cozm1xxx

[cozm1xxx]

aghh ur writing is so good!! i'm gonna eat your account bro (this is a compliment i swear guys)

-🍒 anon

stop ur too sweet don’t do this to me☹️

[cozm1xxx]

haii! first of all i love your writing :DD second of all, my i request smth where curtis sister reader has autism, so she tends to become really overstimulated by loud noises, and stims a lot and tends to hyperfixate on things, and the rest of the gang is just really chill about it and help her if shes overstimulated and let her stim and let her yap abt her hyperfixations, and also dont let anyone give her a hard time abt it 😋 again i love your writing sm 🫶

⟢ ꒰ ⋮ 「 she’s alone

in her little world 」 ⸝⸝

aka: the gang with a neurodivergent/autistic reader!

warnings ~ mostly fluff, some insensitivity towards autistic/neurodivergent people. Also reader is heavily based off me :3

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ w/c ~ 830

a/n ~ I feel so bad I have so many reqs collecting dust in my inbox���

You were never normal. That was clear from the moment you could walk.

The way you behaved, the way you reacted to things, it all wasn’t normal.

Now, it being the 60’s, most people just dumbed it down to you being crazy or a nutcase. But your family knew different. They weren’t about to send their precious baby girl to an institution just because she was deemed ‘different.’

They took the time to understand you. And now, at the age of fifteen, they know how to help you, how to make sure you’re comfortable.

You currently find yourself sitting on your living room couch, Johnny by your side, words constantly flowing from your lips.

You’ve been interested in plants more than anything else; flowers, herbs, trees, fungi, anything and everything of the sort. It's just part of who you are at this point. The gang is used to your rambling, to you pointing out every type of tree or flower you see.

Other interests have included — but aren’t limited to — history, poetry, science and mythology of every kind.

However, you’re currently telling Johnny about the latest novel you read.

“And then – get this – they sell Boxer to some company and get him killed! It pissed me off so hard, and the symbolism behind it too, it’s all just—”

To most, your never-ending thoughts and opinions would be annoying – but not to the gang. They find you charming, cute, and totally endearing.

You’re the sweetest person they know.

But others don’t see you that way.

And this becomes even more apparent when Steve brings around some guy none of you know.

“Hey, y’all! Meet my pal, Jack!” He announces, the door slamming shut behind him.

He slings an arm around the shoulders of a man with jet black hair and sideburns worse than Two-Bit’s, a toothy grin spreading across his lips.

You’re silent almost immediately.

You know how other people treat you.

Johnny notices the way you go quiet, despite having been in the middle of rambling about something you’re so passionate about. It pisses him off.

He hates the fact you have to hide who you are, just because some people are total assholes.

Jack soon sits down on the other end of the couch, talking loudly with Steve.

Problem number one.

You try ignoring it, keeping yourself curled against the corner of the couch. You have to hold back from biting your nails until they bleed.

Johnny notices immediately.

“Hey, uhm, you never finished telling me about that book? The one with the animals?” He murmurs, voice soft, trying to coax a response from you.

He doesn’t want you to silence yourself.

“Animal Farm. That’s the book.” You reply, still chewing at your nails.

“Yeah, that one. You were talkin’ about the horse n’ symbolism n’ stuff.”

Slowly — so very slowly — you calm down. You come out of your shell.

“Uhm, yes, uh… the- the symbolism behind Boxer, right—…” For a moment, you’re hesitant, still all too aware of Jack’s presence nearby.

But the more you get into, the less his judgement is on your mind.

You continue your ranting as if nothing changed, hands moving animatedly with every word you speak.

Until Jack ruins it.

“God, can someone make her shut the fuck up?” He spits.

Everyone goes silent at that.

You shrink back into yourself immediately, muttering a shameful apology under your breath.

“The fuck did you just say?” Johnny snaps.

“What? She’s bein’ annoying as shit, I have a right to want her to shut up.”

This only makes Johnny’s anger worse.

“Nah, I think you’re the one bein’ annoying, buddy.” Dally pipes up, blowing a waft of smoke into Jack’s face.

“Listen here, you piece of—“ Johnny, ever the quiet man, is about to tell off this guy like hell, until your hand lands on his shoulder.

“John, it— it’s fine…”

He turns back, sees the tears in your eyes. A soft sigh leaves him. The others will deal with him; he knows it.

Without another word, he takes your hand and walks down the hall to your bedroom. His jaw is tense with anger, even as you sit down with him in the corner of your bedroom.

“Y’know… you don’t have to defend me like that.” Your voice is quiet. Hesitant.

“I know… I just—… it pisses me off to see people treat you like that.” He sighs.

You curl into his side, laying your head down on his shoulder.

You’ve never been the most affectionate; unnecessary touches leave you feeling sick and uncomfortable. But with Johnny? It comes naturally.

Cuddling up with him, hugging him, it feels right. Comforting.

Maybe that’s what makes you two such a great pair.

You spend the rest of your night cuddled up together, hands intertwined as you continue telling him about your book.

All the while, the gang is in the living room, telling off Jack and leaving him running out of the house like a coward.

[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @johnnycadesslut @only-lonely-star — send a dm or ask to be added ]

[cozm1xxx]

────۶ৎ cruel fights.

or... what happens when Darry and you, brother and sister trying to keep the family afloat, start to sound exactly like Johnny's parents do....

warnings : okay so, yea, read at your own risk. angst.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: SORRY IM SORRY EVERYONE.

( 🏷 @callme-holly , @johnnycadesslut )

♱ *ೃ.⋆

The clock on the wall was ticking loud enough to drill into your skull. You were sitting on the couch, arms folded, listening to Darry pacing in the living room. The front door had been locked since midnight —Pony had missed curfew by hours— and you’d been trying to keep Darry calm all night.

The front door creaked open just shy of 3 a.m., and in walked Ponyboy. His hair was mussed from sleeping outside, eyes still heavy with the daze of being woken up.

Darry didn’t waste a second. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice was already sharp, cutting into the quiet of the room.

Pony froze in the doorway, guilt flickering across his face before he straightened defensively. “I fell asleep in the lot with Johnny, okay? I just- lost track of time.”

“You lost track of time?” Darry’s voice was low but tight, the kind that made Soda flinch in the kitchen doorway. “Do you have any idea what time it is? I’ve been out of my mind worried, thinking you were lying in a ditch somewhere.”

Pony’s chin lifted, irritation creeping in. “It’s not a big deal, Darry—”

“Not a big deal?” Darry barked. “You’re fourteen, Pony! You don’t just wander in at three in the morning like you’re grown!”

“I told you, I fell asleep! You’re acting like I did it on purpose!”

You sat forward, biting back the urge to step in immediately. They had their arguments —but you could see Darry’s temper building too fast.

“You keep pulling stunts like this, and one of these days you will end up hurt or worse,” Darry snapped, his voice raising.

Pony muttered something under his breath, and Darry’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“I said you don’t have to act like I’m a kid!” Pony shot back, his voice rising, already bristled. “Why are you always on my case? You don’t say anything when Soda stays out late!”

“That’s because Soda doesn’t fall asleep in parking lots like some little—”

“Okay, enough,” you cut in, softly but firmly like your mother used to do when they fought over toys, standing now. “He’s home. He’s safe. Yelling isn't going to change anything, so maybe tone it down a little?—”

“This is toned down,” he snapped.

