#dally fanfic

[augustinapril]

Hi silly little guy!!!!

Can I requesttttt a Dallas Winston x Gn!reader who can’t handle PDA but absolutely obsesses over him? Like maybe Dally’s confused as to why R doesn’t want to do anything in public but is all over him when they’re alone :)??

I did this in the form of headcanons, I hope that’s okay!! Thank you for sending this in, ilysm!! You guys should go follow him because they also write!! Nor proofread. Requests are open! <3

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I think Dally would enjoy how you’re not as physically affectionate in public being I don’t think he’s that big into PDA either

He might think it’s a little weird at first though. And it’s not because he thinks you’re weird, but I feel like in his past relationships his other s/o’s were much touchier in public

Like Sylvia was constantly on him in public, especially with the more information you get on her in the book. She was just a bad gf so he definitely sees you not being as touchy in public as a welcome change!!

You two are so similar in that because he would love the d that you’re so much touchier in private because he definitely prefers it that way

And it’s not that he’s ashamed of you or anything, and he knows you’re not ashamed of him either, it’s just that he isn’t as comfortable with hugs and suck in public

He’s all over you when you’re alone as well. Just like he’s more open to giving you kisses and hugging and everything in private

You two cuddle on his bed at Buck’s ALL the time !! He enjoys sharing those moments with you when no one else is around because he feels like it shows a more vulnerable, emotional side of him

He thinks hugs and everything are visible proof that he loves you and he’s not too comfortable with people being able to genuinely see his emotions and stuff if that makes sense?

He just prefers his privacy and having this tuff guy facade to the public. He still has the tuff guy facade in private but he’s also more open about himself with you and very open about touching you and stuff

So an s/o who’s like this would be a really good match for Dallas, he would definitely love it.

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Thank you for reading, even though they weren’t long!! Reblogs appreciated!!

[seasideoranges]

I genuinely think the premise for the ATLA show is so cool, and it kinda sucks to see people already dump on it when there is *so little* known about it besides the one summary that we got.

ANYWAYS it seems that they’re taking inspiration from the very first concept of ATLA which had that futuristic, post-apocalyptic vibe (shown in concept art below) and I am really eager to see how they tackle that in the new show!

[quizzicalwriter]

dally winston x virgin!reader who asks her boyfriend dally to be her first time

Sweet Thing

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Intimacy, intimacy, intimacy.

Warnings: Smut. MDNI. Kissing, touching, fingering. Inexperienced and slightly innocent reader. Loss of virginity.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 2.8k (I got carried away.)

You’d always been Dallas’s favorite preoccupation, distracting him from everything else in life. The sweet thing he carted around whenever he hung around with the boys or found himself in the drunken den that was Buck’s on a Saturday night. You’d be there, propped on his lap with his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

Not that you didn’t have anything to say besides sitting there, hell, the guys loved you. You could hold your own when it came to their wit and it made you a worthy companion for Dallas in their eyes, not to mention your inexplicable ability to put up with his shit when nobody else had before - or seemingly nobody else had been given the chance.

Normally Dallas would’ve gone for girls at the drive-in, greaser girls, or any woman he could get his hands on or who could handle his banter for longer than a minute without giving him the back of their hand. You weren’t one of them, and frankly, that terrified Dallas. There was a part of him that wanted to pull away, push you away in hopes that he’d save himself the pain of heartbreak later on he’d convinced himself he’d suffer. But he always stopped himself whenever you found yourself in his arms, gazing up at him with your doe-like eyes.

It was a difficult thing, Dallas being intimate. He was born and raised in a constant battle for survival, not showing love or producing it, but you made it easy. The longer you two had been together the longer he found himself wanting to keep you close, protect you from dangers he seemed to see everywhere. The worries you once had about him leaving eventually faded, the look in his eyes as he gazed at you whenever you laid in his arms far outweighed any ill thoughts you’d suffered with.

The only way you could describe it was ardent, laced with a deep desire that you’d never seen before in his brown eyes. A deep desire that would show itself in the bounds of the night after the two of you had disappeared together, culminating in you on his lap in his bed, hips rocking together as he kissed along your throat and down onto your chest. Or with your legs wrapped loosely around his hips, him grinding into you, you whispering sweet moans into his mouth spurring him on to do more, touch you more, please you more.

Dallas never pushed, he was always understanding whenever you pulled away. Of course, he’d have to adjust himself in his jeans, but he’d quickly pull you to his chest and press delicate kisses along your face, murmuring how much you mean to him, something he didn’t dare do in front of others. That side of Dallas was for you, nobody else, so you treasured it whenever he showed it.

On one particular Saturday night in the midst of autumn, you found yourself propped up against Dallas’s side on one of the couches in Buck’s bar, legs bent up at your chest as you fiddled with frayed denim at the end of your pant leg. Dallas was in a debate with a random man, someone he seemed to know well enough to bullshit with, talking about how the two had snagged something good off a rich man’s car not too long ago.

If it hadn’t been for the incessant country music Buck played when it rounded two in the morning you’d likely have fallen asleep against Dallas, but the occasional jump of a new song kept you jerking awake, a tired pout situating itself on your features as you rested your cheek against Dallas’s shoulder.

“Looks like your miss is real tired.” The man stated, taking a long puff from his cigar before gesturing toward you with the end of it, a snicker following his words as he propped himself up against the end of his pool cue. Dallas quirked a brow, looking down at you where you were tucked into his side with a hidden smile.

“Guess she is.” He murmured, not saying anything more beyond that before moving to prop himself up straighter, hand smoothing down your back as he looked down at you. “Tired?”

You weren’t tired, tired. More so bored, the constant scent of smoke and alcohol wasn’t helping the boredom or the budding headache in the back of your skull. But knowing if you said anything other than ‘yes’ at that moment would result in another hour downstairs, you nodded, feigning a yawn as you let your eyes flutter deceptively.

Dallas caught on, but he didn’t say anything. Instead choosing to click his tongue against his teeth as he played along, shrugging as he moved to stand. “I’ll see you later, man.” He stated, causing the older man to shrug himself before dispersing off into the crowd. Dallas turned to you, helping you to your feet before leading you up the stairs.

“Lyin’ is a sin, y’know that right?” He chuckled out, quiet enough for only you to hear as he nudged open his bedroom door with the toe of his shoe, causing you to laugh yourself and avert your gaze from his as you moved into the familiar room.

“Didn’t lie.” You mumbled out, another pout crossing your lips as you kicked off your shoes, making your way to his bed. “Real tired, Dally.”

“Sure, doll.” He snickered from the corner of the room as you made yourself comfortable on the bed, the familiar metallic clang of his belt hitting the wooden floor echoing throughout the room soon after.

He moved beside you then, letting out a sigh as he wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling your back flush with his chest. The sound of country music and clattering pool balls still echoed from downstairs, but the only thing you could bring yourself to focus on was the feeling of Dallas’s knee between your legs.

It was an innocent move, both of you slept with your legs intertwined, it felt comfortable given how small his bed was. As he shifted to get more comfortable his knee pressed harder against your clothed cunt, causing your cheeks to flush red as you choked back a whine. Dallas stiffened, breath catching in his throat as he took a moment to gauge your reaction before moving his knee again.

“Dal-“ You whined, hand moving down in between your legs as you buried your face into the pillow you two shared, his scent lingering heavily on the fabric doing nothing to quell the growing ache between your legs.

“What, doll? Feel good?” He whispered, words ghosting across the nape of your neck, causing your back to arch involuntarily as you slowly nodded. His hand smoothed down your front, bumping over the fabric of your shirt and jeans as he slowly moved to cup your sex, ever so gently applying pressure as he rocked himself against you.

You felt yourself soaking your underwear with arousal the longer he rutted against you, his fingers pressing against your cunt through your jeans as he did. A familiar sensation bloomed in your lower stomach, one that left you clenching your thighs around his palm as you tried to quell the growing ache.

“Gotta tell me what you want.” He whispered against the shell of your ear, trailing a litany of open-mouthed kisses along the curvature of your throat, pressure from his fingers increasing against your cunt. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, Dallas, just fuck me.” You whined, embarrassment over the prospect of voicing your needs soon being overweighed by the sheer need you felt for him, your hand moved to grasp at his forearm as you begged. “Please, Dal.”

That seemed to be all he needed as he moved to sit up on his knees, pressing another kiss to your jaw before pulling his shirt up and over his head. You laid there, lips parted as you watched him undress, feeling your blush spread from your cheeks to the top of your chest. You wanted to touch him, feel him, kiss him - so you did. You moved to sit up, folding your legs underneath yourself as you moved to press a kiss to his lips, hands moving to cup his jaw, only pulling away when you felt that familiar pull to touch him elsewhere.

You’d seen him without a shirt, but you’d never truly been able to admire him until now. Your hands wavered over his body, fingertips dipping in between the rivets of his toned skin, along healed scars, a faint bruise that still lingered under the left side of his ribcage. Above it all you found yourself fascinated with the way his chest rose with each breath and the small freckles that lined his skin. They reminded you of the ones he’d gotten from his time in the sun that plastered themselves against his cheekbones and upper shoulders.

Dallas let you look, eyes fluttering whenever your hands would drift farther south than before. You could hear him taking in shuddering breaths, chest catching every few minutes as though he were teetering on the edge of self-control. He raised his hands then, looking to you for approval before he lifted your shirt up and over your head, bundling the soft fabric in his hands before letting it fall to the floor.

You reached your hands behind yourself, unclasping your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders until your bra collapsed into your lap, exposing your breasts to him. Dallas had seen women before, he’d seen plenty, but none of them had ever had the effect you currently had on him. He felt his throat dry, brown eyes flickering between your chest and your eyes before he moved to gently lay you back against his bed, situating himself over top of you.

“You want this?” His words were hushed as his hand drifted down over your bare stomach, slowly unbuttoning your jeans as he kept his gaze locked on your face, watching for any sign of discomfort or worry. When you responded with a nod and a quiet, “I want this.” He smiled, a soft laugh leaving him as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips.

You’d envisioned losing your virginity hundreds of times, a perfect encapsulation of what sex had to be painted in your mind, vivid and blaring. But this was so different, the way Dallas was so gentle, not afraid to laugh if something awkward happened, both of you sharing the pure moment of intimacy with smiles on your face. Nothing could’ve ever prepared you for it and that somehow made it all so much better.

As he slid your jeans off your legs he smiled up at you, a soft look on his face as he tossed the denim to the floor, moving back up to place another languid kiss to your lips. His hand moved between your thighs, fingers splaying against your cunt through your underwear, a groan passing his lips when he felt just how wet you’d become.

“Dallas, please-“ You begged, thighs trembling as he continued to tease you through your underwear. He relented, placing a gentle kiss to your jaw before moving to sit back up, slowly sliding your underwear down and off your body before discarding them to the floor as well.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, eyes wandering over your form laid in front of him, hands smoothing up and down your sides as he took it all in. “So fuckin’ beautiful, doll.”

