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beyondbluess · 10 days ago

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rekindled

ex boyfriend! dallas winston x fem! reader

summary: you and dallas coincidentally meet at a bar years after your breakup. warnings: angst, happy ending, second chances, and light drinking, kinda rushed, not really proofread. author's note: had to get one more fic out before i went back on campus on monday, there's no way of telling if im going to have time to write once classes start. :/

You always loved coming to the bar at this time of night.

Drunken chatter amongst the usual patrons, sounds of pool balls clicking against one another upon impact, and the occasional glasses being slammed on tables. It’s something that you usually relish in, even going as far as sometimes participating in the festivities. But not tonight.

You sat quietly at the front of the bar, fingertips lazily swirling the margarita that you’ve yet to touch. The bartender makes another round back over to you, his brows furrowing when he realizes that you’ve left your drink untouched.

“You alright?” He asks, polishing the shot glass in his hand with a cloth, nodding towards your drink. He’s seen you around plenty enough to consider you an acquaintance, even going as far as memorizing your favorite drink order. “It’s unlike ya to be this quiet—by now you’re usually nagging me for another round.”

“Uh, yeah,” you replied hesitantly, smoothing down your skirt. “Guess I’m not really feelin' it tonight.”

His brow raised at your response, opening his mouth to question you further—but not before the bell on the door jingled. You didn’t even bother to turn to see who entered.

The bartender greets the newcomer with a nod of acknowledgment, placing the shot glass on the shelf. “What can I get ya?”

“Whiskey.”

Your breath hitched.

It was almost as if you were dreaming, and just for a moment, you thought you were. You slowly turned to your left to see the boy who once had been your first love, the very same boy who had also broken your heart—Dallas Winston.

It didn’t take him long to sense you staring at him. His gaze met yours, and only for a moment—his eyes widened in genuine shock, but they slowly softened right after.

“…Hi, Dal.”

Dallas was about to open his mouth to respond when the bartender came back around with his whiskey, sliding it over to him. He mutters out a ‘thanks’ before turning his attention back over to you.

"Hey, doll.”

You weren’t entirely sure what to say after that, so you looked at him, really, looked at him. His hair was longer, and he had even grown some facial hair; his intense gaze was still there, but you could tell something in him had shifted over the years. He was also now sporting a small faded scar on his right cheek. Sure, he was older now, but god, was he still handsome.

“So, um, how’ve you been?” You ask gingerly, shifting slightly in your stool. You could feel the palms of your hands starting to sweat.

Dallas shrugs, taking a swig of his whiskey. “Tryin’ to keep myself outta trouble,” he answered. “Got a place recently—workin’ at Bucks to keep the lights on. You?”

“I’ve been..alright,’ You reached for your margarita to take a sip, but instead stopped in your tracks, placing your hands flat on the table. “Just moved back into town a few months ago—been comin’ here every weekend to hang out.” Dallas hummed at this.

Both of you sat in silence; it was as if memories that you’d sworn to lock away came swirling back. You almost considered paying your tab and leaving until—

“Look, I—“

“Dallas, don’t,” cutting him off. You didn’t want to talk about this now, not when you’ve spent so long trying to move on. “It’s in the past. It’s fine.”

“Jus’ hear me out,” he pleaded. “Please.”

You sighed, silently permitting him to continue with a nod.

“I’m sorry,’ he murmured, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. His eyes shimmered with emotion, perhaps unshed tears. “For all of it—I was terrible to you. It wasn’t right.”

“Dal, we both made mistakes—“

“Nah,’ he laughs bitterly, taking a few seconds to gather his composure. His hand started to move to place it over yours, but he stopped himself. “Letting you walk away was a mistake. You were good to me, doll. You were. I should’ve fought for you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Surely, after all this time, he would’ve moved on, or even forgotten you. You never once expected that his heart still called for you, and perhaps a part of your heart still called for his, too.

“Dal,” you whispered, your eyes now glistening with unshed tears. “I loved you, y’know—maybe I still feel something for you, but you’ve hurt me.” You wiped your cheek. “It took so long for me to come back from that. How do I know you won’t just do it again?”

Dallas gently placed his hand over yours, gently squeezing it. “I’ll do right by you. I swear it, doll. I can’t jus’ let you walk away again. Not this time.”

You huff out a laugh, a tiny sniffle escaping you. You squeezed his hand back, raising your other to call the bartender back over to ask for a pen and paper, setting it down in front of you. Dallas watches as you scribbled something down.

