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diorgirl444 · 21 hours

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5 times dallas winston hated you and the 1 time he didn’t

warnings: swearing, bad writing! (i haven’t written this long a fanfiction in years so i can’t promise that it’ll be any good), fem! reader, very self indulgent, i definitely made dallas too soft but like there are worst problems out there, weak ending, 2,800 words <3

the first time Dallas Winston decides he hates you is when you’re seven and he’s eight and you sit in front of him in English.

the way your bunches swing is distracting and god do you ever stop asking the teacher questions, he hates girls like you. bubbly, clever and idly he thinks about picking up the scissors which glint on his desk and snip snip sniping those pretty bunches off. why he doesn’t he isn’t sure. any other girl and he would have done but not you.

after careful deliberation, he decides it’s because you’d be a crybaby about it. yeah, that’s right. he’s seen you cry before when some girl stole your favourite cherry-scented eraser. snot and tears coating your face and he definitely doesn’t wanna have to see that again.

gross.

I mean sure he threatened the girl into giving it back to you but that was only to get you to shut up. so no he doesn’t cut your bunches, he just sits behind you and wishes you’d shut up.

the second time he decides he hates you is when you’re ten and he’s eleven and you’re trying to convince your friend not to go to the school dance with him.

I mean he asked the girl out to it on a whim really. he doesn’t like all that school spirit rubbish but he likes dances and she’s pretty. well not as pretty as you are but he heard that you’re going with that Tommy, so it’s only fair.

what isn’t fair though is the way your brows furrow and your nose scrunches up like a little bunny when he sidles up to your friend and asks her.

it’s also not fair that he overheard the two of you talking it over when you both think he’s out of earshot. “look I get that he’s cute but you really oughta think about your future. do you really wanna be known as the girl who went to the dance with Dallas Winston? we gotta think about high school, about our future boyfriends, besides what would your parents think?” he hears your sweet voice say and he feels an awful scrape in his heart.

he tries to push it off, that he’s just angry that you’re spouting out that stupid classist bullshit but if he’s honest it’s more than that. do you really think that little of him? yeah if he didn’t before he definitely hates you now.

this hatred continues on, albeit one-sided, all the way into high school.

you’re not in any of the same classes now as you’re in all that ap shit, he’s just about flunking everything and that’s only when he decides to even attend. but when he’s fourteen and you’re thirteen he gets told that you’re going to tutor him in English and Maths. the school has decided that he should at least pass the basics if nothing else.

he debates ditching, why he doesn’t he’s not sure but as he slips into the seat beside you and is hit with a waft of your heady, probably expensive perfume, he wishes he had. god, why can’t you be gross like you were when you were younger? and you have the audacity to smile at him, all softly as he rolls his eyes.

“how long is this gonna take i got places to be” he tells you, it’s a lie, he’s still trying to convince the older gang members to take him seriously.

“well we’ll just focus on getting your homework for the week done and then you’re free to go” you tell him placidly. which kinda irks him, he’d been hoping you’d get angry with him so he’d feel validated for his anger that he still hangs onto toward you.

you work through it all with him carefully. your handwriting is all long and curly beside his short, scratchy script and it makes him feel very stupid. you make him feel stupid. words that should come easy instead bundle together and choke up his throat, his palms sweat onto the darkwash of his jeans leaving embarrassing marks and the way that you can’t stop smiling sweetly at him whilst he forces on a scowl really is the icing on the cake.

that’s the first and last time he attends the pointless tutoring session. he’s a lost cause and the sooner you and the rest of the world all learn that learn that the fucking better.

he drops out of high school the folllowing year and so he doesn’t see you till he decides to hit up some dancehall.

he’s there with some gang buddies as now he no longer wastes time in lessons he’s managed to prove to them how dedicated he is to that lifestyle. the drinking, the brawls, the cars and the girls have dominated his mind so much he’s all but forgotten about you till he sees you there on some jerk's arm.

you’re in the centre of the gym, hair and skirt spinning all around you, the light glinting off your jewellery that probably costs more than his parent's rickety apartment and the widest smile on your face. god, you’re fifteen and you look like a damn film star there in the middle. he really hates you for that. can’t you have an awkward phase like the rest of the fucking world?

he asks some girl with too much makeup on to dance, mainly so that he can cut in when the partners switch and dance with you. and if he’s honest he can’t think up an excuse for why he wants to do that. the fact of which is a punch in the gut. he just wants to dance with you.