You watched with bated breath as he slipped his jeans off, kicking his boxers off along with them. His length was bigger than you’d anticipated, only having felt the shape of it when you’d ground down against him during your frequent make-out sessions. As if sensing your apprehension he moved back over you, hand moving to cup your cheek as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“It won’t hurt, alright? We’ll take it slow, real slow.” He whispered, voice soothing as he helped you to wrap your legs around his hips, your heels subtly digging into the flesh of his lower back. He smiled down at you, eyes voicing a silent question if you were alright to which you quickly nodded back, a smile upon your face as well.

He braced himself on his arm, face close to yours as he slid a hand down between you, helping to guide himself inside before sliding his fingers up to slowly circle your clit. A moan left you at the feeling, leaving you clenching around his tip, the feeling causing him to bite back a grunt as he slowly began pushing in.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He groaned out, brows screwing together as he pushed himself to the hilt inside of your welcoming cunt, pausing in his movements to give you a chance to grow used to the feeling. “Doin’ so good, baby, so good.”

You’d heard horror stories from your friends, tales of how their first time had been painful and rushed, but this felt the complete opposite. While it took you a moment to grow used to the feeling of him inside of you, it was an incredibly welcome feeling. You could feel yourself clenching down around him, his fingers circling your clit only adding to the feeling building in your stomach.

“Dal- Dal, move.” You whispered out, voice hoarse as you grasped at his shoulders, desperate for him to move. He snickered at your pleading tone, slowly pulling himself out before pushing back in, slowly and deeply fucking you as he whispered words of praise into the crook of your neck, pressing kisses against your damp skin whenever he couldn’t help but moan at the feeling of your warmth surrounding him.

You could hear your wetness coating his cock with each thrust of his hips, his fingers slick against your clit. The room was filled with the sound of skin meeting skin, broken-off moans, and whispered words. Your thighs tightened against him as he adjusted himself, lifting himself a bit, unknowingly brushing against a spot within you that you’d never known existed - one that pulled a drawn-out moan from your chest.

“Yeah?” He asked through a smirk, hand moving down to cup your hip as he pushed back into you, hitting that very same spot. You could hardly think, let alone breathe as he fucked himself into you, fingers working at your clit as he angled himself to hit that spot over, and over. “Taking me so good, doll.” He grunted out, grip tightening on your hip as he picked up his pace.

Your hand shot down to his wrist as he continued toying with your clit, eyes fluttering shut as you felt your orgasm building to its peak in your lower stomach, the feeling causing you to rock your hips in tandem with his thrusts. The look on your face was enough to make him groan, his hand moving from your hip to your jaw as he tilted your face to look at him.

“Look at me when you cum on my cock, baby.” He murmured, voice soft yet authoritative as he slammed into you. As soon as you opened your eyes he moved his hand, pressing it against your lower stomach as he continued fucking himself into you. It felt as though he were pushing you down onto him, that spot that nearly blinded you with pleasure constantly being rutted against by his cock.

All you could muster was a weak, “F-fuck,” as you came undone, back arching off the bed as you whined out his name. He didn’t stop, stifling a groan at the way you writhed beneath him as he felt his orgasm building. Once you started swatting at his fingers that still circled your clit he moved his hand, choosing to grab the other side of your hip, effectively propping you up against him as he fucked you.

The pace was near brutal, moans forced from your body as your breasts bounced with each thrust. You couldn’t focus, still reeling from your last orgasm as he continued fucking you into oversensitivity-fueled bliss. You could feel his thumbs pressing into your hipbones, short curses slipping past his lips.

“Gonna cum, baby.” He grunted, pulling out of you a second later, spilling his cum across your lower stomach. His chest heaved, cheeks flushed red as he pumped himself through his orgasm. You could only watch in a haze of your own, still catching your breath as he looked up at you, that familiar crooked smile taking over his features as he moved on top of you once more.

“Did so good, doll. Real good.” He murmured against your cheek, pressing a kiss to your skin between each sentence. “You feel alright? Need me to get you something?” He asked after a moment, a hint of concern evident in his tone that made you smile as you shook your head.

“It felt perfect, Dal. I’m alright.” You whispered back, turning over onto your side to face him, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, leaning up after to press a kiss to his waiting lips. “Perfect.”

A/N: Thank you for reading if you made it this far, or even if you just skimmed it over - either way I appreciate the interactions! As always you can find my work over on my ao3 under the user “Unscriptural.” Thank you anon for the request! (Sorry for the late posting, or early? Wherever you are? I finished editing it and didn’t want to queue it, so here is your daily scheduled reading material.)

[harrietswriting]

Hii! Could you do a dally x reader where he comes to pick her up for a date but she’s no where near ready, so he just comes up to her room to sit and watch her and looks through all her stuff and makeup? Thank you <3

an: Such a cute request thank you!! this took way too long and I don't even like it that much I'm sorry 😭 1.1k words. Please leave more requests

W: little swearing I think, flufff

Dallas Winston x fem!reader

He watches you get ready

You had woken up late.

You have a breakfast date with Dallas at 8:30 and you woke up at 8:06. You practically had a heart attack when you saw the time. Stupid alarm didn't go off! What the hell! Was it trying to sabotage your relationship? You had brushed your teeth, finished your skin care, and started to take your curlers out when your door bell rang. Oh God. You rushed to answer it. You were so embarrassed. You were panicky, flushed, in a robe, and had half of your curlers still in your hair. So, it was not a surprise to see the look of concern on your boyfriend's face when you opened the door.

"I'm so sorry! My stupid alarm didn't go off and I only woke up like 25 minutes ago," you say quickly, trying to explain your state. You felt awful.

"Woah, hey. It's fine." Dallas steps inside. "Go finished getting ready."

"It's going to take me a while." You say sadly.

"That's fine. Just means I get to spend more time with you." He says simply.

You can't help but smile. "Okay."

"Or you could just go like this. Its a great look." He teases, glancing at your hair.

You roll your eyes, but a smile is plastered on your face. "Be quiet. C'mon." You grab his hand and drag him to your bedroom. Once inside, you let go of his hand and side down at your vanity. You resume taking out your curlers.

Dallas sits down on the edge of your bed and watches you as you carefully brush you your curls then spray some hair spray on them. Then, you get out your makeup.

Dallas finds himself getting bored just watching you, so he gets up and walks over to your bookshelf. He studies the titles for a bit, recognizing books he's seen you read. You glance over at him as he opens your jewelry box and looks through it.

"What're you doing?" You ask as you watch him.

He turns his head towards you. "I don't know. Lookin'." He shrugs and turns his attention back to your jewelry. He a small smile appears on his face as he finds pieces he gave you.

"Okay." You look into your mirror again and resume blending your concealer.

Dallas fingers through your necklaces and bracelets for a few moments before getting bored again. He closes the jewelry box and walks over to you. He is about to talk to you when he spots your journal, so he picks it up and opens it.

It takes you a moment to notice what he did. "Uh- hey! That's my journal, Dallas." You reach for it, but he holds it out of your reach.

"So?" He scans a page and annoyingly smirks.

"So that's private stuff." You get out of your chair and try to grab it again, and this time, surprisingly, he lets you. What did he read?

"What?" You ask because his stupid smirk doesn't leave his face.

"Nothing." His smirk remains and his hands slide into his pockets. "You write sappy shit in your journal."

You blush a little and put your journal back. "Yeah, cause it's supposed to be private." You respond, sitting at your vanity again. "Now stop distracting me or this'll become a lunch date."

He sighs and mopes back over to your bed. He sits down again and looks at your reflection in the mirror. He thinks you are absolutely beautiful. God, he'd do anything for you, and that scares him sometimes.

"Hurry up. I'm hungry." He tells you.

"I'm sorry, Dal. I'm trying."

"Mhm." He messes with his ring for a bit before getting up and walking back over to you. He leans down and grabs your jaw. He kisses your cheek then lets go. You can't help but smile.

"You look damn good, babe." He runs a hand through your hair as you turn your head towards him.

"Thank you." Your heart picks up a little. "I'm almost done with my makeup, then I'll just need to change."

"Good. Chop chop, come on." He urges you.

You laugh a little and do the last of your makeup. Dallas watches with such admiration. You're gorgeous. When you finally finish and look at him, he can't stop himself from smiling.

"I'm done." You say

"Finally. Go get dressed."

You put your hands out. "Help me up, baby."

He huffs in protest, but he grabs your hands and pulls you up and against his chest. Dallas stares down at you. He finds your smile is so infectious. He grins back. You stand on your tippy toes and peck his lips.

"I thought I was supposed to hurry up, love." You squeeze his hands.

"You are." He lets go of your hands. "Go change, doll."

You let out a small giggle and start to walk toward the closet. You look over your shoulder at him. "I got a new dress a few weeks ago that I haven't gotten to where yet. It's real pretty."

He smirks at this, his ego spikes when he learns he'll be the first to see you in this dress. "I can't wait to see it, y/n."

You open the closet door and step in. You get out the dress. A cute baby blue cocktail dress with a white accent and a white bow around the waist. You come out and proudly hold it up.

"Put it on, doll."

"Okay." You go into the closet again and close the door, you take off your robe and slip into the dress. You were careful not to mess up your hair or makeup. A cute pair of white heels you hadn't wore in awhile catch your eye, so you slip them on. You open the door of the closet. Dallas has your journal in his hands again. He looks up and smirks.

"Sorry, doll. Couldn't help it." He puts the journal back then let's his eyes scan over you.

You sigh and decide to forgot it, for now. You smile again. "How do I look?"

He walks closer to you and his hands find your waist. "You look incredible."

Your face heats up and you look down, your smile remains.

"Ready to go?" He puts a hand on your chin and gently lifts your head to have you look up at him.

You nod. "I'm sorry again that i wasnt ready and-"

"Sh, baby, I don't care."

You shyly smile, glad he doesn't care, and loving being called "baby". He takes your hand and off you finally go to your breakfast date.

An: I'm so excited for Christmas I'm tweaking out. I love gift giving so much. Please leave requests! Happy holidays!!

[cranberrv]

thunder

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston loses his temper

( a/n : HIII im sorry if this wasnt ur vision but i dont think dallas is one for big apologies so i kinda focused on the arguement more than the apology hope that’s ok… also toxic dallas alert sorry if that isnt ur scene!! also not proofread but hope u cuties enjoy )

it was a late night in mid-summer, and you and dallas were on the porch on the curtis brothers house. he wanted to go out for a smoke, and dragged you along. you were wearing his leather jacket, it was a windy night and you were getting chilly. dallas had goosebumps along his arms.

“are you sure you don’t want it back, dal?” you ask him, insisting on giving him his jacket back.

“nah, sugar, don’t want ya freezin’ to death out here,” he answers, taking a drag of his cigarette as he looks out at the empty street.

“i’ll just go inside, though, so you don’t get hypothermia or something..” you insist, but he grabs your hand and stops you.

“you’re fine, baby, stay with me.” you look up at him and nod, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

you stand outside for a little while longer. it feels so peaceful standing there with him. his hand that’s rough and dangerous from the punches it throws is enveloping yours in a sweet gentleness shown only with you. his cigarette smoke becoming a mock mist that calms you both down. his deep breathes that are only heard because of how quiet it is.

nothing could ruin this moment.

you felt it was a good time to say the three words. not like you hadn’t said them before — it’s been a year since you’ve started dating, and you’ve both adored each other from the very start. but dallas got funny when you told him what he already knew. tonight would be different, you thought.