“Here,’ you muttered, smiling softly as you handed him the sheet. You watched Dallas’ brows furrow before looking down at the paper, his expression melting into an even softer smile. Something that seemed so uncharacteristic for him. You turned to the bartender, pulling out your wallet to pull out cash to cover your tab.

“Sorry for wasting,” you say apologetically, setting down the cash beside your margarita. You gave Dallas one last look before getting up from the stool, a newfound hope now gleaming in your eyes.

Dallas watched as the bell at the door jingled behind you, his smile never once leaving his face, even after you were gone. He looked down at the sheet that had your number scribbled on it before shoving it in his pocket.

There was no way in hell he was going to let you slip away again.

#dallas winston x reader #dallas winston x y/n #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston #dally winston #dally x reader

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beyondbluess · 27 days ago

Note

DALLAS COMING TO SOC READERS HOUSE AFTER A RUMBLE AND OPENING UP TO HER FOR THE FIRST TIME ABOUT HIS PAST

Scary? My God, You're Devine!

an: This trope has been done a million times, and I eat it up every single time. Time has come for me to take my wack at it.

w: mentions of canon typical violence, mentions of blood and injuries, mentions of DV, swearing, slightly ooc Dallas? Fem!reader, not fully proof-read

Word count: ~2,600

Rain falls outside your window. It patters against your roof and batters your window. You watch out your window as the trees are berated by the wind. Sitting on your vanity chair, you nervously wait for a certain blonde boy to appear at your window. You know he'll look like hell, and you've been mentally preparing yourself for the sight ever since you found out that there was going to be a rumble. Of course you were anything but thrilled when he told you about it. You don't want him fighting anymore than he already does, and you don't want him fighting people you knew. Family friends, your friends' boyfriends, neighbors, soc boys you knew, some you actually liked. You didn't want them and the greaser boys you loved fighting. But it's not like there was much you could do.

So, now you're sitting in your white-walled room, staring at the window with a towel in your lap, anxiously waiting for Dallas Winston. Waiting to patch him up and try not to scold him, waiting to hear news about the rest of the boys.

You're at your feet before he can knock. You rush over to the window as soon as his figure appears. You quickly open it and let him climb in. You gently touch his arm when he groans as his feet land on the ground. His mean face has blood down one side and more crusted under his nose and down to his chin. The rain had washed away some of the gore and dirt, but he still looked like hell, like you'd expected. The rain couldn't wash way the bruise forming around his eye or the gash by his eyebrow. You knew that he was getting mud on your carpet, but you couldn't bring yourself to care at the moment.

"Hey, doll." Dallas smirks at you as he takes off his leather jacket. That cocky smirk tells you that they won. He discards his jacket on the ground.

"Did you boys win?" You ask as you hand him the towel you had ready for him.

His smirk only widens. "'Course we did, doll. Damn socs didn't stand a chance. 'Chased 'em right outta our territory." He wiped his face with the towel then rubbed it over his soaking wet hair.

You'd tell him fighting was no good if he didn't look so proud, but you don't feel like ruining his good mood right now. "How are the other boys? Alright?" You ask instead.

Dallas nods. You watch in distress as blood continues to drip from the gash by his eyebrow. "Yeah, they're alright. All beat pretty good though." He sits down on the edge of your bed. You quickly urge him off.

"Dally! You're getting mud on my comforter! Golly, how'd you even get so dirty?" You touch his arm as he stands up, and notice how numerous bruises litter it.

"You get thrown 'round in rumbles, sweetheart. I'm tired, I can't sit?" He asks, his voice unusually soft.

You sigh. "Let me clean you up first." You say tenderly as you take his hands in yours. His knuckles are raw- red and bleeding, and of course have dirt in the scrapes. You can't help but stare at them sadly. Dallas surprisingly lets you. This isn't the first time you've had to patch him up after a fight, but it's the first time he hasn't acted embarrassed about his injuries. You look back up at his face and he quickly masks his hurt expression with a cold, tough one. You notice, you always do.

You lead your battered boy to your bathroom. He sits on the toilet lid as you get out your small first aid kit, the one you got after the first time he showed up to your house after a fight. You glance over at Dallas as you open it. He's staring off into space, and his eyes hurt your heart. He looks so defeated for someone who just won a rumble. You want to ask, but the chances of Dallas actually telling you what's going on in his head are damn near zero. The towel you had handed him was still in his lap, and his was rubbing the material between his index finger and his thumb. He suddenly notices you looking at him, and he sets his face again and sits up a touch straighter. You look back at the first aid kit in front of you, then you grab a washcloth and wet it.

