His knee was scarped. Crimson dripping from the wound, "Oh shit!" he fell for her.
"Need some help with that." And she used her love to heal the mess of a lover.
BAD EDUCATION
(Mitchell x Fem OC)
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Ray tries her best not to complain, but the short shorts were riding up her ass. She really didn't want to do this dance, yet here she stood under shimmering disco lights, with glitter in unspeakable places. After receiving a nudge in the rib, she put on a fierce expression. Ray took a deep breath and let something take over her body. They owned the spotlight, soaking in the blares of the music, and moving as inappropriate as Stephen had told them too.
–
The red-head stomach was aching for food, she sniffled, putting her head down on her empty bag. "Yeah." Mr Wickers nodded, "So we're all good talking about the...Sex was invented by the Romans." The man was clueless. He just kept saying nonsense and doodling on the board. "I give up. I don't know how to do it."
"Well, sir, what about you just draw a frog's dick on the board so Joe knows what he's gonna be sucking on next week." Mitchell piped up.
"You're an idiot." Alfie snapped. "Look, Joe, you never know, you might enjoy it."
"I'd rather shit on my hand and clap." emitted Rem Dog.
"Sir, why is it only me that has to go to a French farm to stay with a bunch of freaks?" Joe complained.
"Not all farmers are freaks." Sir voiced. "Alex James. He's in Blur."
"But they sent me some cheese through the post." Joe informed
"There you are. That's lovely." Alfie was really trying to see the positive.
"Probably made from the farmer's wife's tit milk." Mitch cackled.
"Don't be stupid."
"They do that, I read it in Nuts."
"What?"
"Yeah, and you're gonna have to wank off a cow." Rem Dog told.
"Why on earth would he have to do that?"
"To get milk, you pagan."
"You genuinely think that's where milk comes from?" Alfie checked, concerned. "Look, France isn't that bad. They've got loads of cool stuff. Like skiing and...Poirot."
"He's Belgian, you moron." Jing offended in Chinese.
"Poirot, Jing, he was a fictional detective created by Agatha Christie, you know, Murder on the Orient Express. Don't worry, they murder an American. Not one of yours."
"I can't believe you actually read a book."
"Book?" Sir scoffed. "I watched the TV shows. Okay, let's do this, and remember, it's all anonymous, so you have nothing to worry about." He pulled out the first paper, "'Should I stop strangling when their lips go blue?'. Right, I'm not going to dignify that with a response, Mitchell."