Pony immediately seized the opening, darting behind you like a little kid hiding from trouble. “Yeah, tone it down, Darry,” he said, smug, peeking around you like he’d just won a prize.

“Oh, here we go,” Darry muttered, eyes flicking past you to his youngest brother. “Don’t start with me, kid.” Then, to you, turning his frustration toward you. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. You baby him too much.”

“I’m not babying him, I’m calming the situation down,” you countered. “He’s my brother too, Darry. He’s just a kid —e deserves to be loved, not just.. disciplined.”

“He is loved!” Darry’s voice cracked with the force of it. “But you can’t protect him from everything! You think you’re doing him a favor, but you’re not. One day you’re not going to be here to coddle him, and then what? I’ll have to be the one picking up the pieces!”

Your breath caught at that, heat rushing into your face. “What’s that supposed to mean? You planning on being around when I’m not? Where exactly do you think I’m going?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“No, tell me, Darry!” you demanded, voice rising. “Because for the last year, I’ve been working full time aswell, keeping this house together, making sure Soda and Pony eat, cleaning up after your messes—”

“My messes?” Darry’s voice thundered back. “You think I’m not killing myself with two jobs to keep us afloat? It's not my fault you are ignoring your own life to play mother because you can’t let go of him for five seconds!”

“I’m doing what Mom would’ve done!” you shot back. “Someone has to! You think yelling at him every other night is what Dad would’ve wanted?”

Soda shifted anxiously by the wall, glancing between the two of you like maybe he could break in, but neither of you gave him room.

“Maybe Dad would’ve wanted a sister who knew when to let her little brother grow up—” Darry started, voice sharp enough to slice through the air.

“Say that again,” you warned, taking a step forward.

Pony’s smugness had evaporated. His wide eyes flicked from you to Darry, his shoulders curling in like he’d seen this scene before in someone else’s house —and it had never ended well.

“I’ve gotta make sure he can stand on his own when you’re gone!”

“And you think yelling at him is the way to do it? You think scaring him is how you teach him to ‘stand on his own’?”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Darry shot back. “You get to play the good guy while I’m the bad guy, ‘cause you can’t say no to him. You undermine me every time!”

“Oh, don’t you start with that. I’ve been holding this house together just as much as you, Darry. You think I haven’t had to bite my tongue for the sake of keeping the peace? You think it’s easy to be the one holding everyone when they fall apart?”

The words were spilling fast now, all the little grievances you’d both been burying since your parents died. The air was thick, tense, and sharp with the sound of raised voices. Pony’s smugness had vanished entirely, his face paling. He keep glancing at Soda, wide-eyed.

The dam broke. All the little resentments that had been building since your parents died came spilling out — his constant need to control, your constant need to keep the peace, the exhaustion of both of you trying to raise two teenage boys while your own grief rotted quietly in the background.

And then it happened.

Your voices climbed higher, sharper, until the shouting filled every corner of the house. Pony shifted nervously behind you now, the smugness gone, eyes darting to Soda in the corner. Soda’s face was pale —he’d never been good at handling arguments between you and Darry, and this wasn’t an argument anymore. It was a fight.

And then it happened.

Darry’s face twisted with frustration, his voice breaking mid-sentence, and before you could even register the movement — smack. The sound of it split the air. Your cheek stung instantly, heat blooming under your skin.

Everything went silent.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him with your lips slightly parted, breathing through your mouth. Frozen disbelief pinning you in place. He’d hit you. He’d hit you. He’d hit you. You and Darry were supposed to be the responsible ones, the safe ones.

Soda froze in place, mouth open but silent.

Pony didn’t.

“What the hell is WRONG with you?!” Pony’s voice exploded, louder than you’d ever heard it. His face flushed red, eyes blazing as he stepped between you and Darry. “You HIT her?! Are you outta your damn mind?!”

“Pony—”

“You NEVER, EVER touch my sister again!”

The words ripped out of him, raw and shaking. He lunged forward, trying to push past you, but your arms came around him automatically, locking him to your chest. His whole body was trembling, his voice cracking as he tried to yell over you. “You hear me, Darry?! You don’t hit her! You don’t hit her! I’ll— I’ll make you sorry, I swear!”

He tried kicking his older brother, but you caught him from behind before it landed, bending slightly to shield him. He thrashed against your hold, furious.

“Let me go! He can’t hit you! He can’t touch you like that!” Pony’s voice cracked, the sound raw, on the verge of breaking into tears. “You don’t ever touch her! You hear me?!”

You didn’t say a word. Your face was frozen in something between disbelief and horror, your mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened. Darry —the one you’d counted on to help you hold everything together— had hit you.

“You treat her like she's your mom!” Darry didn't even know what possesed him to yell again, not after having hit you. Not with the dread coiling low in his gut and making him nauseous. “She ain't! Alright, Ponyboy? She AIN'T!!”

And Pony, who was pressed back to your chest, and trembling. Let out an horrifyingly emotional sound, like a yell without words, just a gurgle of emotions. His hands fisted into your sleeves like a little kid clutching their mom after a nightmare.

“She is more like mom than you'll ever be like dad!” The kid shot back, choking on the tears and snot dripping down his face, still trashing in your hold. “Daddy never hit mommy!”

Darry’s face went pale after that, his own eyes wide like he was only now realizing the total extent of what he’d done. But it didn’t matter — he damage was already done.

He realized that, in that very moment, Pony wasn’t seeing his big brother anymore. He was seeing someone who’d hurt the one safe place he had left in the world. And he wasn’t going to forgive it anytime soon.

“She’s all I’ve got, and you hit her! You can yell at me all you want, but you don’t touch her! EVER!”

You held him tighter, your hands splayed over his chest, trying to keep him from lunging forward again. Soda had stepped forward now, hands out like he could catch the situation before it shattered completely, but no one moved toward Darry. Not even you.

Soda’s voice finally cut in, shaky and barely-there. “Okay, okay, enough. Everybody—just—stop... Please.”

But the house didn’t feel steady anymore. The slap had cracked something open that you weren’t sure could be closed again, not tonight. You stayed there, holding your baby brother, his back pressed to your chest, feeling his heart pound under your palm, staring at Darry like you didn’t quite recognize him.

The silence that followed was way worse than the yelling.

[cozm1xxx]

don’t yall love unlocking celeb crushes of ppl you previously didn’t get the hype around….

[cozm1xxx]

hi !! could you write darry x greaser!reader where she’s just sweet on him.

kisses on the cheek when he gets home from work, telling him how good he’s doing when he’s making dinner, she knows what he had to go through and he deserves some love too.

obviously the gang will probably tease him for it, cus they’re the gang.

hope this made sense lol, please and thank you !!

⟢ ꒰ ⋮ 「 Yours, truly」 ⸝⸝

… or, Darry Curtis and his sickeningly loving girlfriend!

warnings ~ none, all fluff!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ w/c ~ 681

a/n ~ I feel bad cuz this is so short and I lowkey strayed far from what was asked💔

Darry never thought he’d ever deserve someone like you. Someone so sweet, so kind.

You — somehow — grew up on the east side of town. Underprivileged, little money, never knowing whether dinner was gonna be on the table or not.

And yet, despite it all, you turned out as sweet as a bag of chocolate.

God, how did he manage to bag someone like you?