“.. i love ya, dal,” you say softly after a few moments of quiet. it felt casual — exactly what he would have wanted. but maybe not casual enough, because there was a short silence following your words.

eventually, he speaks. “i know ya do, sugar.”

you sigh. why is it that he could never stand to say it back?

he catches your sigh. of course he knows what you’re sighing about — he knows you all too well. he chooses not to act on it, not to apologize, not to say anything. he doesn’t want to fight with you. he just takes a drag of his cigarette and plays innocent.

“it would be nice to know that you loved me too, dallas,” you eventually say.

“oh c’mon,” another drag of his cigarette. “you ain’t an idiot, you know i do.”

“do i? i can’t remember one time you’ve said ‘i love you’ to me,” you cross your arms and look up at him.

“this isn’t somethin’ to get pressed on, y/n, the boys are inside and the windows are open,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to get you to stop talking, to pretend like you’re okay. all because he doesn’t want his friends to hear. “and i have said it, baby, you’re just forgetting or somethin’.”

“you have not, i would remember if you have,” you counter, shoving his hand off of you. “i don’t want to argue, dallas, i really don’t—“

“too damn bad, y/n, because you’re sayin’ that i don’t love you, and we both know that ain’t true,”

“then say it.”

“..what?”

“you heard me,” you say. “it has been a whole year of us dating, and you’re never ready to say that you love me,” you raise your voice to get your point across.

“christ, y/n, you’re difficult, huh?” he groans. “it ain’t a big deal, don’t go throwing a tantrum.”

“i’m difficult? dallas, i don’t know if you get how a relationship works, but at this point, you either love me, or you’re done with me. there is no middle ground after this long together.”

“you’re fuckin’ crazy, i know how a relationship works, and i ain’t done with you. don’t go stickin’ words in my mouth,” his voice is raising, too.

“if you’re not done with me, then you love me.” you say, in a desperate attempt to get him to say the three words. you almost want to beg. “it hurts, dallas, that i don’t get that reassurance, that i leave our dates with my words hanging in the air, waiting for a reply,”

he groans. “you know that i do, so what’s the fuckin’ point?”

“you’re unbelievable.”

he scoffs, his voice raising. not quite yelling, but definitely not talking. “holy fuck, you know that i love you, man, so quit bein’ such a bitch!”

the crease in your eyebrow drops as he says that. “don’t call me that,”

“c’mon, man, you’re acting like a fuckin’ lunatic trying to get me to admit somethin’ that i’ve already admitted,” he says, voice still raised. “take a deep breath, maybe get a glass of water, and come back to me once you’re normal again.”

you scoff. “because i’m expressing my feelings, suddenly i’m a lunatic? because i’m not like your old girls, and i actually strive for a healthy relationship, i’m not normal?”

“you’re freakin’ out because i didn’t say it back once, of course i think you’re going crazy.”

“i’m ‘freaking out’ because it’s been a year of ‘thank you’ and ‘i know’ whenever i tell you i love you,”

“you’re being a dumbass, y/n, you know i—“ he cuts himself off, sighing and taking a step back. “fine, man, whatever, you win. go inside and call bucks when you’ve cooled off, i’m goin’ home,”

when he walks past you, the air is thick and unwelcoming. you don’t even bother getting the last word, dreading the fact that he might turn back and lose his shit if you do. he mutters something incoherent under his breath, and walks down the creeky front porch steps, into the dead of night.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

of course, you don’t call bucks. why would you? just so buck can tell you that dallas isn’t there, when in reality he just doesn’t want to talk to you? just so suddenly you’re bending to his will, and he’s getting his way once again? you don’t think so.

dallas does this a lot — whenver you two fight, even if it’s a small one, he needs time to cool off. sometimes it’s a couple hours, sometimes it’s a day. it’s never stretched longer, until now. it’s been three torturous days of waiting for a grand gesture, an apology, anything.

the next day at school, you’re walking through the parking lot during your lunch break, talking to cherry valance and marcia about what happened between you and dallas. they say a lot of “told you so” and “that’s dallas for you”, and you can’t say they’re wrong. they warned you about him, and his reputation for being so short-tempered and stubborn.

the sound of an engine roars behind you, and you and your friends turn your heads to see who is making the noise. it’s a 1957 red thunderbird, you recognize it as buck merrill’s.

“that must be dal’s friend, buck,” you whisper to your friends. “but why would buck be here?”

“he’s a greaser, he’s probably like, 5 grades behind and coming here begging for another shot at graduation,” randy, marcia’s boyfriend, teases. you shoot him a glare, and he shuts up.

“i’ll go see whats up,” you say softly, walking over to the now-parked car.

as you walk over and the window rolls down. it is not buck merrill, like you expected, but it’s dallas winston.

“hi,” you say softly, your walls starting to go up but hesitating, wondering if you’re even still fighting.

“hey, sweetie,” he says, not explaining what he’s doing here.

“what’re doing?” you ask him.

he shrugs. “wanted to see you, i dunno.”

“oh,” you say softly. you hoped for an apology, you hoped for flowers, you hoped for chocolate, you hoped for a hug, you hoped for—

“i shouldn’t of gotten all heated when we talked, it wasn’t cool,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “and you ain’t a bitch.”

“..thanks.” you say after a few seconds of silence. what a shit apology, you think.

he’s staring out into the parking lot instead of you. “and i’m crazy about you, man,” he looks up at you. “you gotta know that, sugar.”

“thank you,” you repeat again, unsure of what to say.

another beat of silence as he swallows in his throat, before speaking and finally looking over at you. “i love ya, doll,”

you should’ve stayed mad, you should’ve not accepted his awful apology, but you cannot hide the smile tugging at your lips. this is all you’ve asked for from him, and he finally has the courage to admit it.

“i love you too, dallas.” you say softly, leaning into the window and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “thank you,”

“you gotta stop sayin’ that, y/n,” he teases, playfully pushing you away. “go hang out with your stupid friends, man. i’ll come over tonight and hang.”

you nod, and walk away, looking back at him and seeing a small smile on his face. nothing could ruin this moment.

[mayfieldss]

Alibi - Dallas Winston

Synopsis: Dally is in trouble, and comes to you for a final goodbye before he skips town.

When you found him, Dally lay beaten and bloodied on your doorstep. With his hands in his jacket pockets he was almost curled in upon himself and the blood on his clothes was in stark contrast to your pristine dress. But nevertheless as you approached, worry consuming you like water in your lungs, he sent you the most darling grin you ever saw.

"Dally, god what have you done?" you weren't blaming him, but you couldn't help but think maybe his mouth and his fists were a beacon for trouble.

"Got'n a fight with some socs, no big deal baby, really m'fine."

"If you're so fine, why are you bleeding on my welcome mat?" you give him a scolding look, but he raises a hand up and uses his thumb to rub out the crease between your brows.

"you're too pretty to be frowning baby," he says, as if flattery will do anything to mend his wounds. No, you'll be the one doing that for him. You're always the one kissing his cuts and bruises better. And Dally wouldn't have it any other way.

"get up baby, let's get you inside." you put your hands underneath his arms and help him to his feet, but even standing he looks no better. You might go as far as to say he looks worse. You can see his wounds better now that he's upright, though admittedly leaning on the doorframe.

You usher him inside, leaving him to fend for himself for that part. You want him to the face the consequences of his actions a little, even if that means making him hobble indoors on his own.

"you know, you promised me no fighting." you mumble, as you rummage through your first aid kit. It's almost barren thanks to how many times you've had to patch up your boyfriend in the past. And sometimes even his friends. There's no telling how many times you've had to clean out a cut on two-bits face, let alone what happens to all of the boys after a good rumble.

"I didn't start this one baby, i promise." Dally grumbles from the couch. He's trying not to get too comfortable, doesn't want to get blood on your nice cushions, you see.

"yeah sure, you just finished it right? That's what you're going to say?" you've come round to face him, settling yourself on his lap as you begin patching him up. You could do it with your eyes closed at this point.

"Damn right i finished it, those socs had it coming!" he's moved his hands to your hips, squeezing the flesh he can find there with an affection you only allow him to give you.

"They always have it coming, Dally, but you really gotta learn to pick your battles. Sooner or later you're gonna lose one, and that means I'll lose you." you pause, placing a cold hand on his cheek and running the other through his hair. "I can't lose you to that damn prison again, you hear?"

He's listening to you a little more now, and you’re not sure whether the ringing in his ears from the fight as begun to subside, or if it's truly of his own choice. Still, you can't stop his next words from spilling out. "See, that's what I got to talk to you about hon'," he looks away for a moment, licking his lips as the shame sets in. "the cops are after me, for the fighting." He's got his puppy dog eyes on full display, hoping it will lessen the blow, but nothing will.

You shake your head, wiping at the blood on his knuckles. "They're always after you for something, Dal. You'll be okay." It sounds more like you are trying to convince yourself, rather than the man you sit with.

"I know, but I think I messed up bad this time. I didn't start that fight baby, but I finished it a little too good." He moves his hands and runs them up and down your arms. All of you is cold, but he's got no time to ask why.

"No, don't you say that." your voice is a whisper, and Dally's heart breaks with every word. "You didn't do nothing Dal, tell me you didn't do anything right now."

He shakes his head, pulling you closer on his lap until your head rests on his shoulder. "Tell me you didn't do what you're saying you did."

"You know I won't lie to you, sweetheart. You know I can't do that." You can hear his voice shake, and he holds you tighter, as if he thinks it will be the last time he does so. You hope that isn't true.

You pull back from his hold, grabbing his face in your hands to stop them from shaking. "I won't let them take you." blood drips from his eyebrow onto your fingers as you say it and you grab a slip of gauze and wipe it away, pressing firm on the wound.

"I've called the boys, they're gonna try and hide me till things cool down." he tries to smile at you, to his sweet girl with shaking hands. He hates to make you this way, but he's like a sickness, one you can't recover from.

"Yeah? They're going to hide you good?" God it makes his stomach turn how hopeful you are. He hates it, but he loves you. He wants your beautiful face to crack a smile so badly that he thinks the pain in his chest the thought creates might just kill him.

"if they do catch me—"

"They won't."

"Yeah, they won't. But if they do, d'you wanna hear my alibi?" he runs a hand over your hair, brushing it back from your face. "I'm gonna tell those cops I was getting it on crazy with my girl, my gorgeous girl. And you're gonna tell them I'm damn right."

You nod, and manage a soft upturn of your lips.

"There's my girl." Dally says, running this thumb over your mouth, as if to capture your smile in every form. "Now give me a kiss, I ain't had one yet."

In truth, he's afraid this kiss might be his last. He's not sure if he can survive another round behind bars. But he'll sure as hell try if he gets caught. To come back to you of course. His reason for everything.

You kiss him soft and sweet, tasting the blood in his mouth as you do. But you don't mind it, honestly that's just more of him for you to take in. And you need every part of him to love you right now, if only to help you get through the fear of losing him entirely. His presses his lips to yours with a different kind of force the longer the kiss lasts, hoping to stay like this forever. Those sirens, those cops, they can't get him here. Not in dreamland, where loving his girl is the only thing on schedule.

