinning you against the wall. his hands lower down your body, feeling the curve of your waist, giving a greedy squeeze to your bottom, until his hands settle for the back of your thighs, easily hoisting you up from the floor. it's nothing for mattheo to have you in this position for a while— he's bloody thankful for it. his hands greedily squeeze the skin at hand, pressing himself between your legs, grinding your middle with his bulge.

⋆ not really a position itself, but mattheo goes INSANE for DRY HUMPING. this man loves nasty, messy sex; creaming his pants as you grind on his clothed bulge, feeling you getting wetter and wetter until your underwear becomes a mess on top of him— it gets mattheo every. single. time.

﹙★﹚: PREFERRED PLACES. .ᐟ

the privacy of a bedroom is one that mattheo can't ignore, or deny, given his previous experiences. doesn't really mind if the two of you do it in yours, or his dorm— however, mattheo has a slight preference for his dorm room, because he knows where to find what he needs, which drawer, which nightstand, reaching for it blindly.

HOWEVER, mattheo isn't one to pass an opportunity, and being one to indulge his desire and need over you, passing by as an exhibitionist isn't something that mattheo is scared to do.

⋆ locker rooms, specifically right after practice or a quidditch match. if mattheo had to choose a place, then he wouldn't need to think a lot about this one. as someone who has a lot of pent up energy, there's something about him being all sweaty from giving his all as slytherin's beater, then riding the adrenaline off on — in — you.

⋆ ... bonus points if it happens inside a shower stall, the two of you hidden by a single curtain, moans and groans muffled by the sound of water falling down your bodies.

⋆ empty classrooms, strategically used during key moments of day or nightime, when there's the reassurance that it won't be used anytime soon in the next couple of hours. mostly during meal time, given that even professors would be too busy on the other side of the castle. there's something about bending you over an abandoned desk or getting you sat up on the currently unused professor's desk, for mattheo— he can't exactly say if it's about the thrill of breaking unwritten rules, or the way it somehow challenges their authority.

⋆ broom closets, which mattheo would preferably only use for the sake of a make out, during those days that your routines don't seem to match, for some cruel reason. if he misses you too much, separated due to different classes, different schedules, mattheo will steal you for a few minutes to get much deserved kisses. aching for the feeling of his skin against his again. however, it rarely develops into sex— the most it might get to, is giving him a blowjob or mattheo using his fingers on you; otherwise, broom closets are too tiny, too uncomfortable for more.

which mattheo had to accept, after almost getting caught because in the middle of his enthusiasm, mattheo knocked off a few brooms on the floor.

﹙★﹚ MORE RANDOM HEADCANONS :

if you asked him whether mattheo prefers ass or boobs, he'd say that HE CHOOSES BOTH. now, if you pressured him into choosing just one— mattheo seriously takes long minutes to decide. full on blank stare into nothingness, barely blinking as his mind uses all of his concentration to do the mathematics of which part of your body he prefers. after long minutes of indecision, chooses your ass, almost mourning it, as if mattheo would wake up to never stare at your chest again.

THE TYPE OF SLAP YOUR ASS AT ANY GIVEN CHANCE. mattheo riddle loses his life, but never a joke. mattheo riddle might be yelled at by you, but won't miss the opportunity to indulge that guilty pleasure of landing a smack on your ass.

TALKS YOU THROUGH IT. doesn't shut up for the life of him; vocal, because he wants you to know how good you make him feel, and would love it if you do the same.

would learn HOW TO BE GENTLE now that he's dating, given that mattheo loses himself to the intense feelings of craving and desiring you. you blink, and suddenly mattheo is carrying you to the bed, about to remove your shirt and already on his third hickey.

SO INTO THE IDEA OF BEING SLAPPED. initially, mattheo thinks that he'd be fucking pissed if a girl dared to lay a hand on him — he can sent bigger assholes flying through the astronomy tower, who the hell are you to hit him, chipmunk? — but then. then he gets a slap from you.

dark eyes become wide, staring at a spot on the floor as his face barely moves to the side, feeling the tingle of a slight pain on his cheek. mattheo looks back to you; instead of yelling at you or being pissed at what you did—

he's horny. seriously, mattheo might find reasons to make you angry at him, so that he can marvel at how hot you look while you're furious at him, craving another slap like a bloody giggling teenager.

RARELY ACTS SUBMISSIVE, yet would let you take control if you wanted to be the one leading this time. however, mattheo has the hardest time to keep his hands to himself, or be the one to set the pace.