Gently, you clean off his face. Standing between his legs, you move the damp washcloth over his skin, wiping off the dirt and blood. Dallas doesn't take his eyes off of you.

"You're too good to me, you know that?" He claimed suddenly.

You smile, amused. "Oh, be quiet."

"I'm serious." He starts and your smile fades. You halt your movements. "You're a good girl, and I just.. I just beat up your friends- rich guys that could treat you how you deserve."

You shake your head. "Don't talk like that." You say softly. He knows you hate when he says stuff about not being good enough for you, or about how a soc boy could treat you better. No matter how many times you tell him that you want him and only him, he still mentions it now and then.

He looks into your eyes for a beat longer, then he looks away and mumbles, "Whatever, man."

You sigh and put down the dirtied washcloth. Luckily, the wound by his brow had stopped bleeding, so you were hoping that that meant he wouldn't need stitches. You get out a butterfly bandaid anyway, to hold it together better. Then you smooth his damp hair and press a kiss against his cheek. He looks at you again.

"Do you want ice for your eye, love?" You gently move your thumb over the edge of the purple mark.

He winces and you pull your thumb away, mumbling an apology. "No." He says.

"Okay." You let go of his cheek then use the washcloth again to wipe off his knuckles.

You're so gentle with him, it makes his heart swell and his stomach churn at the same time. You're sickeningly sweet. He knows that he doesn't deserve you.

"You're awfully quiet." You observe as you bandage his hand. "You don't feel like celebrating?"

Dallas shrugs. "Don't know. Jus' hurry up, man."

"Well, I'm pretty much done. Do you want to rinse off in the shower real quick?"

"Depends, you gonna join me?" He finally smirks again and leans in closer to you.

You smile sheepishly. "No, I have to get a new comforter and get you something to sleep in."

Dallas sighs and pushes his wet hair back, out of his face. "Fine, man, whatever."

You step back as he stands up and peels off his shirt. "Stop calling me 'man', I'm your girl."

Dallas only glances at you before taking off his jeans. "Okay. Sure you don't want to join me?" He asks again. Even in his broken state, he can't help himself.

"I'm sure." You turn on the shower as he steps out of his jeans.

Dallas sits on the edge off your bed in a pair of his boxers that he'd left at your house some nights ago. You enter your bedroom and Dallas's head snaps up in your direction.

"I got you water, because I know you don't drink enough of it." You tell him as you close your bedroom door. You walk over and hand him a glass. He mutters a thanks before bringing it to his lips. You sit next to him and cross your legs. You feel almost awkward, he has a strange energy about him and it's rubbing off on you.

He downs the water almost as quickly as a man stranded in the desert, then hands you back the glass. You set it on your nightstand, next to your framed picture of you and him. Dallas watches your movements and his eyes land on the picture. He'd seen in before of course, but he couldn't tare his eyes away from it. The gold pattern surrounding him struck him as ridiculous, contradicting. The delicate gold matched you perfectly, your frilly dress, expensive jewelry, and perfectly done hair suited the frame; but the boy next to you in the photo was the exact juxtaposition. He almost laughed.

You notice his stare and follow his gaze to the photo. A smile paints your face as you comment, "Aren't we cute?"

He huffs a laugh. "Cute? I wouldn't call us cute, doll."

You look over at him and frown. "What'd you call us then?"

He shakes his head slightly and looks around your room, his eyes landing on your jewelry box. "Unusual."

"Well, I think we're cute." You say, forcing a smile onto your face to try to lift his melancholy mood, but he doesn't look at you.

Dallas looks at the ground. "What were you doing when you were ten?" He asks glumly.

You furrow your eyebrows at the random question. "When I was ten? Uh, well, a lot of things. That's a broad question." You pause to think, then you start again, "I was hanging out with my friends, drawing a bunch, trying to figure myself out, reading some of my first actual chapter books..."

Dallas hums. "I was getting into gang fights, stealing, running from cops, and getting thrown in jail." He states with a bitterness in his voice.

You couldn't think of what to say. You'd known that Dallas hadn't had a good life, especially back in New York, but hearing him talk about it was new, uncharted territory.

He takes notice of your silence and finally looks at you. "That scare you, doll?" He questions. "Cause it should."

You shake your head. "No, of course not."

He scoffs. "Why are you so damn stubborn? I was in gangs before my voice got deep. I hang around some of the worst guys out there." He looks away again. "I saw things I'll never forget. I hurt people. All while you were- what? Being a damn kid? Being a perfect little angel?"

"I'm sorry." Your voice comes out weaker-sounding than intended.

"For what, doll? Being so perfect that it pisses me off?"