His arms wrap around you, a protective forcefield against the rest of the world, and you don't care that your dress rides up as you straddle the man you love. His hands run up and down your back, and it soothes you in a way you never thought possible. He knows as much when you sink into him, pulling away from the kiss if only to hold him closer.

He hugs you tight, and you cling to him just the same. "You're not leaving me Dallas Winston. I've still got to take that last name of yours."

God he feels sick. He's nauseous and he's not sure if it's from the broken ribs he sure as hell has, or if it's the thought of everything you might never get to do.

"You can take anything you want from me. Whatever the hell you want." He presses a few kisses along your shoulder, to any piece of skin he can reach while embracing you.

There's a knock on your front door, and for a moment you don't want to answer it. "It's Darrel, I know he's in there."

Dally pulls back from you, and with reluctance you slide yourself off his lap and head to the door. Dally can't answer it, just in case, so you do it for him. It is your house after all.

When you open the door, all three Curtis brothers stand before you, and next to them, with concerned looks are two-bit and Steve.

"C'mon in boys, he's in the living room."

Each one of them follows you inside, Ponyboy shutting the door behind them before sliding into the house himself.

"Hey boys," Dally stands from the couch with a wince and yelp of pain. He can't help it, he's beat up bad.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Darrel says, though he knows. All the greasers that have a little too much anger to spare think the same.

Dally shrugs and greets the other boys as if this is just a casual meet up and nothing more. But none of them look impressed. When the silence gets a little to heavy, Dally speaks.

"Look, you gotta know I had to do it. I had to. So just help me out boys. If not for me, then for my girl here. She'll be broken up without me, yeah?"

All eyes are on you in seconds, and you let out the deep breath you'd been holding for what felt like years. You nod to the boys and they all lift their chins back. A kind of promise without words that you know they'll try to keep.

"Right, lets go Dally." Darrel says, not a speck of nonsense left in him. You reach for Dally despite it all, fingers grazing his sleeve.

"Give me a minute, will ya?" He says to the other greasers in the room. He doesn't wait for them to leave before turning to you, that soft and sweet look in his eye that he only shares with you.

"I can't let you go." you mumble, and Dally feels his heart sink down to his guts.

"I'll be back sweetheart, don't you worry." He presses kiss to your forehead, holding your head in his hands.

"I'm gonna worry no matter what." you mumble, leaning up to kiss his lips. They are chapped, broken, just like the rest of him.

"When I get back, i'm marrying you, okay? That's a promise."

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. "Okay."

He kisses you one more time, hard, as if it's the antidote he needs for the poison inside of him. "I love you, all day every day." he says when he pulls away.

You're out of breath, and you let the tears fall freely now, as Darrel comes back into the room, a push for Dally to get a move on.

"Love you too," you have to say it back. There's no way you can't. "All day, every day."

Dally grins at you, before taking a step back—letting you go.

"I'll see you soon." He calls as he heads for the door, each step further away from certainty. All the boys file out of the house, Dally included, and you watch at the window as they go. There's nothing you can do now but wait, and hope. He'll come home to you if all goes well, and if it doesn't—

You stop your train of thought there. You wrap your arms around yourself and sit down on the couch. It smells like him, as if he never left at all. You look down at the place where he'd been. There's blood on the cushions. You try not to take that as a sign.

[ysrjune]

i checked out ur rules list and the great idea of a whiny and clingly dallas winston came up 🙏🏽🙏🏽 there's not alot that goes on in my head but maybe dallas goes over to fem!readers house after a fight and he's all beaten up so reader comforts him with like obviously cleaning him up and his injuries but afterwards a blowjob and praises 😈😈

[ NEVER HAD A BITCH LIKE ME ]

// I love you flo milli !!!1!!!1. ⚡️

#🥃🔗 ENJOY ! ♡

"you know I don’t like when you get into unnecessary fights, dallas." you tell him while cleaning up the small scracthes on his face with rubbing alcohol. "man, this was necessary. damn kid was talkin’ on jahnny." dallas rolls his eyes. "cant have that. johnnycake's been through lots already. hes quiet anyway, I dont know why the other kids try 'n pick on'em."

you understand how protective dallas is over johnny, but he cant fight every 15 year old kid that says something about him. "dally," "yeah?" "don't call me man" "ah." he remembers. sometimes he genuinely forgets that you hate being called that since he says it so much, and others he does it on purpose to annoy you.

later on, you were hanging out in your room with him as he yapped on about how he might go back to jail and smack talking on every guy hes ever fought or had problems with. especially in new york. "yeah, he's like 5 feet tall anyway. broads dont dig that." he laughs. "guy could talk smack real good, but once you brang up his height, he'd shut the hell up." he laughs again. that stupid annoying laugh of his. you hate it, but you won't let him know it.

all of a sudden your throat became parched, craving a cold water from the refrigerator. but dally wouldn't let you leave him. "you can wait for a couple minutes, you ain't that thirsty." he rolls over on you, putting his weight on your torso. "dal, get off of me! it'll take like 10 seconds!" you try pushing him away, but he was too heavy. "you'd trade me for a damn water?" he looks up at you. "that's a real messed up thing, doll." you groan a little bit. "dally, I want water. I never said I'd trade you for one.. though, maybe I would right about now."

dallas continues to whine into your chest about how he only wants you to stay for a little while more before getting water, but you don't budge. "Dal, with the time you haven't let me gone, I would have been back already." You point out to him. dally groans exaggeratedly and lays off. "Fine," he glares. "10 seconds. im countin'." Quickly, you run over to the kitchen and back in 9 seconds. "told ya," you smile to which he genuinely rolls his eyes at.

"swirl your tongue 'round it." he tells you, gripping onto your hair. "damn baby, you know, huh?" dallas mumbles after you do exactly what he asked when he wasnt even halfway finished with his sentence. "mhm," he taps your cheek, beginning to roll his hips into your throat. "you just keep suckin' on it like that and I'm gon—" he sucks in a sharp breath. you had taken him out of your mouth, exposing his MEAT (💀#sorry) to the cool air of your room. "put it back in your damn mouth, broad." he shoves your head down to choke on him and continue pleasing him.

[pinklaceddiary]

―୨୧⋆ ˚ Healing Hands

You didnt even have to ask where Dallas was. The moment the rumble faded, you knew he’d come back all banged up like usual. And there you were, trying to keep him still on the toilet seat while you fished out the first aid kit. It was covered in pink flowers and barely had anything left from the last time Dallas decided to start a fight.

“Sit still,” you said, looking through the box in a hurry.

“I’m fine,” he insisted stubbornly, even though it was obvious he was anything but fine. His lip was split, and his hands looked like they’d been through a blender.

“You look like you lost.”

“I didn’t,” he replied, flashing a grin that revealed blood on his teeth. “Mostly.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed the bottle of alcohol. The sharp smell hit you right away.

“This is gonna sting.”

“Don’t care,” he shot back, but the moment it touched the cut on his cheek, he flinched hard.

“Baby…” you chuckled

“Shut up.”

You cleaned his face slowly and carefully, even though he kept wincing as if each dab was the worst pain imaginable. Then you started wrapping his hand, trying not to dwell on how wrecked he looked.

“You always end up like this,” you remarked.

“And you always fix me,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Guess it works out.”

You didn’t respond, just kept working, fighting the urge to smile.

He let out a soft laugh. “You like taking care of me, huh?”

“No,” you replied a bit too quickly.

“Liar.”

You rolled your eyes again but didn’t stop wrapping his hand. “Maybe just a little.”

[ironweedhills]

au where darry and soda are adults when their parents die n ponyboy is still a little kid... (hc under the cut)

All of Pony's fifth grade classmates ate lunch with their parents at one time or another. They'd skip to the lunch room holding Mama and Daddy's hands and Ponyboy would bury his face in his tray so no one would see him cry. Snot nosed ten year olds would ask him why his parents never showed up. He didn't know how to tell them that his Mama and Daddy were sleeping under cold dirt.

One night Ponyboy comes home from school, teary eyed and deflated like a birthday balloon that's been kept too long. Soda rushes to help put away his backpack and take off his shoes, (which he was much too old for now, really) and sees his wet ruddy cheeks and scoops him up like he's still a little fawn.

"Pone, what's wrong baby?"

Pony sniffles all pitiful. "All the other kids get to each lunch with their parents. And I-" He wails.

"I have to eat all alone!"

Soda's pretty brows scrunch and he coos and sways his baby side to side. Darry appeared like an answered prayer, leaning over Soda's shoulder to wipe the salty tears from their little brother's cheeks. Darry makes a promise right then that he'll make it to lunch with Ponyboy no matter what.

"I'll be there tomorrow honey, I swear it." Darry says with staunch absolution.

The next day, Ponyboys sitting in the lunchroom on the squeaky little chairs, playing with his green beans and feeling just awful. He glances to the doorway like clockwork every minute, waiting for Darry to show up. Probably five minutes pass, and Pony's heart is smarting fiercely and he's losing hope when the double doors fly open. Darry rushes in, all sweaty and dusty from work, smiling in a way that's reserved only for his brothers. Ponyboy flies out of his seat and shoots to Darry's chest like a bullet.

"Told ya i'd make it." Darry whispered into his slick hair.

The other kids are staring frog -eyed now.

"Is that yer Dad, Pony?" Some yellow haired girl shouts.

He preens pink under his big brother's arm, puffing his chest out. "Yup. Sure is."

[dallyismypookie]

your smuts are so peak can you do a dallas winston x reader smut with squirt!ng?

Selfish

My first request ahh😛🏃🏻‍♀️

Wrote this in two hours and it’s almost 1am rn so I didn’t proof read it too much. Might look over this tomorrow but until then, hope you like it😋.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, squirting, oral (f rec), Parents asleep next door but they don’t get caught, still bad formatting and grammar🏃🏻‍♀️

Dallas Winston is a selfish man. Everybody who knew him or had ever heard of him knew that was a fact. He never cared for, let alone helped others. However there was one thing, or well someone, who was what Dally considered to be his weakness. And that was none other than you.

So when Dally once again turned up to your house late in the evening, climbing in through your window so that your parents wouldn’t hear or see him, you knew exactly what he came for. The unmistakable hungry look in his eyes leaving no room for doubt as he carelessly pushes his jacket off and tossing his shoes in a corner of your room, quickly followed by the rest of his clothes.

“Well hello to you to,” You say as you look up from the book you’ve been reading as he gets dressed down in his boxers before joining you in bed. “What happened to hello, how are you, my name is?” You raise your eyebrow at him, a small smirk playing on your lips as he chuckles softly while wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry, doll. Of course, where’s my manners?” He drawls while playing with the waistband of your shorts. “You look absolutely stunnin’ tonight, doll.” He murmurs as he trails a path of hot kisses up your throat before pecking your lips. “Flattering your way into my pants again?” His lips curl up into a smirk at your quip remark before he retorts, “never failed me ‘fore, did it?”

“I guess not” You hum amused as he takes your book out of your hand, making sure to mark the page you were on before putting it on your nightstand, what a gentleman. He had faced your wrath of making you loose what page you were on while reading before and he definitely doesn’t wish to do that again.