“hey, do I know you?” he asks lazily when he finally gets his wish and is spinning you around.

“we were in school together!” you snap huffily and he grins all teeth. you remember him and it makes him feel all kinds of feelings that he’s not used to.

“ah yeah I remember now. you tutored me right?” he says in the same non-committal tone as the music shifts to something softer and his hands snake their way around your waist pulling you in.

“yeah once, you ditched every other session after that. still don’t know why - I don’t think I did anything wrong,” you tell him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. and suddenly he hates himself far more than he hates you.

he can’t believe that you even noticed or were remotely upset that he stopped attending those tutoring sessions.

“nah kid you were perfect, school and that shit just wasn’t for me that’s all” he says voice low, practically whispering as the two of you slow dance.

you hum in understanding and look up at his lips. it dawns on him that you want him to kiss you, the same boy who you once described as the sort that a girl like you should never be seen with.

clearly, you don’t feel that way anymore as in the crowded gym you look up at his lips with long fluttery lashes and hands that toy with the too-long at the scruff of his neck. he has every intention of giving you your wish but he also just wants you to keep looking him and that. but god Dallas Winston never can get what he wants can he? no the universe fucking hates him because just as he’s going to and he gets to feel your delicate breath hitch against his calloused hand his friend's mouth to him across the gym that a fight has broken out.

and so he pulls away and ignores the hurt sheen on your face that is devastatingly familiar to the way you looked when he asked your friend out all those years ago. he hopes this hardens your heart and you hate him too. that’d make everything so much easier.

weirdly you two become sort of friends after that.

he sees you the next morning and you get to talking. he explains why he left early, you both ignore the almost kiss that occurred and end up going out for milkshakes. he pays for yours to make up for his poor form the other night and he teases you relentlessly for your choice of vanilla.

and it’s fun and it’s easy so long as he pretends that you licking the cream off the top doesn’t make his stomach swirl with god knows what. and it’s not like hanging out with his other friends, you don’t want anything from him, you just snort at his rubbish jokes and your knee presses against his beneath the table and it’s just nice.

so he asks if you’re free for the same again next week, he wants to feel this bubbly nice feeling once more. you nod grinning, and it’s not a date but it’s also not not a date. it’s just you and Dallas getting milkshakes being friends who just don’t mention one another to other friends. you’re sixteen and he’s seventeen now. and it’s casual that’s all it is, which is why he only mentions the day of his departure that he’s leaving New York City.

he tells you that the police are on his back which is partly true but it’s mostly that these stupid little trips to the zoo, or to the diner or ice skating in Central Park are making him fool himself into thinking he could be with a girl like you. you said it best all those years ago after all “Do you really wanna be known as the girl who went to the dance with Dallas Winston?”

what he doesn’t anticipate is the tears that fill your pretty eyes.

“you’re being a coward Dall” you tell him sniffly and he mourns that you don’t look gross when you cry anymore or maybe you do and he’s just too hopelessly lovesick to notice anymore, which is exactly the reason why he has to leave.

“I know kid” he agrees, self-deprecatingly. this is for the best, he tells himself, it’s easier if you hate him.

“I wish I’d never got to know you!” you’re shouting tearfully as you stumble out of the cosy diner and it’s what he deserves he reminds himself.

the geriatric waiter smiles empathically as the doorbell chimes and you don’t look back. "don't make a mistake letting a girl like that go son"

"you don't know shit about her and I man, so just keep your damn nose out of it, hear?" Dallas snaps at him defensively before downing his coffee and high-tailing it out of there.

before getting on the train he buys himself a bottle of cheap liquor which he semi-effectively uses as a way to dull the sense of regret that he can't seem to shake. He hates you for leaving him feeling like that, all sad and sappy like some stupid kid heading off for war or something.