───〃౨ৎ

The sunlight filters through the blinds in your bedroom, illuminating everything with a soft glow that leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy.

Beside you, lies the man of your dreams.

Darrel Curtis; star football player of Tulsa, the kindest man alive and the love of your life.

It’s a Saturday, meaning that, for once, he doesn’t have work.

He can rest.

With a kiss to his forehead, you untangle yourself from his arms and pad quietly into the hallway.

Nobody else in the house is awake. It’s still, yes, but the peaceful kind. The equivalent of how the lawn smells the morning after a thunderstorm.

Trying your best to keep silent, you get out the tarnished skillet from a cabinet, as well as the carton of eggs Darry got the other day.

The majority of your morning is then spent cooking up breakfast for the boys — your boys — the house filling itself with a sense of calm as Elvis plays on the radio nearby.

Darry wakes halfway through the making of pancakes.

When his eyes flutter open and he sees you aren’t at his side, he doesn’t feel the need to panic.

He doesn’t need to.

He isn’t constantly fearing for your safety, wondering whether or not you’re even alive. Not how he does with Pony and Soda.

Once he enters the kitchen, he sees you standing at the stove; wearing a shirt of his that your whole torso is drowning in, pouring pancake batter onto a pan.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice is thick with sleep.

You smile as he makes his presence even more apparent by wrapping his arms around your waist. Bare chest pressed to your back, all warmth and love.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” You smile, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

He grins against your neck, leaving several kisses on the skin there. You’re too soft, too warm; he never won’t be obscenely grateful for you. For everything.

“Are Pony and Soda up?”

“Nope, they’re sleepin’ like rocks.” You flip a pancake. “Though, you should wake ‘em up before the gang starts pilin’ in.”

As much as Darry would love to stay right here with you, wrapped up in your warmth, he knows the boys should be woken up.

However, before he even has the chance to pull away from you, the front door swings open and in comes Two-Bit, with Steve, Dally and Johnny at his tail. The moment they see you two — tangled up together, being all romantic — the teasing begins.

“Woah-ho-ho! Look at these two lovebirds!!” Two-Bit grins.

Darry’s hands slip down to your hips as he pulls back; the touch still there, but less so.

“Shut your trap, Two.” Darry quips.

He plants a quick kiss to your cheek, before making an attempt to pull away from you entirely.

You, however, are much less embarrassed by your love for him. He means the world to you. There’s no way in hell that you’d ever refrain from loving him just because of his dumb friends’ teasing.

Your fingers slip beneath the waistband of his pajamas as he tries to leave, pulling him right back to you — where he belongs.

You quickly press your lips to his, before he can protest or leave or be embarrassed. And despite his evident embarrassment, he doesn’t make much of an effort to actually refrain from kissing you.

The others’ whoops and yells fall upon deaf ears. All that matters to you is Darry, and the way his mouth meets yours.

“You’re a little minx, y’know that?” He murmurs once you’ve pulled back.

“You love me.” Is your only response before pulling him back in.

What did he ever do to deserve someone as sweet as you?

[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @johnnycadesslut @only-lonely-star — send a dm or ask to be added ]

[cozm1xxx]

⟢ ꒰ ⋮ 「 Chapter two:

The Sycamore Tree 」 ⸝⸝

“Her and that dumb sycamore tree.”

“I could sit up there for hours.”

warnings ~ death of a family member, grief, ponyboy once again being a dick, hate the fact I needed to make Mr. Curtis a dick too for the sake of the plot🥀

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ w/c ~ 1835

a/n ~ FINALLY FINISHED THIS!!! I rlly hope yall like it <333

When Ponyboy entered the seventh grade, he was expecting changes. Everyone was. A new school to memorize, new people, more classes, and – as their teachers had so colorfully described – “changes in you.”

He was not excited for health class.

But the biggest change, by far, didn’t even happen at school.

“Darry! Soda! Pony!” His mother’s warm voice calls from the kitchen. “Come downstairs, me and your father have something we need to tell you.”

The sound of three pairs of footsteps hurry down the stairs, each of the boys coming out of their bedrooms at the seemingly urgent news.

“If you tell them that I broke the window, I’m telling them about how you had Sandy over when they were out!” Ponyboy mutters to Soda as he passes him.

Of course, they all think they’re in trouble – it's only natural. ~ But it soon becomes apparent that this isn’t about them getting in trouble. Their father isn’t standing with his arms folded, their mother has that soft look on her face, and neither of them look mad or upset.

“Boys, me and your father have something to tell you.” Their mom begins.

“It isn’t anything bad. At least, to us.” Their dad adds, glancing at their mother.

She takes a deep breath, then rips off the bandaid.

“My dad – your grandfather – is coming to live with us.”

All three boys stand there, eyes wide, shocked by this new piece of information.

“Wait– what? Why??” Soda blurts, looking between his parents in confusion.

“He’s getting old and refuses to go to a retirement home, so he’ll be living with us.” 

Darry, Soda and Ponyboy stand there, shocked by this. Their grandpa? Living with them? Seriously?

Which is why Ponyboy now finds himself in a particularly awkward situation. 

See, his grandpa isn’t like most others. He doesn’t tell him and his brothers stories of his youth or tries to bond. No, he just sits there.

That’s right, he sits there. Doing nothing but looking out their front window.

 What’s up with that?

But then, in the eighth grade – and out of nowhere – he started asking about you.

“Ponyboy. Come, sit.” He suddenly said one day, patting the space next to him on the couch.

“Huh?” 

“Tell me about her.” He points to his newspaper, where your photo is right on the front: there you are, sitting in that tree you so terribly love.

You and your stupid, insufferable sycamore tree.

“God, where do I even begin? Her and that dumb tree. Nobody ever got why she was so in love with it. All throughout our childhoods, she was obsessed with it – climbing it, reading in iy or even just sitting there – and she even tried roping me into it! Like hellI was gonna go anywhere near that ugly thing. It was a sorry excuse for a mutant, gnarly tangle of branches trying to call itself a tree.”

He recalls a time when you’d been up in the tree, waiting for the bus. When you jumped down, a smirk spread across your lips.

“I think the tree looks particularly beautiful in this light? Don’t you?”

He’d responded with a snarky comment about its ugliness. And your response?

“You’re just visually challenged. I feel sorry for you.”

Visually challenged? This, coming from the girl whose house was the joke of the neighborhood!

The grass was always overgrown and weeds were everywhere; it bugged his father especially. Backhanded comments were always made about your father and your yard, though, never to your face.

“Her? She– She’s just stubborn! And– and pushy! Beyond belief, let me tell you! She’s basically been stalking me since we moved here!” Ponyboy rambled.

His grandpa simply smiled.

“Read this. Without prejudice.” He hands Pony the paper.

Like hell that was gonna happen.

He ended up stuffing it in his desk drawer.

But then it all changed.

One morning, Ponyboy and Curly were walking to the bus stop, as they typically  do. He doesn’t remember what they were talking about, up until they heard yelling a handful of meters.

“Come on, girl. You’re trespassing! Just come on down!” A deep, masculine voice yells up into the tree.

“What–?! N-No!” A frantic, female voice then calls back. Your voice.

A white truck with some construction company logo is parked in the grass. Beside it stand four men, all in uniform and holding various tools.

“What’s goin’ on?” Pony mumbles to Curly as they approach.