“C’mon, doll. Don’t you want to play with me?” He mumbles in that low, rough tone of his which always makes your knees weak. So of course it can barely be considered your fault as you cave in once again and let him undress you. His big hands gliding quickly over your heated skin as he starts placing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your eyes widen as he pushes a hand over your mouth before looking up at you while placing kisses and hickeys along your collar bone. “While I do love your sexy little sounds, doll. You gotta be quiet for me, alright? Wouldn’t want to wake up your folks now, would we?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he goes back to littering your skin with his wet kisses.

It doesn’t take long for his lips to find the familiar path down to your tits. If there was one thing Dallas loved to do after a Rumble or a run in with the fuzz, it’d be playing with your tits. To say he was obsessed would be an understatement, and that was more than clear by the way he desperately groped and kissed them while you tried your oh so best to stay quiet by biting into your pillow.

His eyes never break their intense lock on yours as he starts flicking his tongue over your nipples, taking turns on sucking on them and occasionally nipping them teasingly. He revels in the way you squirm under him, your thighs squeezing together as he slaps your neglected tit softly. “Patience, doll.” He warns lowly as he pulls off from your tit, switching over to the other starting the pleasure torture all over again.

Once he deems to have satisfied his hunger for your tits enough he starts to kiss down your abdomen, still looking up into your eyes as he circles the tip of his tongue around your bellybutton. Now as you already knew, he was a selfish man, so getting eaten out by him wasn’t something that happened too often. He preferred getting blown or just fucking you dumb on his cock usually. But in this moment there was nothing selfish about the way he looked just about ready to devour you. Or maybe there was, maybe he simply ate pussy for his own satisfaction. But you could never tell, not with how good he always left you feeling.

“Spread your legs for me, doll. And keep your eyes on me, want you to watch me when I eat your pussy.” He groans as he grips your thighs tightly as you spread your legs for him, his head moving down to press a firm kiss onto your inner thigh. “Just like that. Damnit, you look so good, doll” His growled praises get muffled as he presses his lips against your clit, making you squeal into the pillow. “Eyes on me, doll” he reminds before he licks a broad stripe up your folds.

You feel your legs trembling in his unrelenting grasp as the tip of his tongue teasingly dips into you before licking up to your clit and flicking it firmly. His tongue alters between circling your clit and dipping into you for a while. Once he had enough of teasing you he licks his lips. You hear him growling roughly before you feel his lips seal around your clit and lick and suck messily. Your back arches from the shock as your hand flies from the pillow into his hair to tug and pull as you can’t help but grind onto his tongue.

Your teeth bite down harder onto the pillow as one of his hands releases their grip on your thigh to reach up and slide one finger over your wet folds before pushing into you. His eye contact never falters as he looks like a work of art between your legs. His eyes full of love and lust, his tongue flicking over your clit and his, now two, fingers pumping in and out of your soaked hole.

The wet squelching sound of his fingers inside you should make you worry about being too loud, but you were so positively high off the pleasure he was giving you that you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. The overwhelming feeling of hot, tingling pleasure creeping up your spine made your breath hitch, your thighs squeezing around Dally’s head as your moans, muffled by the pillow became increasingly harder to hold back.

And once Dally curls his fingers to rub at the spongy spot of your walls you can’t help it anymore, the clenching around his fingers becoming more and more frequent. Dally sensing your impending orgasm locks his lips back onto your clit, suckling and slurping at your cunt sloppily while groaning, “that’s it, doll. Let go f’me.” With one last harsh tug at his hair he groans against your clit, a sensation more intense than what you ever felt before crashing down on you as your eyes shut in bliss. Dally watches with rapt attention as he feels your body thrashing under him before he feels and tastes it.

Clear liquid squirting onto his face, shocking him for a second before a pathetic whine tumbles from his lips as he laps at your pussy. Desperately trying to catch every drop of it, swallowing and slurping loudly as he looks up at you. “Goddamnit, doll. Didn’t know you could do that.” He slurs lazily as he sucks at your folds greedily as you slowly start to regain some strength again.

He happily licks you through the after-waves of your intense orgasm as he rubs his calloused hands along your hips. “You’re so damn hot y’know that, doll? God ‘m so hard” he groans mindlessly against your thigh as he had long stopped licking at your pussy. You watch him amused, your orgasm behind you now as Dally groans and whines quietly onto your skin while his hips grind desperately against your mattress.

You have never seem him so utterly vulnerable before, so it shocks you a bit to see him bite your thigh as he cums into his boxers. As he pulls away, his face full of your slick and his chest heaving you both can’t help but lock eyes as a smirk spreads over his face. Confusion washing over you as he pulls his boxers down, your eyes widening as he whispers into your ear. “Let’s see if I can make you do that on my cock, hm?” Well fuck.

[generic-enthusiast]

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid,” Ponyboy’s muttering as he steps in the door, “stupid stupid stupid stupid.” He goes to slam the door behind him, but notices Darry’s work boots lined up under his coat, so he closes it with a soft click. 

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid—”

“Hey, Pony, how was school?” Darry asks, coming out of the kitchen. His voice has its constant, tired lilt to it. He’s had it for two years, and yet Ponyboy still can’t get used to it. 

Ponyboy opens his mouth to respond but finds himself at a loss for words. Out of pure indignation, no doubt. He just throws the envelope on the table and grabs the back of a chair to lean on it. Darry takes a bite of his apple as he comes forward, eyeing the letter curiously. 

“What’s this?”

Ponyboy looks up at Darry. “You know that writing contest Mrs Anderson was gonna sign me up for?” Darry nods slowly, looking down at the letter and back up at Pony again. “Got the prompt.”

Darry stares at him for a moment as if in expectation before asking, “What is it?”

Ponyboy doesn’t respond, he just grabs the ripped envelope and takes out the folded piece of paper, holding it out to Darry between two fingers. Darry dries his hand on his pants and takes it. 

He fumbles with the piece of paper for a moment, trying to unfold it with just one hand, and his brow furrows as he reads through the prompt. “What’s wrong with it?”

Ponyboy sighs, forever uncomprehended by his environment, and snatches the paper back. He doesn’t really know what to do with it, though, so he throws it onto the table again — not quite as energetically this time — and goes to slump down on the couch. 

“I’m fifteen. How’m I s’pposed to write about ‘being in love’?” He asks, saying the last couple words in a mocking tone. 

“Hang on now, I ain’t seen nothin’ ‘bout being in love.”

Ponyboy squints up at him in a way that distinctly says ‘are you stupid?’ “Did ya even read the prompt?”

“Yeah. Says to write about love. Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout being in love. You can write about Pepsi if you wanna.”

Ponyboy looks up at him, then down again. A couple silent moments go by before he asks, “The drink or the brother?”

Darry makes a sound between a snort and a laugh. “I meant the drink, but I reckon they’ll like it more if ya write about your brother.” 

“Huh.” Ponyboy looks away from Darry and starts staring into nothingness, deep in thought. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to be annoyed and I’m not allowed to so now it’s sorta between annoyed and nothing and the feeling is annoying me.”

Darry hums, mildly amused.

“Is this like college essays where you just gotta compete for the saddest sob story? ‘Cause I think I win if it’s that.”

Darry looks down at him, confused. “Who told you that?”

Ponyboy blinks at him. “You did. When you applied for college. You said ‘I hope somethin’ terrible happens to you in the next six years and you’ll be a lucky son of a bitch if it does.’” He goes quiet for a moment. “Then Ma told you to watch your mouth around her.”

“Oh.” Darry blinks. “I don’t remember that.”

Two years ago, when police officers appeared on their doorstep to ask Darry to identify the bodies and the bathroom tiles were cold under his knees and the bile was burning his throat and Johnny’s hand was warm on his back, thumb rubbing back and forth, Ponyboy’s mind was blank. A couple minutes later, though, when he leaned his head on Johnny’s chest with a couple half-hearted coughs, the only thing he could think of was that at least he would have a great college essay. 

Johnny didn’t really know what to do when he dissolved into hysterical laughter. 

Ponyboy shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I do.”

“Yeah.” Neither of them says anything for a couple moments. “I’ve never written for a contest or anything, so I don’t know what they want. Just writing good should be enough, prolly.”

“Yeah.”

The room falls into silence for a while. 

“I better get started on dinner. Try and get your homework over with before Soda gets home, alright? I know you get distracted with him.”

“Okay.”

Darry goes into the kitchen and Ponyboy picks up his backpack and goes into his room. He has to finish some math exercises for tomorrow, and Darry will get mad if he asks him to look them over too late at night, but he gives himself a couple minutes to look over the prompt one last time. 

Love is a central part of human existence, something near every writer touches in their work. From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to Lord Byron’s “She walks in beauty like the night” to Greek myths such as Sophocles’s Antigone. It’s been written and sung and painted about from every perspective — except yours. 

The 1966 edition of American Young Artists’s yearly writing competition asks you to write a short story (no longer than 8,000 words) or poem (no longer than 50 lines) about what love means to you. 

Please do not: 

Submit an essay or straightforward answer. While undoubtedly interesting, the objective of this contest is to explore your creative prowess and ability to transmit messages and themes through subtext. 

Submit more than one piece. You will be disqualified and none of your pieces will be considered. 

Rewrite a story that has already been written. We are not interested in why you believe Orpheus turned back or how Romeo and Juliet would have lived in another world. The story or poem you submit must be entirely original, not based on someone else’s work. 

There are a couple more points, but Ponyboy stops reading. He doesn’t know where to start. 

He doesn’t even know if he’s felt love before. No one ever bothers to give you a straightforward answer to what it is, only hints here and there that you’re supposed to put together so you get the same definition as everyone else. 

Tall tales of butterflies and blushing and stumbling over words. Of holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes and feeling connected. Of being willing to risk your life for someone (did he love the kids in that church?), of wanting the best for them (shouldn’t he want that for everyone?), and putting them before yourself. 

Ponyboy groans again and buries his face in his pillow. 

He takes the math homework out of his backpack and gets a pencil. 

A minute later he gets up and opens the door, yelling on the way to the kitchen so Darry can hear him over the sound of whatever he’s cooking, “Darry! Is cosine the adjacent or opposite side?”

…

Ponyboy might have school friends, but none of them can hold a candle to Johnny. 

They’re fine for grouping up for projects or sitting together at lunch, but he wouldn’t spend hours next to them in silence, reading or drawing or just thinking. He wouldn’t invite them home and sit down on his bedroom floor next to them, just enjoying each other’s presence. Letting them flip through his sketchbook would leave him anxiously looking over their shoulder and watching their face, trying to gauge their reactions. 

Which means that now he spends an awful amount of time alone in his room. He doesn’t usually mind, but now the stupid prompt seems to be glaring at him, screaming that he should be working on it. 

Mrs Anderson won’t ask him to have something written until at least a month from now, but it still torments him. He finds himself zoning out in the middle of a drawing, wondering about whether love can really be considered a feeling or if it’s actually something else. Answering some questions for science class is interrupted by three attempts at starting to write something about his parents, but all of them sound cheesy. 