that's the only thing he can make himself hate about you now. now he knows how sweet the sound of your laughter is, how you wear the same lavender perfume that your grandmother used to wear in memory of her and how you were the closest to heaven he's ever gonna get.

cheers to that he thinks drunkenly as the train pulls into the station, and cheers he supposes to his new home of Tulsa. fucking hell does his head hurt.

the one time he finally accepts he doesn't hate you is after Johnny dies.

he knows he oughta stay for the rumble but all he can think about is the way you'd let him cry and hold you close. you'd be soft and warm and sweet in his arms and you wouldn't want anything from him.

and he knows suddenly that he doesn't just hate you, no it's more than that it's that he loves you. that he might have always loved you and was just too blind to notice. and that if he had let you, you might have loved him too. so he knows he's gotta go back to you.

he buys the fastest ticket to New York that he can afford and tells Ponyboy whilst shrugging nonchalantly that

"might come, back might not" He thinks that if he can fool Ponyboy into thinking that he doesn't care about how it turns out it means he doesn't care either.

Ponyboy isn't fooled though and neither is Dallas's uneasy heart though both pretend to believe.

The train drive seems to drag by, he's all nervous energy, leg bouncing and chain smoking one cigarette after the other which he ultimately decides was an awful mistake but now he's gonna try to - what's he even trying to do - well whatever it is he's now gonna be doing it reeking of cheap cigarettes.

when the train finally pulls into the station he's practically racing to your apartment, going to frantically knock before holding himself back and instead knocking once on your door. you open it dressed in an eggshell white nightdress and dressing gown and the way you look at him makes him feel like you're not seventeen and he's not almost eighteen and that instead you're seven and he's eight all over again.

god he's a real sucker for you, isn't he? that's ten years of pathetic yearning that he can only hope to remedy now.

"I thought I hated you-" he starts before you interrupt.

"if that's what you came here to say Dallas I really don't wanna hear it"

He shakes his head "No kid it's not what I came here to say. I'm just gonna talk and all you gotta do is keep that pretty mouth shut and give a man a chance to speak, alright?"

you nod and give him a look that says this your one chance don't mess it up Dallas. god, he hopes he doesn't.

"I thought I hated you. As kids I mean I was convinced! convinced that the obsession I had with you was purely cause you annoyed the living crap out of me. Then I heard you talking smack about me to one of your little friends and so then I had an actual reason to hate you. then there was that tutoring session that I had to stop attending because you were so pretty and sweet and smelt so nice so that was too much for me, especially when I was supposed to be hating you. I probably would have forgotten about you though or gotten over it had it not been for that dance. god, you were fucking angelic spinning there in the yellowish light of that grimy gym and I knew I was gonna be spending the rest of my life wishing I could bring myself to hate you. And you know I was right. because I tried getting to know you cause I thought if I got to know you I could maybe hate you but of course, you're little miss butter wouldn't melt in your mouth so I can't hate you. and so I leave thinking that if I could make you hate me and then put space between us I could make myself hate you but that doesn't work either cause you're damn unforgettable so this me trying one last time. I don't hate you, kid, never did never will and if you tell me to go I will too. but if one tiny part of you doesn't hate me either then I guess I did something real good in a past life or something"

He is so busy ranting that he fails to notice that you've been softening as he's been talking, tears been building, and bottom lip bitten to shreds. He does notice the lack of response so he snaps.

“Well?”

"I could never hate you, Dall," you say softly and the world stops spinning for him when you say that.

"Oh," he says dumbly.

"Oh" you agree, half crying and half laughing.

"Okay tell me if I read this all wrong but does that mean I can kiss you kid?" he asks scratching the back of his neck, he doesn't think he's ever had to ask a girl that before.

“Please" is all you have to say before he pulls you into him and presses his lips against yours.

and kissing Dallas Winston is nothing like what you might think it would be like. he kisses you like he'd worshipping you like you're something precious and captivating that oughta to be cradled carefully, you are a diamond to him. pure and rare. and when you pull away to catch your breath you swear he mutters "I love you kid" against your temple.

"I love you " you tell him and he grins like he's been given the moon on a string. if all this hatred ends with you saying things like that softly to him then it may have all been worth it.

yeah he'd do it all again in a heartbeat…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

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