“Look, I’m this close to callin’ up the police. You better come down, or you’re gettin’ cut down.”

It immediately clicks in Ponyboy’s brain: they’re cutting down your tree.

“No, you can’t! Y-You— You just can’t!” He can hear the emotions you're suppressing in the tremble of your voice.

Before Pony can do really anything, the bus shows up. As much as he sympathizes with you, he won’t miss school for some tree. So, he boards the bus without another thought.

The following day, all that was left was a stump.

You didn’t come back to the bus stop after that.

Sure, you were at school, but it was like you were invisible. You didn’t raise your hand every time the teacher asked a question, you didn’t talk. You just… sat there.

And as much as Ponyboy wanted to apologize, he knew what that would mean. You’d think he's in love with you and cling to his arm like a parasite. 

So he never did.

 At least, not for a long, long while.

───〃☘︎

You‘ve always seen things differently than others.

You’re not sure why. You just do.

You don’t read a poem and feel it a waste of time. You don’t look at a sunrise and think it means nothing.

Everything means something to you.

A poem is a person’s deepest and most precious emotions poured out on a fragile piece of parchment. A sunrise is nature's purest representation of rebirth, of starting anew.

Nothing means nothing.

Not in your eyes.

Which is why the sycamore tree that stood in the middle of the vacant lot a couple blocks from your house was your whole world.

It wasn’t just a tree — not in your eyes. It meant something more, and for good reason.

Your brother planted it for you. Before he died.

You remember it like it was yesterday.

You were nine. He’d been sitting on the front porch with you, the sunset casting a warm glow over the entire neighborhood. 

Without a word, he pointed to the vacant lot. The one with an already large tree in the very middle.

“That’s yours,” he murmured. “The day you were born, I planted that tree. So it could grow with you. Looks like it grew a little fast, though, huh?”

He died a year later. 

He was your best friend, your first friend, the person you wanted to be like when you were older; compassionate, brave, a little scary, but kind all the while.

Now, you find yourself lost in the branches of that tree every morning. Each sunrise, appearing right before your eyes, fills you with a sense of hope. For change. For love. For anything.

“It was my spot. I could sit up there for hours on end, just thinking. Watching. I was always comfortable there, I felt like myself. My actual, real self. Other kids didn’t get the things I’d say; when I’d quote a poet or talk about something I found interesting, they’d just look at me funny. Not to say I don’t have friends — because I do — but they just… don’t get me that well.”

But one day, it all came crashing down.

You were up in the sycamore tree, waiting patiently for the bus to arrive, when you heard a loud noise below. You look down, only to see a truck parked below.

“Hey, uhm you’re not allowed to park there!” You call down.

“Whaddaya doin’ up there, girl?” A man, clad in greasy overalls and work boots, yells back.

You stare down at him, confused.

“Kid, we gotta cut this thing down.”

Your stomach drops.

“T-The tree?” You stutter out. 

“Come on, girl. You’re trespassing! Just come on down!” The annoyance in his voice grows the more stubborn you become.

“What–?! N-No!”

The other kids from school start arriving at the bus stop. Marcia, Johnny, Curly, Pony, they all stare up at you. 

“Look, I’m this close to callin’ up the police. You better come down, or you’re gettin’ cut down.”

A lump forms in your throat. They can’t cut it down. Not your tree. 

“No, you can’t! Y-You— You just can’t!” Your voice trembles with every word you speak. 

They can’t do this. 

They can’t.

You start begging. Pleading. Doing anything you can to get them to refrain from cutting down this tree.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks.

You stay up there all day. 

No matter how much they threaten to cut it down, to cut you down, you don’t move. Not when the fire trucks arrive, not when the press and police arrive. 

But then your father comes.

He was your second best friend all your life, after your brother. He understood you.

You watch as he asks the firemen to let him go to you.

“Sweetheart, you need to come down.” His voice is tense with worry.

“Daddy, please don’t make me do this. You can see everything here. You can see the whole world from up here.��� 

“No view is worth your life. Please, just come down—“

“I can’t.” 

“Sweetie, you need to let go.”

You stare at him a moment longer, tears streaming down your face, and you let go.

That was it.

You must have cried for two weeks straight.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore — not school, not friends, not food or water, nothing. 

One night, as you sat in your room at your desk, your father came in. 

“You alright?”

You don’t even glance back. “It was just a tree.”

“No, it wasn’t just a tree. Not to you.”

At that, you look back. In his hands is a large rectangular item with a sheet thrown over it. When he removes it, tears come to your eyes.

The most beautiful painting you’ve ever seen stands before you. Of a sycamore tree. Your sycamore tree. Behind it lies a sunset more magical than any you’ve ever seen.

A smile graces your lips.

“I never wanted you to forget what it felt like to be up there.”

Tears well in your eyes.

“Thank you, dad.”

You rise from your seat, arms immediately wrapping around your father’s neck.

You hang the painting right across from your bed; it’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thing you see when you go to sleep.

And once you can finally look at it without crying, you saw more than what the tree meant to you.

That was the day your view of things started changing.

The day you wondered if you still felt the way you used to about Ponyboy.

[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @johnnycadesslut @only-lonely-star @outsiderslut — send a dm or ask to be added ]

[cozm1xxx]

im BEGGING for a pt 2 of the flipped au!! ill give you two dollars and my soul

- 🍒 anon

I PROMISE YOU IM ALMOST DONE GIRL😭🙏

I’m on vacation tho so idk when exactly it’ll get done… 🥀

[cozm1xxx]

heyyyyy……I’m back and begging for more johnny content………it’s almost like he’s my favorite character………..!

────۶ৎ possesive

or... Johnny being way worse of a menace than Dallas is assumed to be.

warnings : canon-typical violence, suggestive.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: i love johnny cade so much. he's my favourite character, him and sodapop are my babies. also dallas.... i guess/j.

( 🏷 @callme-holly && @johnnycadesslut )

♱ *ೃ.⋆

Backstage after a sold-out show, the walls of the green room still pulsed faintly with the echo of the crowd outside, their voices chanting for an encore that wasn’t coming. The air was thick, heat from the stage lights clinging to your skin, the musk of sweat, leather, and cigarettes wrapping around you like a second layer. Dallas was leaning back on the couch, legs spread, beer bottle dangling from one hand, smirk already curling his mouth. You didn’t even get a chance to sit before Johnny stormed in.

You’d seen him right after shows before —eyes sharp, jaw set, knuckles tense from gripping his guitar— but tonight, something in his expression made your pulse spike. He didn’t say a damn word. Just crossed the room in long, unhurried strides and crashed into you like a wave breaking on the shore.

The kiss wasn’t sweet or careful. It was messy, wet, his teeth catching your lip, his hands finding your waist like he was scared you’d vanish if he didn’t hold tight enough. His hair was damp with sweat, his eyeliner smudged so badly it streaked down his cheekbones, and you could taste the faint tang of whiskey on his tongue.

Dallas chuckled from his spot on the couch, low and amused, tipping his beer toward you both like he was watching the best show of the night. “Jesus, Cade,” he drawled, “give the girl a second to breathe.”

Johnny ignored him completely. His mouth was everywhere — your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat — kissing like he’d been starving all night and you were the only thing that could fill him. His hands roamed under the hem of your shirt, rough fingertips dragging over your ribs, your spine arching into the touch instinctively.