⋆ wouldn't tell a soul, but he jerks off the most at the memory of that time you rode him, and while bouncing on his cock, your hand hit his cheek, giving him a slap for trying to hurry the pace. you could swear you saw his pupils dilate.

doesn't mind for QUICKIES, AND HONESTLY LIKES THEM ALL THE SAME. there's something about being hidden by your skirt, and pulling your panties to the side, only to know that he's probably dripping right to that soft fabric, preventing it from lewdly trailing down your thighs. call him a pervert— mattheo is just a man with some territorial issues.

and that's probably why MATTHEO THINKS THAT IT'S SO ATTRACTIVE to still have some clothes on. he's obsessed for the sight of your body, at any given chance, and yet— ripping most of the buttons from your shirt, clothes are pushed and pulled up, down or to the side. your bra is tugged upwards so that his mouth can tease the now bare chest, fingers already on their way to lift your skirt and pull your underwear to the side. mattheo craves the sight of you so desperate for him, the same way that he's desperate for you too, both not wanting to wait any moment longer.

A WHORE FOR TOUCHES ON HIS HAIR AND SCALP. mattheo didn't care much for his hair before, until the curly shape of his dark hair became pretty to his eyes, and wanted to take the chance of such genetics to make himself look handsome. with that said, mattheo riddle wants to leave your bed with a mess of a hair— from tugging, pulling, pushing, having your fingers running through it, or massages, rubs on his scalp. having your nails scratching (not painfully. have mercy?!) on his scalp makes this man whimper.

speaking of things that make mattheo riddle whimper: KISS OR LICK OVER THE SCARS ON HIS CHEST, and you'll see how much of a mess he'll be under your lips. the skin there is so sensible, not to mention how intimate it feels, to have his previous injuries being the center of your attention, pampered and kissed so gently.

GOES INSANE IF YOU TRACE his v-lines with your tongue. literally has to grip something to hold back.

﹙★﹚ ANGRY SEX, is something that once in a while, mattheo would like to have with his partner.

mattheo is amused at the sight of his partner angry at something, whenever it doesn't root from a confrontation with mattheo that got him annoyed as well.

the argument would escalate until he's almost yelling at your face— the moment your noses almost brush together, so close, with anger radiating from both of you— mattheo loses it and shuts you up with a kiss, putting an end to the argument. after this first heated kiss, mattheo pulls away, staring into your eyes for any hint that you are too angry to kiss him, or if you don't want him to touch you / continue what you were doing.

it's hard to insist on keeping up the argument given that between yelling at each other for another ten minutes, or having him roughly thrusting into that spot that makes you see stars— well, usually, you choose the latter.

becomes missionary if the argument continues, nevermind how the pleasure makes his mind dazed with foggy thoughts. it's doggy with his hand on the back of your head, pushing your face to bury on the mattress or the comfort of a pillow, whenever mattheo can't deal with your attitude, or has had enough of the argument. doggy it is, when it's to shut you up.

even if the argument still gnaws an ugly feeling inside yours or his mind, mattheo will pull you closer to him anyways, head over his heart, fingers running through your hair. a silent way to reassure you, and mostly himself, that it'll be okay, and a fight isn't what's going to separate the two of you.

it's a terrible terrible idea to tease mattheo by keeping your underwear on. oh, so you think it's funny to grind on him with those panties of yours? that's so funny, that mattheo will rip them too. during those days that he's too dizzy with need for you, you can anticipate grief over the underwear you're wearing. and mattheo is not apologetic at all— he keeps all of these conquered prizes on the last drawer of his desk. throwing those panties away? no, no. mattheo has a better use for them.

should anyone ever touch them or find out his dirty secret, mattheo might just be tempted to break someone's fingers. what? those are his and your panties! comunism! only between the two of you!

this man has no money left for cigarettes; mattheo will be begging theodore to share them with him, because guess what! he does have to pay for property damages.

which means, giving you money for each damaged underwear from his impatient, greedy hands. sometimes, going out to hogsmeade involves shopping for more underwear— this, while mattheo is just outside the store, smoking a cigarette as he waits for you.

he'd tell his friends that it's because he wouldn't be caught inside a lingerie store. the truth is that you have forbidden mattheo from entering one with you— this man is a tall child. a tall, menacing child.

panties would be flying, his hands would cup bras and say in a way too loud tone that: 'babe! these are your size! trust my hands, i know how your pretty tits feel like.'

worse than that, mattheo would try to speed up the process. such a thing means that he'd have a pair of panties hanging on his index finger —imagine the tiniest piece of cloth, in the most vibrant, awful tone possible— as he yells: 'princess, what about these?' with the stupidest smile because mattheo thinks that he's really funny.

so, yeah. no shopping together for underwear and lingeries. mattheo is on timeout from those.

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

#mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #headcanons #smut #smut headcanons #mattheo riddle headcanons #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle smut headcanons #slytherin boys react #hp fandom #Spotify

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