Finally, when Soda asks him if he’s okay because he doesn’t seem to be completely there, he decides to just get it over with and excuses himself from the dinner table. 

Ponyboy sets up the typewriter, grabs the stupid, stupid prompt from his bed and reads it through. 

He skims through the rest of things not to do — most of them fairly obvious — and reaches a small bit at the end. 

If you’re not sure where to start with this prompt, you can try exploring some of the more common literary topics relating to love. We’ve included a list of some of the most common ones: 

Love as a home, someone safe, where outside troubles can’t reach you. 

Home isn’t home anymore, not without Ponyboy around. It wasn’t home before, anyways, not with the constant simmering tension, the knowledge that Darry and Ponyboy could start at it at any moment. Living over a ticking time bomb, not knowing how much time was left, waiting for the seconds hand to tick for the last time. 

And now every room is riddled with landmines. A single misstep can set them off, saying the wrong word at the wrong time — Soda can’t take it anymore. He loves his brothers, he really does, but he can’t let the tension seep through his skin and into his veins.

He’s started to spend less time at home. It started slowly, a couple months ago, but now that Ponyboy’s gone, he hardly spends any time there at all. 

Money’s tight as always, and he takes all the shifts he can. Steve hangs around even when he’s not working, and, honestly, Soda kinda prefers being at the DX over being at home. 

Sure, he needs to talk to the occasional customer and put on a fake smile, but the customer doesn’t know him inside and out. They don’t know all his tells and they don’t know that he lost Mom’s pot pie recipe and they don’t know his brothers hate each other. All they know is that they want a candy bar or they need their car fixed. 

And then they’re gone. 

And whether or not Soda sold the routine, whether or not they know he was faking it, whether or not they think there’s something wrong with him, none of it matters, because they’re never going to see him again. They walk out that door and he’ll never talk to them for the rest of his life. 

It’s a breath of fresh air to be able to exist without the constant pressure of holding them all together. 

And then there’s Steve. 

Steve, who sits on the counter while he does his book reports. Who pretends to hate Ponyboy so he won’t go out with them when Soda needs to decompress without his brothers around. Who somehow always knows when he’s worried about his brothers fighting or how disinterested Sandy’s been recently, and starts telling him some crazy, probably made up story. 

You get this wrinkle between your eyebrows, Steve told him once, Shows you’re worried ‘bout somethin’. 

Sometimes Soda wishes he could come home to Steve, instead of Darry and Ponyboy, go out with him instead of Sandy.

Then he realises what he just thought and a wave crashes down on him, a wave of ungrateful and don’t care about them and queer. 

2. Venatus amoris. Being loved as something to hunt, to be achieved. 

You don’t become Boy of the Year without picking up a few tricks on how to be well-liked. 

If Darry wants someone to like him, he’ll get them to like him. He’s got it down to a science at this point. 

Now, love, that’s a trickier bit. He’s not all that sure how to get that. But for now, being liked is enough. 

He’s learned how to smile and avoid dangerous questions. He’s learned how to hide the parts of himself that other people don’t like — the part of him that can’t lose and goes to the bathroom after a bad game because he can’t break linoleum the way he can break drywall. The part of him that doesn’t understand what people want when they talk to him and goes over every interaction when he’s trying to fall asleep. The part of him that feels things as strongly as his little brothers do. 

People like a pretty shell, they don’t like a messy, feeling person.

The doors in the Curtis household don’t have locks, though, and the walls are thin. So when he punches the bathroom wall after losing because stupid fucking Mark couldn’t run fast enough, the whole house can hear him. He can’t turn on the shower to drown out when he’s crying because they have one bathroom in the house, and you better believe Ponyboy and Sodapop will barge in if they need to. 

There’s no hiding, no covering himself in a shell.   

Which is fine, until this fifteen-year-old kid shows up with Soda one day, claiming to come from New York. Darry doesn’t mind if his brothers and their best friends know that he’s a sore loser, but he’ll be damned if this asshole knows a thing about him. Dallas Winston is still a stranger, even if he’s a teenage hood, and it means that Darry’s walls come up. 

Which is. Exhausting.

Dallas seems to be everywhere. He’s latched onto Johnny, and Johnny’s always with Ponyboy, so there’s no escape. 

And he isn’t falling for Darry’s usual tricks. He scowls at Darry’s forced smiles and scoffs at the questions he asks without caring. Either he doesn’t notice social cues, or doesn’t care about them. Whichever it is, he doesn’t bother to hide that he doesn’t like Darry, and seems to get a rise out of getting him to try and prove himself. 

Which finally pushes Darry over the edge. Why should he give a fuck what anyone thinks about him? Being well-liked only got him so-called friends that forgot him as soon as they threw their caps into the air. 

So what if Dallas Winston doesn’t like him? So what if he thinks he’s a weakling? So what if those years didn’t mean shit to Paul and Mark and Noah? 

Who gives a fuck? Darry definitely doesn’t. 

“What’s your fucking problem with me?” It comes out scathing. 

And Dallas Winston has the fucking gall to look him up and down judgementally and smirk impassively. You’re in my house you asshole. “You ever told me anything that wasn’t a lie?”

Out with the forced smiles, out with the meaningless questions, out with the closed doors. 

You wanted the real me? Here he fucking is. In all his glorious colours. 

So he snaps and he stares and he doesn’t ask about what he doesn’t care about. The underlying Are you happy now? grows sharper and louder and covers up the noise outside, so much that he doesn’t notice when the contempt starts to leave, when something else starts to grow. Maybe Dallas doesn’t quite like him, but there’s something else there.

He doesn’t notice it, any of it, until Steve’s handing him the phone, saying Dally asked for him. 

Johnny’s not entirely sure when, but at some point during the seventh grade, a fire started burning in his chest. 

He doesn’t notice any of it until he’s screaming because there’s nothing else you can do with a body full of bullets. 

3. Ignis amoris. Love as fire: uncontrollable, burning, intense. 

He doesn’t know how it was before. Was it frozen over or just numb? Was there anything there at all?

Maybe it was just empty. What was the point of anything without the little flame to enlighten it?

At first it was quiet, warm, crackling in tune with Ponyboy’s excited rambling. They were ten and twelve, and it was the first time that Johnny found out what it meant for someone to see him and care. 

As days turned into weeks turned into months, casual touches and toothy grins and barks of laughter threw firewood into the flame. It would flare protectively when a Soc shoved Soda when he was just trying to get to class, burn warmly when Steve waited for them in his car despite having a free last period, thaw even the coldest of nights as long as Dally was in the lot beside him. It reached his cheeks when Darry called him smart and burned brighter every evening spent with Two-Bit, wandering around and avoiding responsibility. 

But when it really roars to life, when it becomes a starved monster that takes over Johnny’s body, is when crickets fill the air or the wind whistles past his ear or the low rumble of whatever cars are still driving around reaches the lot, whispering to him as he lies on his side, eyes tracing Dally’s profile. 

When it crawls up his throat, when it starts making his brain do flips, is when the stars glitter in the sky above him or when clouds crawl over them and bathe the city in darkness or when it’s pouring and he’s running with Dally, jackets over their heads, trying to find a roof to huddle under. 

When it turns from warmth to heat, when it turns from comfort to exposing hidden truths about himself, is when he lies next to Dally in the lot, both pretending that they don’t have to pretend, fingers inching closer, pinkies only just grazing as the sun comes up. 

And then he has the sun to bring him heat, and the fire turns back into embers with small, pale flames above it, and Dally’s still beside him but it isn’t the same when there isn’t the rush of adrenaline, the weight of the news stories, the freedom that darkness brings.

But it burns nonetheless. 

There is a world where that fire never starts burning. Where Johnny’s chest stays empty and cold and dark, where the hearth gathers dust as it’s beaten day after day. 

In that world, Johnny doesn’t survive. 

How ironic, then, that it should be fire to take him from this one. 

4. Furor amoris. Love as madness: all-consuming. We are blinded by it, confounded, and act purely out of passion, rationality all but forgotten. 

Dally isn’t thinking. His head is completely blank, just like that bullshit the hippies spread around. 

A couple minutes ago, he was stumbling around hazy, dark blues, forest greens wrapping around him, black ink dripping down from the sky. 

Now there’s red streaks tunneling around him, bringing him down the only direction he can go in. 

Dead.

Red like Johnny’s jacket collar four months ago in that field that Dally takes a long way around to avoid seeing. 

Dead.

Red like when the church brought them straight into hell yesterday. 

Dead.

Red like the rumble. 

Dead.

Red like the sirens following him as he runs for his life.

5. Amor post mortem. Love after death; overcoming the menial, human barriers of a heart beating. Love as the only eternal thing in a life full of the fleeting.  

Ponyboy sighs and lies back on his bed. 

Usually, Johnny would be lying next to him, bouncing ideas off him to see if anything inspired him. Dally would come storming in, not even bothering to knock. Mom would ask if he made any progress when he came back down to dinner. Dad would tell him it was fine, that he’d think of something like he always did. 

It’s hard to come to terms with. 

Maybe part of him will always be in denial. Maybe part of him will always turn to Mom to ask where the oven mitts are. Look for Johnny whenever he steps into a room. Trust that Dally’ll get back at whoever tries to hurt him. Want to ask Dad to tell that story about when they were kids again. 

Is that what love is? 

This can’t possibly be it. It can’t possibly be something that follows Ponyboy around, wakes him up when he thinks he’s finally worked past his nightmares, seems to disappear then comes back to haunt him, crawling up from behind to see if it can finally get a scream out of him.

No, it can’t be. It isn’t. 

What it is is Darry staying up late to calm him down from a nightmare. It's Steve knowing when to quit the teasing. It's Two-Bit leaving books on his nightstand without a word about it. It's Soda asking him about his day, every day without fail, no matter how tired he is. 

What it was was Dally offering to teach him to fight. Johnny listening to him every time he went on a rant or monologued about whatever book he’d just read. Mom setting aside a couple hamantaschen for him when he had track until late on Purim. Doing his bar mitzvah in the same tallit his father had done his in. 

And maybe it didn’t change anything. In fact, it didn’t. 

Love doesn’t bring people back to life and it doesn’t give them a happy ending and it doesn’t take away all the struggles that come with just being alive. Sometimes it’s just there, and that’s all that matters. 

[foottoe101001]

Welder Johnny cade!! For my blue collar au! Anyway if use please credit queen x ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

Idk who to @…. @mr-freakyboy-curtis @pookiepiss69 @cheryyy-valancce

[quizzicalwriter]

Hi! Idk if you do headcanons but if you do can you do boyfriend headcanons for Dallas? It can be up to you to make it general things or just smut related things.

Dating Dallas HC’s

Despite what you may think, I don’t see Dallas being an overly possessive boyfriend. You two go about your business and that’s that, but the moment he catches someone flirting with you he’s bounding over and making sure everyone knows you’re his. Beyond that? He’s alright with PDA, but he’s not about to make out in front of his friends, that’s private stuff.

He’d let you wear his jacket, necklace, rings, everything. He loves seeing you in his clothing, and he’d certainly notice the moment you aren’t wearing one item that you usually do - and it’s not even for the reason you think, he’s just worried you’ll lose his stuff and he’ll have to find another one.