You’d lost count of how many times this exact scene had played out after a gig. Everyone assumed Dallas was the one with the endless hunger, the one who’d throw you over his shoulder the second the lights went down. And while Dallas had his moments, it was always Johnny who came at you like this —intense, relentless, like the adrenaline from the stage had nowhere else to go but straight into you.

Dallas just kept watching, eyes glinting with that lazy wolfish amusement. He loved it loved seeing the so-called “quiet one” manhandle you like he owned every inch. “You know,” he said with a grin, “if the fans could see you now, Cade, their whole little fantasy world would come crashing down.”

Johnny finally broke from your mouth just long enough to shoot him a look, one sharp enough to cut glass, before dragging you back in, your back hitting the wall with a dull thud. His hips pressed flush against yours, his breath coming fast, muttering something rough and low against your ear. “Shut up,” he muttered to him, but there was no heat in it, not really.

Dallas snorted again, kicking his boots up on the coffee table like he wasn’t two seconds from enjoying the show a little too much. “Y’know, everyone’s betting I’d be the one with the stamina problem. Guess they don’t know you’ve got the highest damn libido in the Midwest.”

You let out a shaky laugh, fingers threading through Johnny’s hair, his grip on you unrelenting. Dallas wasn’t wrong —you’d lost count of how many times Johnny had crashed into you after a gig like this, still humming with leftover stage energy, using you like his own personal grounding wire.

“You’re loud for someone not doing any of the work,” Johnny finally threw back at him, words muffled against your collarbone.

Dallas tilted his head, sipping his beer, clearly entertained. “Guess I’m just here for the view, huh?” he teased, his tone all mock innocence.

Johnny’s only answer was a low, almost feral growl against your neck before sinking his teeth into your skin, making you gasp. His hands gripped your thighs, hauling you up so your legs locked around his waist, the wall supporting both of you. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against your chest, erratic and hot, as he kissed you again, messy and all-consuming.

And Dallas? Still lounging there like a king watching his favorite gladiator in the ring, smirk never faltering. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else, “never gets old.”

Johnny’s mouth dragged from your jaw back to your lips, kissing you like he was trying to brand the shape of your mouth into his memory. When he broke away, his voice was low, rough with heat.

“Mine.” His hands slid down, gripping your ass with enough force to make you gasp. “This ass is mine.” He squeezed again, harder, before grinding his hips forward so you could feel just how much he meant it.

Dallas gave a short bark of laughter, shaking his head, “Here he goes…”

Johnny ignored him, his hands roaming higher, shoving your shirt up until your bra was exposed. He cupped you through the lace, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, and his smirk sharpened when you shivered. “These tits—” he leaned in, mouthing at them through the fabric before snapping the strap against your shoulder, “—these are mine too.”

“Christ, Cade,” Dallas muttered, eyes flicking between you two like he was at a private peep show. “You’re gonna scare the poor girl.”

You just laughed breathlessly, because this was Johnny —your Johnny— and there wasn’t a thing about his possessiveness that scared you. If anything, it made your stomach twist in that addictive way you’d never quite admit out loud.

Johnny kissed you again, messy and urgent, and then glanced back at Dallas, eyes narrowing. “She’s mine. You hear me?”

Dallas grinned, tipping his beer toward him. “Loud and clear, kid. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna borrow her every now and then.”

Johnny’s grip on you tightened like a warning, but you both knew how it worked. Dallas was part of the equation, even if he wasn’t yours the way Johnny was. He’d kiss you, fuck you, then turn around and do the same to Johnny, and nobody got jealous because everyone knew where the lines were. And the lines always circled back to you and Johnny.

Dallas stood finally, setting his beer down on the table. He strolled over casually, the same lazy swagger he had on stage. He stopped just behind Johnny, leaning down so his mouth brushed Johnny’s ear. “You get real hot when you’re like this,” he murmured, smirking when Johnny stiffened for a second before relaxing again. Then Dallas’s hand was on your hip, fingers brushing yours where they rested against Johnny’s side.

Johnny growled low in his throat but didn’t push him away, keeping his mouth on yours even as Dallas’s lips found your shoulder.

It was messy, unhurried chaos —Johnny’s hands gripping you like you might vanish, Dallas’s mouth pressing slow, deliberate kisses down the side of your neck. The dynamic never changed: Johnny was the one who claimed, who bit and growled and called you his; Dallas was the one who poked at those boundaries just enough to make Johnny dig his heels in deeper.

“Tell him,” Johnny muttered against your mouth, his tone commanding.

“Tell him what?” you asked, breath hitching when his hands slid under your skirt.

“That you’re mine,” he said, voice like gravel, eyes hard on yours.

You looked over Johnny’s shoulder at Dallas, whose smirk had only widened. “I’m his,” you said simply, and Johnny kissed you again like it sealed the deal, like the whole damn world needed to hear it.

Dallas chuckled, leaning back just enough to watch you both, eyes glinting. “Yeah, yeah. Yours. Until I get bored and take you both for a spin again.”

Johnny only growled again, his lips never leaving yours, his hands claiming every inch of you like he could imprint his touch into your skin. And Dallas just kept watching, amused and maybe a little bit turned on, “Man, it’s like watching a dog guard a steak,”

Johnny let you slide down off his waist, but only so he could spin you around and bend you over the table, his chest pressed flush against your back. His hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough for him to mouth along your jaw. “Laugh all you want, Dal,” Johnny said, voice low and lethal, “but she’s mine. Not yours. Not theirs. Mine.” Then he looked back at you, pressing his hips against the back of yours. “Say it.”

You swallowed, your own voice coming out in a shaky whisper. “Yours.”

Dallas chuckled again, standing now, sauntering over like he had all the time in the world. “Cade, you’re wound tighter than your damn guitar strings.” He leaned against the table beside you, looking between the two of you with that lazy, cocky expression. “You gonna let me in on this, or you hoggin’ all the fun tonight?”

Johnny didn’t even glance at him. “You can watch.”

Dallas raised his eyebrows. “Just watch?”

“Yeah,” Johnny said, his grip on your hip tightening. “You get your turn tomorrow. She’s mine.”

Dallas just laughed, leaning down to press a slow, teasing kiss to your lips anyway —because he always pushed boundaries— before pulling back with a wicked glint in his eye. “Fine, kid. Do your thing. I’ll just enjoy the view.”

And he did, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed, grin never fading, while Johnny kissed you dumb.

[cozm1xxx]

۶ৎ 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥 .. *ೃ.

the outsiders GLAMROCK BAND! au !! an au in which the Curtis Gang decided to form a band and actually got hella succesful with it, is it for the hearthrobs playing the strings of both guitars and heart's alike or is it for the voices on the mics?

( SODAPOP CURTIS ) back-up singer !!

his hobby seems to be defying the male steriotypes. Long hair is common amongst rock stars, but wearing two small pigtails and a red plaid skirt to match certainly isn't! However, it seems like his fans —male and female alike— don't really mind as long as he puts on a show with it. who knows if he's wearing panties under it, too?

( PONYBOY CURTIS ) songwriter & keyboardist !!

he might be the youngest out of his brothers, and he might be the youngest in the band, but don't let his age fool you. he's not the innocent baby to be protected at all costs that fangirls make him out to be, whoever has had the pleasure to meet him —if you can even call it that— knows that this young boy has the personality to back up the songs he writes. he's a textbook meangirl!!

