A Little Off-Limits - Ponyboy x Reader

Pretty Ocean Eyes

Ponyboy
     I knew exactly how I had imagined Dean. I said it before: tall and muscular, or well built for someone seventeen or so, dark and handsome, those piercing blue eyes, a jawline that made the girls all swoon. Made me sick to think of him at all, but I couldn't help it. I couldn't help thinking about him and (F/n).

     I almost got sick, as a matter of fact, when I saw that what I had assumed was true. I mean, I didn't have to run to the bathroom, but I could feel my stomach churning as it happened.

     (F/n) and I were hanging outside of the DX station, waiting around for absolutely no one and just bothering Sodapop when he was in a mood to be bothered. No one had really bothered Steve as of recent; he was taking his and (F/n)'s dad leaving a little too hard, blaming himself when the guy was just a deadbeat from the start—and it showed. (F/n) told me outside, as we sat on one of the parking space bumpers in the lot, that Steve had been losing sleep, forgetting to eat, taking a lot of his irritation out with sex, from what I'd heard between him and Soda, and, if I wasn't mistaken, booze.

     "Not that Evie minds," she said, "since everyone knows she likes to party. But it shows up at home is what I mean."

     Cautiously, I asked, "He ain't... hit you or anything, right?"

     "No, no—goodness, no." She shook her head harshly. "Steve wouldn't have the heart. He just... I can't explain what I mean. Like, I know he's torn apart, but I just don't know how to put into words how I know this. You dig?"

     "I dig."

     (F/n) sighed. "Good. Sometimes I worry I don't make any sense."

     "How are you holding up though?" (F/n) had vented about badly Steve was getting through all of this, and had somehow neglected to mention whether she was doing okay or not. And I would like to say I had figured her out, but even on little stuff like this I knew that wasn't true. (F/n) wasn't the type to let on if she was fine or not, tended to concern herself more with other people. It was a good trait—and then it also wasn't.

     "I'm okay," she said, after a long period of time which I hadn't noticed until she broke our silence.

     I heard a bursting engine popping up the road, and the fuzz of some junky car speeding by the DX. The wind was blowing just quickly to mess with my hair, so I had to keep brushing it out of my face every minute or so. (F/n) had her long hair pulled back into a bun with the two strands of hair I saw her pull down to frame her face, and a white cloth headband was keeping it all together. She looked like one of those candid portraits I saw in magazines, the ones of those pretty girls who are supposed to be selling deep dark lipstick. And she was wearing a nice dark red too. I hadn't liked girls wearing a lot of makeup until (F/n) explained to me that it was just another form of artwork on a different canvas — and then I started to mind it less. (F/n) was looking off down the dusty road and holding a bottle of coke just under her lips,  in a daze as she was roasting under the summer sun.

It was hot out, I noticed it then. I was sweating like a pig. I wanted to go jump into the lake that was just a quarter-mile outside of town, up the trail behind the DX. It'd feel real nice to cool down, I thought.

     I said, more gently than before, "You know, you don't have to be okay."

     She turned her head back to me, looked at me with soft (e/c) eyes. She stared at me for just a minute, her gaze steady but vulnerable, and her eyes were deep like the ocean. I didn't really get what authors meant in their books when they said deep eyes, but I got it here. (F/n) had her own world going on in her head, and its only doors were her eyes.

     "I know that, Ponyboy," she told me. "And I'm not really fine. I mean, I didn't like Dad that much... but I'm just wondering why he didn't want us, or why he hadn't wanted us from the start. But I'm better at coping than Steve is, though, so he's more important now."

     "Wanna go take a walk or something? Maybe get out of here?" It wasn't like we were gonna keep bothering Soda anyway, as we hadn't been doing so for about an hour.

     (F/n) got up without saying anything and threw her Coca Cola bottle in the trash by the exit of the lot. I turned back and waved to Soda, who was looking out at us and slouching against the hood of the car he was working on. He had a towel in his hand and was cleaning a wrench, and I noticed why all the girls thought he was good looking—besides the fact that he could have been a movie star. He really had this air of power about him, an odd exertion of coolness and calm.

A car pulled into the lot, right in front of us, just as we were about to leave. I flung a hand in front of (F/n) to stop her, mostly in shock from how quickly this car had appeared. It screeched to a stop, and for such a short distance it was loud so I figured it was one junky car. The driver looked through the passenger window and pulled off a pair of sunglasses. He wore a black leather jacket that made him look real tuff, and he was also movie star handsome, like Sodapop, but he had more of the feeling Dally gave off.

"Hey, if it isn't Miss (F/n) Randle," he drawled out with a peculiar smirk on his face. I drew my hand away from (F/n) and put it in my pocket.

"Dean," (F/n) said, "how's it hanging?"

"You know just as well as I do that ain't nothing changed, Babydoll."

(F/n) chuckled at this, and my face got a little bit hot. "I suppose you're right. I thought you skipped town, like, two months ago though."

"I did. Got in some trouble with the fuzz, had to wait 'till it all cooled down. You still look cute as ever," he commented.

"I ain't changed. Maybe my hair's longer, nothing else though."

"Well, you look good with long hair. I'd love to, y'know, see it again sometime—you dig?"

"I dig, but I'm not really looking for that right now." I saw her glance at me, so I looked at the guy and waved. But I didn't know what she meant by it. I hoped, only for a second, that she wanted to show me off—like you would a boyfriend, not just some bum you're hanging around. But I knew that was outrageous.

"Ah, I see. Damn, then." Dean popped his sunglasses back on and looked towards the garage. "You know where to find me if you change your mind. Later, Babydoll."

He pulled away,and at first it was silent. (F/n) and I just continued down the road, towards our neighborhood. And that gnawing feeling hit me and I wanted to hurl in a bush; even if (F/n) said no to the guy, I realized she could get guys way out of my league. Socy boys if she wanted. She was choice, and I knew that. But I didn't feel like being angry, so instead I pulled a smoke from the box in my pocket and, lighting it in my mouth, began to chuckle.

"You dated Dally Winston but with tuffer hair," I told her.

(F/n) looked at me with fake hurt and said, "Did not. He was much nicer than Dallas is. Dally's too crude for anything."

"You're not wrong, but... Dean's like Dally's twin brother, separated at birth."

She huffed. "Whatever. Not like I care. I'm not dating him ever again anyway."

"Now, why's that?" I didn't care at all, but I didn't want to end with an awkward silence.

"I mean, I'm not into him no more. Got my eye on someone else, you dig?"

"Yeah..." I looked down. "I dig."

We fell into an awkward silence anyway. It faded eventually, but it was hell to get through while it lasted.