He has no problem remembering birthdays, anniversaries, all that jazz. He loves surprising you by remembering important dates for you. But the moment you ask him if he remembers someone you met last week he’s pulling a blank. He’ll remember eventually, but he sucks at remembering faces.

You ever need something but don’t have the money for it? Dallas does! Don’t ask where he got it, most of the time he doesn’t remember or doesn’t want you worrying about him - he doesn’t know which is worse and he ain’t about to find out.

On the topic of money, if you tried to pay him back he’d act personally offended and never accept the money. I’m talking full-on mouth dropping open, loud scoff, all of it. You’re his girl, why the hell are you trying to pay him back? Just give him a kiss or something.

Loves driving you places, and lets you control the music in reasonable amounts - meaning, you cannot play the same song over, and over. He’d let you get away with three replays max before he’s groaning and turning the radio off and tossing the mix out the window. He’d apologize afterward and buy you a new cassette.

I do not see him being a kind driver, the man has road rage and you’ve seen it. There have been multiple instances where you’ve ducked into the passenger seat and whisper-yelled at him to shut up - he never does.

The man is like a corpse when he sleeps. You want him to move over? Good luck. You’d have a better chance rolling over onto him to get sleep, he wouldn’t wake up either way unless you pushed him from the bed.

Speaking of sleep, if you’re ever cold and plaster your morgue-like hands against his back, he will shriek. His back will arch, his legs will shoot out, and he’ll throw every curse known to man your way as he moves away from your hands - your hands still end up warm.

His friends are his family and he takes their opinions seriously, I can see him genuinely fretting over their view of you if he cares enough for you. Hell, he’s got feelings for you, of course, he’s going to want his family to like you. They will, it’ll take a while to get used to their form of joking, but you’ll be at home with them and it’ll make Dallas smile.

On the subject of family, Dallas doesn’t mention his much. He might if you’re close enough, but you’re likely to get bits and pieces as time goes by until he’s sure you won’t leave either. When he finally tells you about his upbringing it hurts your heart, you’re both mentally spent by the end of it and you promise him to never mention it unless he does first. He appreciates you for it.

If you stay over at his place often enough he’ll try to make the place look more presentable. Mainly rearranging stuff that he hasn’t touched in months, maybe buying another set of bedsheets. You notice every time something changes in his room and whenever you mention it he’s happy to talk about it, even if he tries to play it off cool.

He watches you sleep, not so much in a creepy way, but it’s something he loves to do. If you talk or snore in your sleep he will imitate it in the morning. In the moment he finds it cute, but he’ll never admit it.

His version of helping you cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner is standing behind you with his chin on your shoulder, or leaning against the kitchen counter with a cigarette between his lips. The man can’t cook, maybe he could, but he likes watching you cook too much to try - that and the one time he tried to help he burnt the shit out of his hand.

If you smoke he’ll light your cigarettes or share his own, if you don’t he’ll appreciate you standing beside him while he smokes, but he ain’t gonna force you to be near him when he does - just don’t nag the man, he’s been smoking since he was a kid, I don’t think he could stop even if he wanted to.

Whenever he smokes he’ll blow the smoke to the side, always ensuring it doesn’t blow in your face. But, if the smoke follows you he’ll murmur some cliche line like “Smoke follows beauty.”

Any music he’s into he will show you in a heartbeat. He thrives on showing you things you haven’t seen yet, whether it’s movies at the drive-in he’s sneaking you into, or a cassette he snagged from a nearby store - either way, his eyes watch you for any reaction.

Definitely considers going on a walk or eating food in Buck’s T-Bird a date. You’ll have to specify what you want if you want anything different, otherwise he’s content with the routine. If you ask for something different he won’t take offense to it, but he might chide you for it.

Words aren’t his forte, actions are. He’ll try his best to be kind, but he’ll occasionally slip and might say something rude. If you can shoot back your own sarcastic quips it’ll make him swoon, he loves nothing more than someone who can fire back at him.

Likely won’t tell you that he loves you for YEARS. You can say it first, he’ll nod and likely kiss your cheek or forehead in return. You know what he means, but he’s not the type to say it until he feels absolutely certain about you. Dallas knows how he feels about someone rather quickly, but he’s wary when it comes to love. He wants to mean it, mean it in a way that scares him.

The first time he tells you he loves you will be when you’re asleep. He’ll continue doing that until one day when he randomly springs it on you. It’ll likely be around a cigarette, but you’ll be able to tell from his eyes how deeply he means it. Don’t expect him to say it often, but know that he always feels it.

A/N: This is so short, I’m so sorry. I’ve never done headcanons before, so I hope this was good! I think about Dallas’s character so much that I actually had a bit of fun with this! This is a late night post for me, but I finished it up and figured I’d post it for y’all anyways. Thank you all for the continued love and support you’ve shown me and my work!! I appreciate you all more than words could ever describe! <3

[twobitsblade]

Hi! Can you write a story about Dally teasing / messing with a shy female reader who is super jumpy and gets blushy easily? I can picture him jumping out at her to scare her or tease her with tickling knowing it makes her blush. Idk just some suggestions :) thanks!

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ every man gets his wish

[ author’s note: i hope this is what you wanted, anonymous!! i’m new to writing long-form stories, if you can’t tell. feel free to request more stuff, such as long stories, headcanons, blurbs, or anything you want, really, in my inbox. ]

dallas “dally” winston was many things: handsome, a gangster, somewhat of a jerk, but most importantly, he was yours. and today was just another small day that solidified that—your 1st-year anniversary! you and dallas’s relationship had been smooth overall, except for the occasional argument. you were walking to the local diner to meet him there, although you knew he’d probably take his sweet time because, according to him, “oh for god’s sake, woman, i’ve got stuff to do.”

you were on your way when all of a sudden, you heard a loud, ear-piercing shriek, causing you to jump backward and drop all your school materials onto the sopping wet concrete. when you turned to face the sound, you immediately tasted something sugary in your mouth. you turned to see a grinning dallas winston. you giggled as you ran toward him, beginning to playfully pound your fists against his chest.

“aw, dally, you scared me!” you said, your breathing still slightly uneven.

“i know, sugar. i saw that,” he grinned, wrapping his forearms around your neck and pulling you to his chest. it felt more like an affectionate chokehold rather than a hug, but what could you do? you weren’t taking it too seriously because, why should you? you knew that if any supplies were seriously damaged, he’d just steal more for you.

you both walked into the diner and sat down in a booth the color of cherries. soon, the waitress, an older woman in her mid-thirties, approached, and you began to order the usual: two vanilla milkshakes, two burgers, and one large fry, which dallas would scarf down and you’d peck at. as you were ordering, his hands suddenly reached your waist, causing you to let out a sharp sound that was a mix of a giggle and a yelp. everyone in the restaurant turned to look at you. amidst the embarrassment and your face turning a pale pink,

you felt dallas’s head rest on your shoulder, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, your heart still going a mile a minute from the way people were staring at you a moment ago. finishing your order, you waited for the waitress to leave before resting your head on the table.

“oh, god, you’re something else, winston.”

[cranberrv]

sweet

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston sneaks into your bedroom

( a/n : this request was so cute! i want dal so badly HOLYY but anyway i hope u cuties enjoy )

the smoke of a candle danced through your room, coating it in a subtle smell of vanilla. the beatles was playing on vinyl, the record spinning endlessly. your vanity was covered in expensive makeup and one of the lightbulbs on the fairylights strung to your wall was flickering, slowly burning out. the new pink pyjamas that your mother bought you sat comfortably on your skin, and the pages of a book were flipping every few minutes.

you feel a sense of calm as you relax. it’s storming heavily out but you’re safe inside, your parents are asleep, and it’s just you and your little dog hanging out on your bed. you’re almost ready to blow out your candle and head to bed.

until you hear a knock on the window. you jump at the sudden sound disrupting your quiet time, but ignore it, thinking it’s just the wind. but then it happens again multiple times. your head is going to worst-case scenario. serial killer? kidnapper? you don’t know, but they’re impatient. so you hesitate, but peak through your lacy curtains. your lover, dallas winston, is staring at you.

you relax your shoulders and sigh, opening your window. “you scared me,” you whisper-yell so you don’t wake your parents. “how do you know where i live?”

“two-bit told me,” he tells you, talking in a normal voice. you elbow him, and he whispers as he continues. “i should be asking you why another man knows your address.”

“i babysit his sister, he drops her off all the time,” you whisper. you’re annoyed at him for showing up at midnight, and you’re about to force him out, until you notice how drenched with rain he is. “you’re all wet, dal,” you sigh. “are you cold?”

he shakes his head and shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed. “nah, i’m alright, sugar,”

you sit beside him and gently rest your hand on his cheek for a second, checking his temperature to see if he’s lying. “you’re freezing,” you have a worried look in your eye. he knows it all too well, you get nervous for him easily. “i’ll go get you a towel. do you want hot chocolate?”

“baby, i ain’t gonna die of hypothermia,” he assures. “i don’t need hot chocolate.”

“okay,” you give him a kiss on the cheek, then stand up and walk out of the room to grab a towel.

as you walk out of the room and into the hallway, careful not to step on creaky floorboards and wake your loved ones up, dallas sits up from the bed, and starts looking around your room. he’s never been in a rich kids house before. he picks up your expensive lipstick from your vanity, the one you wear everyday, the one that stains his face when you kiss him. he picks up your perfume — he loves your perfume. he loves how you smell, rosey and feminine. the smell of you makes him feel serene, relaxation washing over him. you have this way about you that makes him feel so safe.

after he’s done looking at your vanity and your shelves of books and crystals, he catches a glimpse of himself in the vanity. he doesn’t fit in with you or your room. his hair is wet, his jacket is dirty, his shoes aren’t shiny and he looks roughed up. but what’s funny is that you don’t even care. most socs care about their reputation, they would never want to be seen around a greaser, but you don’t care. he’s never experienced unconditonal love like yours before.

you walk back in with a pink towel and see him looking at himself. “doing your makeup, dal?” you tease, and he playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“very funny, sweetie,” he sits back down on your bed and takes off his jacket.

you sit down beside him and start drying him off, because frankly, you don’t trust him to do it himself. you brush his bare shoulders and you pat his hair with the towel. he’s watching you do it all, admiring your focus and your need to take care of him. he takes your free hand in his own calloused hand, gently rubbing it with his thumb. he has so much love and thankfulness towards you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. him taking your hand causes you to lose your focus and look up at him. his gaze doesn’t drift, a soft smile on his face as your cheeks blush.

“i think i’m dry enough,” he whispers.

you nod, and set the towel down. “okay,”

he takes a breath before speaking again. “can i stay over here tonight?”

you hesitate. you would love for him to stay over, you would love to talk to him all night and spend time with him, but it’s a school night. “my dad wakes me up during school days, dallas, he’ll see you,” you whisper. “and i don’t really want him to know that a boy snuck in my room.”

“what? why? you’ll get grounded or somethin’? c’mon, doll, nothing is gonna happen,” you shrug, and he continues. “i just want to spend some time with my girl, is that a crime?”