( JOHNNY CADE ) main vocalist & main guitar !!

this is another case of defying appearences!! as quiet as this boy might be, he is not shy at all, he's just.. well, a little bit cold. he seems to have a preference for letting other people do the talking, though he doesn't cut down with eye-rolls or side-eyes. one thing's clear, this boy doesn't waste words, and even if his smudged eyeliner would imply the contrary, he also doesn't waste tears. fans have reported him having a tender side, but guess that only applies to you if you have pretty priviledge! watch out for when Dallas and him are together, you might just be kissed real nice or chewed up and spat out by them!!

( DALLAS WINSTON ) vocalist & main guitar !!

oh my, what a sight! even though his bleached blond seems to be always badly done with black roots showing, the girls never seem to get enough of him! he doesn't really sing, he'd rather scream and growl into the microphone like some kind of possesed beast, and the girls love it. he's a player through and through, don't be fooled by any sweet words or promises, all his laids have confirmed to have been told just the very same. he likes messing around, specially if there's a pretty face to match the tits. he probably has the highest body count alongside his buddy, Two-Bit!

( STEVE RANDLE ) drummer !!

he's the toughest looking, but from what fans tell he's also probably the most approachable after Soda and Dallas! don't let his resting bitch face intimidate you, though you better not get into a fight with him because this drummer has strenght! from what's been collected through interviews and gatherings with the group, he's the chillest out of all of them, he's commented a few times on how he'd rather have a good ole jack daniels in the hotel than go out partying and skirt-chasing, that's not to say a lot of fans haven't been proven just what his hands are good at apart from drumming!

( TWO-BIT MATTHEWS ) bassist !!

the most troublesome out of the group, Two-Bit. Nobody knows his real name, except for his buddies and a very few lucky girls who got to moan it backstage. he's usually the culprit behind any alcohol being sneaked backstage or into parties and is a real party animal! if you so happen to have a big, nice, house and decide to throw an after-party after one of their concerts.. you can bet your life he is going to be there! he's a fan of Mickey Mouse, through and through, might he be searching for a Minnie Mouse?

( DARRY CURTIS ) manager !!

managers aren't easily recognised in the music industry, specially rock, but one as hot as he is for sure is to be! a band of hearthrobs ruled by a very own of their kind. if the band members are for young fangirls to obsess about, then mr. curtis might aswell be the object of desire for the older ones!

[cozm1xxx]

idk if this is meant to be characters u relate to or not but :P

no pressure tags : @jamesdeanbby @r0seb100d @only-lonely-star @silentstvr

tag game!!

I found a tag game on twitter and decided why not include everybody here on the fun. Post 4 characters you would be in another universe

Me in another universe:

Npt: @i-promise-i-am-not-on-drugs @pythoness94 @purple-racoon-80 @robintheoriedbyler @bylrr-fridge @bylerfiles @unwise-cleric @star-41306 @cleric-byers7 @sykatz @swiftlyconehead @the-bogginses-are-gay @oncamelliastreet @rainebasillovesbyler @elhopper1sm @elhopperentourage @lorax-devito @apurplesloth + anybody else <3

[cozm1xxx]

guys my cousin’s adorable cat is sleeping on me and I’ve never been happier

[cozm1xxx]

hii francis!! i hope you enjoy your vacation!!!

- 🍒 anon

tysm I am!! I’m actually watching south park with my family! (and grandma….)

[cozm1xxx]

maybe some hcs of ponyboy dating johnny or dal's younger sister? your writing is amazing btw 💗💗

⟢ ꒰ ⋮ 「 dating dally's sister hcs 」 ⸝⸝

aka: hcs of ponyboy dating dallas ’ precious baby sister!

warnings ~ mostly fluff, teenage awkwardness, dally being overprotective

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ w/c ~ 682

a/n ~ guess who’s going on vacation soon and may not have time to write…! (I'll finally finish flipped au chapter two)

▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။|||| now playing Lovers Rock, TV Girl

[ ⊹ - first of all, Pony did NOT know you were dally’s sister; you’re just too sweet to be related to a hoodlum like him!

[ ⊹ - you met in his english class, obv

Ponyboy walked gingerly towards your desk, hands fidgeting as his sides. The teacher just had to assign partners this time. However, the moment he sits down beside you, his nerves completely melt away. You’re sweet, charming, gentle and exactly his type. And lucky for him, you want to come over that night to work on the project.

[ ⊹ - so that night, Pony ensured that NOBODY came over. no two-bit teasing him, no steve and soda roughhousing, no dally smoking and being annoying, and — as much as he loves him — no Johnny third-wheeling.

[ ⊹ - from that moment on, you two are inseparable. though, it takes a fat minute for y’all to actually start dating.

[ ⊹ - for a while, you’re just going on what would be described as ‘dates’ but ‘as friends.’

[ ⊹ - it’s all really cute stuff though: the drive-in, going to the diner, even just walking around town!

[ ⊹ - he does make a massive effort to keep you away from the gang though… (more on that later)

[ ⊹ - the day you get together, he’s sweating BALLS.

Never in his life was Pony more nervous — not for a test, not even for a track meet. He wipes his damp palms on his jeans, chewing his lip utterly raw as he sits by your side. The sunset casts a warm glow across the whole town, making everything seem to shine — especially you. He stares down at you, utterly enthralled. You look like a goddess. Your soft skin, beautiful eyes and pink lips; it sets his head spinning; this it. He suddenly blurts out a confession, his cheeks going a deep shade of pink at his own words. He regrets it immediately —  until you lean forwards and press your lips to his.

[ ⊹ - after that, he’s nothing short of a whipped mess. 

[ ⊹ - constant kisses are exchanged in passing; on the cheek, nose, forehead, lips, anywhere he can reach in the moment. 

[ ⊹ - when he finally shows you off to the gang, dally isn’t there —thank god.

[ ⊹ - though, that doesn't mean he isn't being teased relentlessly...

"Wow-ee, baby Curtis is finally stepping up his game, huh?!" "Two-Bit please shut your goddamn mouth." "Awh, don't be shy, Pony! Tell us about her! Is she cute??" "Soda, for the love of all that's holy, shut up."

[ ⊹ - but one day, you two are working on homework at the kitchen table, when the man himself enters the house. 

[ ⊹ - immediately, he’s shocked to see you by pony’s side. 

“… what the fuck are you doin’ with him?” “Pony? He’s… literally my boyfriend, dal…?” “BOYFRIEND—?!”

[ ⊹ - poor ponyboy nearly had a heart attack :(((

[ ⊹ - finally, though, he connects the dots on you and dally’s relation; you have the same nose, face shape, eye shape, all that wonderful shit.

“He’s seriously related to you?!” “Yeah, why?” “… how the hell is that possible… you’re so sweet…”

[ ⊹ - it takes a small bit of convincing (you giving dally puppy dog eyes for two seconds), for him to approve and promise not to jump ponyboy for dating his baby sister.

[ ⊹ - though, that doesn’t stop him from watching you like hawks.

[ ⊹ - if you’re hanging out at his place, he forces you to keep the door wide open and he’ll check in every, like, ten minutes.

[ ⊹ - if he’s over while you’re at the curtis place, he’s ALWAYS checking in on y’all — every chance he can.

