How School Got Me Feeling

me

i hate sylvia i hate sylvia i hate sylvia i hate sylvia and i hate all u fuckinf sylvia glazers like did u actually read the book UGHSHSHS she has too many glazers for a character with no lines she is literally a bitch she isn’t a iconic baddie serving cunt please enough

AND WHY DID I SEE SOMEONE SAY SHE WAS A VICTIMMM?? COMPARING HER TO CHERRY VALANCE?? LIKE UMMM WATATATT

xo

could you do johnny cade x fem reader

johnny comes back from a rumble and reader cleans him up and etc... 😼

────۶ৎ patching up

your boyfriend got into a rumble, uh-oh! quick, choose what to do!

warnings : canon typical violence & classism, pure tooth-rotting fluff!

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: caring for johnnycakes' wounds after a fight, coming right up ma'am!

The first knock on the door is timid. The second is louder. The third sounds like someone’s leaning their whole weight against it, and that someone has definitely lost the ability to care about the sanctity of sleep.

It’s 2:07 AM.

You shuffle down the hallway, wrapped in your favorite robe, hair in a lazy braid, blinking through sleep. The porch light flickers as you swing open the door-

-and your heart drops straight to your toes.

There stands Dallas Winston, all crooked teeth and bleeding knuckles, looking like he got into a brawl with a brick wall and only barely won. And half-slumped beside him, leaning on Dally’s arm with the quiet desperation of a boy too proud to ask for help, is your boyfriend.

Johnny Cade.

His lower lip’s split, his right eye’s puffing up like a blueberry, and his poor knuckles are raw and scraped to hell. He looks like he’s been through a tornado, a bar fight, and an exorcism all in one night—and your chest goes tight.

“What the hell?!” you gasp, grabbing for Johnny immediately, one hand to his cheek, the other catching his wrist.

Dally barks a laugh, stepping aside so you can usher Johnny in. “Chill out, sweetheart. We won.”

“Won? Won?!” you snap, eyes shooting daggers at him as you guide Johnny to the couch like he’s made of porcelain. “Are you insane, Dallas Winston? You look like someone ran you over with a damn Ford! And Johnny-”

Johnny blushes. The tips of his ears go pink, his gaze glued to your floor like it might swallow him up and save him.

Dallas just smirks. “Don’t go blaming me, doll. Your little boyfriend over here—” he gives Johnny a hearty slap to the back that nearly knocks the poor boy over “—started it.”

You spin toward Johnny, mouth open, scandalized. “You started it?!”

Johnny mumbles something that sounds like “He looked at me wrong,” and you can’t even process it before Dallas is already halfway out the door, throwing a wink over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to your mating season. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“DALLAS—!”

Too late. The door slams behind him, and it’s just you and Johnny and the soft, steady beat of your heart trying not to explode.

You sigh, turning back to him.

“Alright, Mr. Rumble Royale. Get your butt to the bathroom. I’m getting the first-aid kit.”

Johnny opens his mouth to argue—but you give him that look, the one that says Don’t test me, Cade, and he shuffles off in silence, cheeks aflame.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s sitting on the toilet seat, shirtless, with a towel over his lap and that helpless baby deer look in his big brown eyes as you dab at the dried blood on his cheekbone.

“Ow-ow, babe, easy!”

“I am being easy,” you mutter, dabbing extra carefully now. “You know what’s not easy? Watching my boyfriend get dragged into my house by a human cigarette burn in a leather jacket at two in the damn morning.”

Johnny chuckles, then winces. “Sorry.”

You kiss his temple. “You better be.”

You trail kisses across his cheek, featherlight and sweet, every brush of your lips an apology for the sting of the disinfectant. Johnny sighs into them, leaning into your touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

He’s so warm. So boyish. So broken-in and soft and yours.

“Starting fights, huh?” you murmur between kisses. “That how it is now?”

“He shoved me when Dallas n'I were walkin',” Johnny huffs, eyes low. “Didn’t even say sorry. Just laughed. Like we were dirt. I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it.”

You pause.

“You’re such a silly one,” you whisper, stroking his hair back. “Since when does it bother if socs think you and Dally are trash, huh?”

Johnny goes red as a cherry soda. “since I started goin' out with you”

“that so?” you hum, a smile on your lips, kissing the tip of his nose.

You clean his knuckles next, brushing over every scrape and bruise with warm water and even warmer hands. He hisses when you touch a particularly bad one, but you kiss the pain away immediately, letting your lips linger on his skin.

“You spoil me,” Johnny breathes, eyes fluttering shut.

“Good. You deserve to be spoiled.”

You rub ointment into the bruises on his ribs, careful and reverent, and he melts under your hands like butter on a summer sidewalk. He’s quiet now. Humming. Drowsy. A sleepy little housecat being doted on.

“I love you,” you whisper. “So much. Even when you act dumb. Especially then.”

“I love you too,” Johnny mumbles. “If getting my ass kicked gets me this, I’m gonna pick fights every week.”

You smack his shoulder—gently. “Johnnatan Cade, don’t you dare.”

“Can’t help it,” he grins, dazed and golden. “I just like when you take care of me.”

i think a big difference between johnny and ponyboy is that while theyre both thoughtful, pony is prone to fantasy and escapism and johnny is more... observant? like johnny thinks about things as they are vs pony who thinks how he wants things to be/feels they are.

i was born in the right era i love lana del rey and telling men to d!e online ♥

When pony is in an “I hate myself” mood he says his eye color is green, when he’s in an egotistical mood he says they’re grey

Gray-green is for his normal mood

It’s how Darry and Soda do check ins

And he’s not even the legal age to drink yet so this says something