“he’ll be mad—“ you start, but he interrupts you with a compromise.

“i’ll be out at 6:00, your old man won’t see me. i gotta help buck clean up the bar, anyway,” he insists.

“..fine.” you agree, a little smile growing on your face at the excitement of dallas sleeping over.

he gives you a peck on the lips. you guys continue talking for a little bit longer, about how he didn’t know you babysat two-bit’s sister, and about how your teacher got you in trouble for chewing gum. and when your beatles record stops and you change it, he tells you he’s never listened to them before because they’re a “soc band.”

after a while, you two are lying down, still talking in hushed whispers. it’s mostly you talking, but he loves your voice, so he doesn’t mind. his arm is around you, pulling you into his side. you let out a small yawn as you start to get tired, and he gives you a gentle pat on your back.

“go to sleep, sugar,” he tells you.

you disagree with him. “i like talking to you,”

“yeah, well, you can do that all you want tomorrow, doll,” he takes a breath. “you wanna swing by buck’s tomorrow?”

“yeah,” you nod. “i’ll come after school.”

he rubs your back gently, and adjusts himself to get more comfortable.

“can you blow out the candle?” you ask him before he gets too tired.

he nods, and leans over to your bedside table to blow it out, then he turns off the lamp. his st. christopher necklace and the smoke are the only things you can see in the darkness hugging you two. the beatles continues to play in the background, and you two stay close together, a feeling of serenity in the air. dallas chooses to stay awake for a bit longer, watching you fall into a peaceful state as you sleep.

dallas isn’t the same person with you as he is when he’s in public. when he’s with his friends, or even walking around town, he has this intimidating aura that can scare anyone who has the mispleasure of walking past him. he has a dangerous reputation around tulsa, and he’s seen as a teenage dirtbag who’s been to jail more times than you can count.

but when he’s around you, he’s completely different. his walls are torn down the minute he smells your perfume. he lets you take care of him, he doesn’t wipe off the lipstick stains on your face, and he’s oh so sweet.

so as he watches the candle smoke dance through the room, he can come to one conclusion. he will never leave the safe place that he calls you.

[mayfieldss]

Greaser boys reactions to you wearing their clothes

Darry Curtis:

He doesn’t want to admit how much it affects him when he sees you wearing his things. But he can’t deny that it does definitely make him feel something. Stronger maybe.

When Darry strolls into the kitchen late in the evening he isn’t expecting you to be in there at all, let alone to see you cooking in his shirt. His girl, his wonderful girl wearing one of his button ups, and smiling as he enters the room. It’s a little big on you, and one sleeve drops off your shoulder as you move toward him, lifting your arms ready for a hug.

“Hey doll,” he mumbles against your lips when you kiss him. The perfect antidote for his terrible day at work. “S’that my shirt?” He tugs at the fabric near the hem, fingers running over the old stitching.

“Mhm, is that problem?” You’re looking at him with genuine concern, as if you would take it off in an instant if he asked. But no, he definitely wants his shirt to stay on you.

“No, no problem doll. Just wondering.” He steps back, taking you in. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” You wink at him, a smile growing as Darrel steps back up toward you. He looks over your shoulder at the meal you’re making, and he’s glad there’s someone looking out for him.

“What’re you cooking?”

You glance back at the stove, shrugging his shirt back onto your shoulders. “Just you wait and see.”

~

Sodapop Curtis:

He’s so happy to see you when you show up at the DX on his lunch break that he practically runs out the door to meet you.

“Hey honey, what’re you doing here?” He damn near slams into you as he comes to a stop.

“I came to see you.” You say it likes it’s obvious because honestly, it kind of is. You don’t have a car, so you don’t need gas for it. Why else would you be at the station?

A smile grows on Soda’s face as he hears this news “Oh.” He leans down to kiss you, soft and sweet, “I’m glad you’re here.” He says when he pulls away.

Before you can respond, a car honks its horn at you, the driver signaling at you to get the hell out of the way so he can get his gas. “We better move.” Soda mumbles, tugging you along and over to the front wall of the DX. He leans against it, handsome as ever, happy to be with his girl.

Unfortunately the sun is a lot brighter on this side of the station. You’re squinting up at him, and without thinking, you pull his DX uniform cap off his head and put it onto your own. Instantly, you can see him better, his hair messy from the hat on it moments before. But his expression now, makes you chuckle.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, unable to stop yourself. The middle Curtis brother laughs, reaching up and adjusting the cap on your head.

“You look cute, is all. Wearing my stuff.” He tucks your hair near the front of your face underneath the cap so he can see you better, and you can’t stop a grin from forming at his gentle touch.

“Does it suit me?” You tilt your head to show off the DX label on the top of the cap, “you reckon they would hire me?”

Soda’s eyes crinkle at the edges, his smile shining off his face. “I’d sure as hell give you the job.” He mumbles, pulling you closer to him. He’s missed you since he started taking on more shifts to help Darry.

“Great,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “When do I start?”

“Right now.” Soda tilts his head so he can reach your lips underneath the cap, kissing you again, this time without interruption. He leans back further against the wall, pulling you with him and lifting you up. It always feels like a movie, the way he kisses you. It feels like true love bottled up and poured out with his touches.

It almost pains him to pull away from you and check his watch. “You wanna come inside? My breaks almost up.” He’s caught his bottom lip between his teeth, unable to get over just how good you look in a piece of his uniform.

You would follow him anywhere, and you let him lead you through the doors of the DX, waving at Steve on your way in.

“Well look who it is!” Steve says when he sees you, knowing just how bad Soda’s withdrawals from you have been since he started working more.

“Hey Steve,” you smile at him, heading over to the counter to give him a hug. “You been keeping my boy company?”

Soda’s stomach flips as you call him ‘your boy’. Being yours means a lot to him.

“I’ve been trying to keep him entertained” Steve responds, slinging an arm over your shoulder. “Nice cap by the way.”

You tilt it toward him. “Thank you.” Before you look over Steve’s shoulder at the clock on the wall. “I should leave you boys to it, huh?”

Soda doesn’t want you to, and it must be clear on his face because you move away from Steve and grab his face in your hands. “I’ll see you tonight.” You don’t know how you’ll make it to his place by the time his shift ends, but you’ll find a way.

“Yeah?” He relishes in the way your hands feel on his face, the skin on skin contact he’s been craving for days.

You nod, and push him behind the counter. “Yeah, now get back to work you slacker.”

He laughs, and so does Steve.

“Okay, yes ma’am.”

Before you go, you pull his hat off your head and place it back onto his. “You’ll need that.” You say, smiling wide to match Soda’s own expression.

He reaches over the counter and brushes your hair back into place. It’s a sweet gesture, him fixing your hair. It’s intimate, and you miss him already despite not having left yet.

The bell rings on the door behind you, signalling a customers entry. “That’s my cue, keep up the hard work boys.” You take yourself to the door, and wave them both goodbye.

As you leave, Soda’s eyes trail after you remembering your sweet eyes underneath the brim of the cap he currently wears. It smells faintly of your shampoo, and he pulls it down tighter onto his head. He never wants to take it off.

~

Dally Winston:

Dallas Winston loves when you wear his clothes. He’s been very open about it in the past, and he isn’t shy about parading you around when you wear his things. Today though, he’s just a smitten boy, with endless teasing and flirting up his sleeve.

As of right now, Dally is leaning against someone’s car—something expensive looking that he probably shouldn’t be touching—with you in front of him, just glad to be there.

He is just about to ask you what you want to do when he sees a light shiver run over you, and despite the cold and dark exterior he’s curated, Dally instantly shrugs off his jacket. “You cold, hun?”

“I’m fine Dally. Don’t worry about me.” You try and brush it off but He’s already putting the jacket around your shoulders, layering you up against the chill in the breeze.

“Damn right you’re fine, that’s why I can never stop staring at ya.”

You laugh at his shamelessness, and put your arms into the sleeves of his jacket. It’s old and worn but it smells like him. Of smoke and earth. Like the scent you notice when rain hits the pavement.

“Well, look at you.” Dally is eyeing you up in his jacket, eyes scanning over every detail as if he’s memorising you for something later. “Looking good, baby.”

He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the kind that suggests he’s thinking about a lot of things he shouldn’t be. He puts his fingers through the belt loops of your jeans and pulls you closer, tucking his face into your neck and tickling you there with little bites and kisses.

“Aren’t we supposed to be doing something right now?” You struggle to get the words out when he’s distracting you like this, and he chuckles against your skin, sending vibrations through you.

“I am doing something.” He pulls back from your neck with one final kiss in the space under your earlobe. “You can join in if you want.”

His eyes move over you again, and his voice lowers “don’t know why I’ve never put this on you before.” He mumbles, adjusting the collar of his jacket on you. “You’re looking like my lady a little extra right now.”

You don’t really know what he means by it, but the way he says it makes your heart pound nonetheless. “I guess I’ve just never been all that cold before.” You shrug and the leather shifts on your shoulders.

Dally leans further back onto the car that isn’t his, practically sitting on the hood of the thing. He guides you to stand between his legs, and you stand over him, running your hands through his hair. He tries not to close his eyes at the touch, if only to keep looking at you in his clothes, but he’s not use to the kind of soft affection you give him. He’s not sure he ever will be.

“It’s comfy,” you say, looking down at the jacket you wear.

“Keep it.” He says it suddenly, and even though he loves the jacket, and it might be his favourite one, he likes it better on you.

“I can’t keep it Dally.” You protest, your hands placed firm on his shoulders. You squeeze gently, releasing some of the tension he holds there, and he slide his arms around your middle in appreciation.

“Yeah you can. I don’t care. Do what you want.”

“I’m not taking your jacket from you Dal, but I’ll wear it whenever you want if that makes you feel good.” You compromise, a cheeky grin sliding its way onto his lips as you do.

“That makes me feel real good sweetheart.”

A group of Soc’s walks past then, and Dally can’t help but show you off a bit, turning a little so if they look they can see what you’re wearing. It’s so clearly his by the way it fits on your frame and he wants them to know that.

They might have cash and fancy cars. Their houses might hold chandeliers and mahogany furniture, but Dally is richer than all of them combined with you by his side.

He moves his gaze away from the Soc’s that pass, turning back to you. He stands, sliding his hands around to your lower back underneath the jacket.

“Let’s go somewhere nice, huh?”

The way you’re looking at him, like he’s worthy of all the positive attention in the world makes his chest feel warm. “Anywhere is nice with you.” You say, and he’s surprised by just how badly he needed to hear that.

“Okay then, that gives us a lot of options.” The joke is light, as he starts walking with you toward nowhere in particular.

You lean into him, and he has to adjust the way he strides to accommodate for it, but he doesn’t mind one bit.

“I like wearing your clothes Dallas.” You say out of the blue, his full name taking him off guard. It sounds good when you say it though, not like the scolding way the cops call it out.

“You do huh? That’s good.”

“I like feeling like I’m yours.” You spill, deciding that if the world were to end tomorrow, you’d want him to know the little things like this.

Lucky for you, he wants to know those little things too. Dallas Winston is stone cold, tougher than most, but right now, walking through the streets that have never felt like home before—he’s in love.

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