“Hands to yourself, Ponyboy!” “I’M LITERALLY JUST HOLDING HER HAND!?!?”

[ ⊹ - but even as overprotective as he is, dally is happy his beloved baby sister got with a boy like pony — smart, generous, empathetic— and not someone like him.

[ ⊹ - y’all always end up sneaking around so dally and darry aren’t constantly looking over your shoulders

[ ⊹ - once he can drive, he takes out on dates outside of town so you can get some alone time.

[ ⊹ - he goes to you after rumbles so you can patch him up :3

[ ⊹ - in short, you guys are the cutest couple in tulsa <333

[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @johnnycadesslut @only-lonely-star — send a dm or ask to be added ]

[cozm1xxx]

tyy @marilyn-girly and @jamesdeanbby <33

no pressure tags: @saturns-peachy-honeymoon @silentstvr @only-lonely-star

fun tagging game!! go onto this picrew and make yourself<333

non-pressure tags!!

( 🏷 @callme-holly , @johnnycadesmuse , @twobitsblade , @cozm1xxx , @kahkie , @kissmeagain3 )

[cozm1xxx]

guys what do I do if I had a dream where devon bostick as rodrick heffley asked me to prom…?

[cozm1xxx]

જ⁀➴𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖊

ᴊ. ᴄᴀᴅᴇ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ⠃``ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ⁱˢ ˢᵗᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵘʳᵗⁱˢᵉˢ', ᵃⁿᵈ ᴶᵒʰⁿⁿʸ ˢᵖᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ ᶜᵘᵈᵈˡᵉᵈ ᵘᵖ ʷⁱᵗʰ ʰᵉʳ ──꒰✉️꒱ ❞ ‧₊˚ ᵂᴬᴿᴺᴵᴺᴳ⠃ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ˢⁱᶜᵏ?? ᵃᐟⁿ⠃ ᴰᴱᴰᴵᶜᴬᵀᴱᴰ ᵀᴼ ᴹʸ ⁽ᶜᵘʳʳᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ˢⁱᶜᵏ⁾ ᴾᴬᴸ @demziclezꜝ ᴬˡˢᵒ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᶠⁱᶜ, ˡᵉᵗ'ˢ ᵍᵒᵒꜝꜝ ᵂᶜ⠃ ⁹⁸⁰ꜝ

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

“You need anything, you wake any one of us up, alright?” Darry says to you, passing you a cup of water and some medicine, “Take that, it'll help you sleep. I'll see you in the morning, kid.”

You did as he said and took the medicine, then set the half-full cup onto the coffee table in front of you before lying down. The ache and pain you were feeling right now was abysmal, and any way you moved made it worse, but at least you were on the Curtises' comfy couch. You had been sick for the past few days, and as a result, hadn't left your bed; well, that was until some of your friends had gone snooping around your place when your parents weren't home. And since your parents weren’t taking care of you, Darry stepped up, despite telling him countless times that you were fine. That’s how you ended up here.

The television was left on just for you with the volume turned down low, even though you weren't watching it. You had your back to it, and instead were looking out the window just above the couch. The trees sway and the leaves dance in the wind, as if it's music, cars lazing past creating a stroke of color on the canvas of the night sky. And after a few minutes, through the wind and trees and cars, your eyes find a certain someone as they saunter up to the front porch with slouched shoulders. Johnny.

He had always been your favorite, no offence to the rest of the gang. But Johnny always got you like no one else did, when no one else did. The closer you two got, the more you found yourself falling for him. And, naturally, seeing him came with butterflies in your stomach, blush flushing your cheeks, and the feeling that if you even brought up the idea of a relationship to him, you’d lose him forever, even if you knew Johnny wasn’t like that. But now, in your current sickly, delirious state, any and all fear melted away.

The door opens, and a freezing gust of air fills and swirls through the room. Just as soon as it started, it ended, and the door shut with a squeak of the old hinges. But that was enough to send a shiver down and back up your spine, forcing you to feel your achy and tired bones for a moment. Johnny’s eyes automatically shift over towards the couch that you were lying on, huddled up in a plethora of blankets and pillows. The corners of his eye soften upon seeing you staring back at him, only this time, he isn’t met with your lively gaze. Instead, he sees the bags under your eyes and nothing where there should’ve been a lively light.

His voice was soft, but sure, “Hey, how ya feeling?” He crouches down next to you, and you slowly and agonizingly roll over to face him.

You answer him with a hum that tells him you do not feel good in any way, shape, or form. He silently nods his head. He didn’t know why he even asked in the first place; it was obvious how you felt at the moment.

”Can I do anything? You know, to help?” He quietly asked, “I— I could get you snacks an—”

You cut him off.

”—Can you just stay with me?” Johnny’s eyes widened a little, and the tips of his ears went pink. Had he heard you right? “Please? Just tonight?”

How could he say no to you? Normally, he never could, but especially not now. Not while you were ill and bundled up in god knows how many blankets. Not while you, a girl he thought he was hopelessly pining over, were looking at him like he hung the stars and moon by hand. So, he wordlessly stood up, took off his old jean jacket and beat to shit shoes, and left both by the door. Your eyes follow him, and you can’t help but admire him, even as he does something as mundane as hanging up his jacket.

Before he’s even anywhere near the sofa, your back is pressed up against the backrest, trying to give him as much room on the already small couch. For a moment, your body feels cold as your pile of blankets is lifted just enough so Johnny could slip underneath. At first, it’s a little cramped and uncomfortable, but as your arms snake around his neck and his arm drapes itself over your waist, you couldn’t have been happier. And as much as you try to suppress a smile, Johnny catches you with your lips curled into a small, but love-struck smile, which he mirrors.

“What’s got you so happy all the sudden? Thought you felt horrible...” He lightly teases, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb anyone but you.

”I do… but I think you help,” You yawn, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, “You’re mighty sweet, you know that? You could get sick…”

Johnny mumbles under his breath, ”Who cares if I get sick…” While his parents might not care, you did, and so did the gang. “Besides, I’m tough, I’ll be alright. I ain’t gonna get sick spending one night with you.”

”If you say so,” You quickly reply, pulling yourself impossibly closer to him, and mumble, “I wasn’t exactly planning on letting you go, anyway.”

Johnny thanked just about every god that it was almost pitch black in the living room. He could feel his face get hot and red, and he hoped that you couldn’t feel his heartbeat speeding up. Of course, you could, but for his sake, you didn’t let him know that. After that, the conversation never picks back up, and you end up falling asleep like that, your bodies comfortably pressed together, hearts beating in time.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹

ᵃᐟⁿ⠃ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠⁱʳˢᵗ ᶠⁱᶜ ᴵ'ᵛᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗᵗᵉⁿ ⁱⁿ ˡⁱᵏᵉ ⁴ ʸʳˢ, ˢᵒᶻ ⁱᶠ ⁱᵗ ˢᵘᶜᵏˢ, ᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵘⁱⁿᵉˡʸ ᶜᵃⁿ'ᵗ ᵗᵉˡˡ, ˢᵒ ᵖˡᶻ ᵇᵉ ⁿⁱᶜᵉꜝꜝ ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒ ʰᵒᵖᵉᶠᵘˡˡʸ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉ ⁱᵐᵖʳᵒᵛᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ

~𝓢𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓵𝔂 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼, 𝓤𝓻𝓕𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓝𝓮𝓻𝓭 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

[cozm1xxx]

⟢ ꒰ ⋮ 「 modern!gang hcs! 」 ⸝⸝

warnings ~ substance use, underage drinking, nothing too terrible

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ⊹ w/c ~ 1029

a/n ~ I’m aware this isn’t rlly “x reader” but just needed to do something small to get me writing again :P

Darry

[ ⊹ - one time at a party in his senior year, he drank too much and threw up in someone’s bushes. also lost his boxers… somehow. none of his other clothes, just his underpants. never needed up figuring that out.