"I'm sorry that you didn't get to be a kid."

Dallas stares at you silently, and his masks falters slightly. "I was a kid." He speaks finally. "Just a bad one."

"Kids don't misbehave for no reason. Dogs aren't born with their teeth bared." You reach for his hand as you move closer to him, your leg now touching his.

"I ain't a dog." He lets you intertwine your fingers with his, and he watches as you squeeze his hand.

"You act like one sometimes." You joke light-heartedly.

A small smile creeps onto his face. A science falls over the two of you. He holds you hand tighter and doesn't take his eyes off it. The doubt and insecurity still thrash around in his mind. His smile finds and he returns to his self-deprecation.

"I knew a guy back in New York. He was awful. Big, scary, crude, mean, a piece of shit. I worshipped the guy. He didn't care about anything or anyone, and I wanted to be just like him." Dallas looks up the ceiling and sighs, then shifts his gaze to the floor, but not without a glance at you. Then he continues, "This guy started going with this preppy broad. I don't know how he got her- like I don't know how I bagged you- but she seemed to like him a lot. She was around a lot for a few months, she was nice enough, real good looking too. It was like we were watching the life get sucked outta her. He beat her, we all knew. I think I knew that that was wrong, but no one said anything about it. Then she got knocked up, and he skipped town." He sighs and looks over at you.

"God, that's awful." You say. "Poor thing."

"Yeah... What if I ruin you like that?" His voice is weak and he sounds almost scared.

"Ruin me?" You repeat bewilderedly.

He nods and looks down at your hand intertwined with his.

"Dallas," You gently touch his cheek, careful to avoid touching and bruised or sore spots. You turn his head to face you and his worried look breaks your heart. His beaten look was only adding to your heartbreak, it was as if his brokenness and spread to his exterior. He wasn't even attempting to hide the hurt he was feeling, he might as well have been hold out his war-torn heart to you, and been telling you how he was worried he'd infect you too.

"You aren't like that." You start. "You'd never hurt me."

"I have. I yell at you and get upset and treat you like shit. I'm no better than that asshole." He pulls away from your hand on his cheek.

"You are better than him, don't give me that. Yeah, we argue, but all couples do. We make up. And you don't treat me like shit, Dally. I'm happy. You make me happy. God, why would you ever think that?"

"It's hard not to think of them every time I'm around you, doll. It's hard not to realize I'm just like him."

"Do I seem like that poor girl to you? Is the light leaving my eyes?" You ask more sternly than you had meant to. It was bothering you the way Dallas was talking. It was bothering you the way he was speaking, how he perceived himself so poorly.

He sighs. "No, but... maybe you'll be like her in the future."

"I know my worth, Dal. You start treating me like shit, and I'm leaving. But you don't, and I don't think you ever will. You're not the world's best boyfriend by any means, but you make me feel loved and appreciated and happy and all that good stuff."

He seems to ponder for a moment, his eyes not leaving yours. The bruise around his eye was even more prominent now. "Ten year old me would start buggin' if he saw who I was dating."

You smile. "I think Dallas from any time before we got together would be bugging if he saw who you were dating."

Dallas cracks a smile, finally returning on. "I guess that's true."

You squeeze his hand then let go so you can get up. You can lift the covers and get under them. Once cozy, you look at Dallas, who's already looking at you.

"Come 'ere." You raise the comforter so he can climb in next to you. He does, but instead of next to you, he lays on top of you. He buries his face in the side of your neck and nuzzles against your skin as his hands slide under you. He hugs you tightly as he breaths you in.

Your arms warp around him in return and one of your hands finds his hair and gingerly strokes it. "So, the rumble brought back some old memories and coming here made it worse?"

"I guess. Rumbles always remind me of the gang fights I was in. That combined with your white picket fence and.. just everything about you, made me realize how bad I am for you." He mumbles against the skin of your neck.

"You ain't bad for me." You counter.

"Bad compared to you. Better?"

"Yes."

He sighs as your warmth soothes him. Your gentle touch, your velvety voice, your sweet scent was like heaven to him. "I don't think I'll ever understand how I managed to snag a dove like you, but I'm damn lucky I did."

You smile as you continue to card your fingers through his hair. "I love you, Dally, and I'm proud of you for opening up a bit."

"Yeah, whatever. I love you too." He presses a kiss into the side of your neck, then he closes his eyes as starts to let sleep over take him.

"Good night, baby." You whisper.

"Night, doll." He whispers back.

an: this was a wild ride. This took so terribly long and is my longest fic yet! I don't know where I was taking this, but we got somewhere!

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