[ ⊹ - did a kissing booth one time for/with his football team, made the most money.

[ ⊹ - can DESTROY a plate of spaghetti, it’s literally his favorite food ever and reminds him of his grandmother.

[ ⊹ - scars everywhere from childhood endeavors.

[ ⊹ - listens to podcasts…

[ ⊹ - once threatened to take two-bit’s mom to prom… he didn’t like that very much.

[ ⊹ - collects tons of signed sports merch, sells the stuff from people he doesn’t like/care for and makes way too much money.

[ ⊹ - always wears a silver locket he got from his mother.

[ ⊹ - loves milk. 

[ ⊹ - dresses very much like a gym bro — tank tops, grey sweatpants, t-shirts, the usual. though he wishes he could dress more stylish and like an actual 20 year old college kid.

───〃★

Sodapop

[ ⊹ - despite pulling hella girls, he ends up coming on too strong and scaring them off.

[ ⊹ - terrible at every subject except — somehow — chemistry. 

[ ⊹ -  has all of his old stuffed animals in a box under his bed.

[ ⊹ - still loves horseback riding, still loves mickey

[ ⊹ - also still a dropout…

[ ⊹ - works at a car workshop, actually makes good money too.

[ ⊹ - unironically watches bluey like it’s the news.

[ ⊹ - owns a bibble tapestry

[ ⊹ - tiktok famous; known very prominently from being a hot guy in 2020

[ ⊹ - I’m so sorry but I feel like he’d dress like a performative man… but he pulls it off WAY too well. either that, or he’s the most plain looking man alive.

───〃★

Ponyboy

[ ⊹ - needs braces BAD. like his teeth don’t even look fuck d up like steve’s are but he has an overbite. wanted to die after he got them on and cried for a day straight.

[ ⊹ - absolutely LOATHES shakespeare. if he’s compared to him in any way, he throws a massive fit.

[ ⊹ - however, he also thinks that poetry posted on pinterest or tumblr is what should be taught in schools.

[ ⊹ - ao3 warrior. also a pinterest warrior. hates snapchat.

[ ⊹ - writes poems in his notes app and they’re absolutely amazing, but he’s terrified to show anyone.

[ ⊹ - avid mac demarco and adrianne lenker listener, also has an obscene amount of minutes listened on his spotify wrapped that makes the other members of the gang fear him. 

[ ⊹ - actually has a couple girls from his English class crushing on him; they think his smartness combined with obliviousness is way too cute. he has zero clue, but the others can tell.

[ ⊹ - apple juice lover, he could go through an entire gallon sized jug of it in one day.

[ ⊹ - loud and proud sara j mas, colleen hoover and neil gaiman hater <3

[ ⊹ - wardrobe consists of flannels, scuffed jeans, converse dirtied beyond recognition, band tees and never matching socks.

───〃★

Dallas

[ ⊹ - everybody at their high school thinks he’s hot — boys and girls alike — but his loud and abrasive personality keeps the ladies away from him…

[ ⊹ - has oddly proper hygiene… like he might use three-in-one shampoo, but he also has a seven step skincare routine and has flawless skin.

[ ⊹ - collects cassettes, vinyls and CD’s and honestly prefers it over spotify.

[ ⊹ - loves to accuse people of being posers.

[ ⊹ - “name five songs!” is said to anyone wearing a band tee.

[ ⊹ - doesn’t read much, but when he does, it always ends up being books that destroy him — The Song of Achilles, Little Women, The Hunger games. never shows it though.

[ ⊹ - has a fortnite obsession.

[ ⊹ - total punk fan, listens to too many underground bands, but he also loves rap (sometimes)

[ ⊹ - constantly brags about having lived in new york.

[ ⊹ - let’s all face it, he’d have style. I personally love the idea of punk dally, but he’d probably have it toned down slightly. leather jackets, band tees, ripped jeans, jewelry, cut up shirts, all that wonderful jazz!

───〃★

Johnny

[ ⊹ - opposite to dally: he ABSOLUTELY pulls. like, it’s sort of terrifying how much people crush on him. everyone sees him as this angelic, beautiful man and everyone wants him. his mysterious demeanor only heightens this.

[ ⊹ - dyslexic. severely dyslexic. terrible handwriting, too.

[ ⊹ - he sucks at english, because of his dyslexia, but is oddly amazing at math and earth science or chemistry. idk man he just has those vibes.

[ ⊹ - secretly sells weed, gets it from curly and angela shepard.

[ ⊹ - his mother is an Italian immigrant and his dad is native — nobody can convince me otherwise. also has a hooked nose (I credit this to ms. nutsackx, the best outsiders artist ever imo)

[ ⊹ - stray cats cling to him 24/7, he’s named each one and also feeds them.

[ ⊹ - volunteers at the local animal shelter, but wants to work in the foster system/CPS.

[ ⊹ - kind of a picky eater…

[ ⊹ - top tier deftones fan, also listens to lots of dad rock… but also is a clairo/mitski

[ ⊹ - very into skater/street wear fashion. baggy jeans, loose t-shirts, sneakers, but he HATES the idea of sagging his pants, like it actually pisses him off so much. lowkey wants to dress like kurt cobain.

───〃★

Steve

[ ⊹ - I feel like he’d love the weeknd and childish gambino

[ ⊹ - late-night street racer, never gets caught.

[ ⊹ - works at the car shop with soda, they goof off way too much for their own good. 

[ ⊹ - insecure about his nose :((

[ ⊹ - however, girls flirt with him way more often than he ever picks up on at their job.

[ ⊹ - honestly jealous of soda’s looks.

[ ⊹ - divorced dad music kinda guy.

[ ⊹ - MASSIVE south park fan, randy is his fav character.

[ ⊹ - lactose intolerant. extremely lactose intolerant.

[ ⊹ - dresses very simply: plain t-shirts, jeans, a hoodie, the occasional band tee, nothing special.

───〃★

Two-Bit

[ ⊹ - loves his baby sister to absolute bits; would do anything for her.

[ ⊹ - chatgpt warrior.

[ ⊹ - genuinely hadn’t read a book since elementary school.

[ ⊹ - LOVES horror movies so much, it’s his favorite kind of media.

[ ⊹ - always ripping on steve💔

[ ⊹ - hotdogs are his favorite food in the world.

[ ⊹ - he and dally get high together every wednesday, april 20th is like christmas to them.

[ ⊹ - can and will fuck up a thing of applesauce.

[ ⊹ - entered a hot-dog eating contest one time, threw up after the fifth one.

[ ⊹ - similar to dally, dresses more punk/grunge. baggy jeans, converse, large shirts, all that goodness.

[ 🏷️ : @r0seb100d @whitemanswh0r3 @marilyn-girly @dallysdolly444 @johnnycadesslut @only-lonely-star — send a dm or ask to be added . divider by @uzmacchiato ]