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anonymityisfunwriter · 8 months ago

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The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy

Pairing: Greaser!Bucky Barnes x Uptown Girl!Reader Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

A.N. - Here's a long awaited request from one of my dearest readers @oneofstarkskids, it definitely strayed a little from that initial request but i hope you enjoy! "just reread this and it's still so amazing 😭 do you take requests? if so, would you be inclined to writing a grease themed bucky au one shot?"

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Picture this... he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He's everything every mother in your neighborhood warned you about. His hands perpetually stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, scuffed leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.

You're none of those things, the complete opposite. Pearls strung around your neck. Perfectly done up, lips painted the perfect rouge. You're as educated as a woman could be in your day and age. You're an Uptown girl. Capital O - Old Money.

Your friends are enamored with Bucky Barnes and his friends - though you all know they'll never do anything about. Not as long as their parents had anything to say about it. And none of them are prepared to give up their high class life. It's just fun for them. A way to sow some wild oats before their parents introduce them to their future husbands.

Every chance they get, they pester you to take the long way home. To walk by that mechanic shop where Bucky and his friends hang out.

They never approach those Brooklyn boys. No, they never offer more than a coy smile and a languid, flirty twinkle of their manicured fingers. They just relish in the attention they get from walking past them.

You hate it. You hate their arrogance. You hate the smell of nicotine that hangs around him. You hate everything about them, down to those oddly charming Brooklyn accents.

"Hey," a blonde boy calls as you and your best friend walk past their mechanic shop one day. "Hey!"

"I told you this was a bad idea," you hiss at your friend, locking your arm with hers. "Now, look."

"I think they want to talk to us," she squeals under her breath.

He picks up his stride, doing a half jog until he reaches where your friend holds you hostage on the pavement. "We see you ladies passin' through every once in a while. Thought we could be friends or somethin'."

Your friend is immediately entranced with the blonde boy. Her face flushes as she beams at him, "We would love that!"

"We have enough friends," you simultaneously reply.

"She's kidding," your friend nervously chuckles, elbowing you in your ribs.

The blonde boy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, I'm Steve. My friend there is Bucky."

As if on cue, Bucky saunters up beside Steve with an equally arrogant grin. He tips his head at each of you. "Hello, ladies."

Your friend nods at the two of them, an ear to ear grin taking up her entire face. "It's nice to meet you, Steve, Bucky."

The brunette's eyes flash over to you, speaking through that infuriating smirk, "Pleasure's ours."

"Would you ladies like to join us for a Coke?" Steve offers.

"We'd love to!" she immediately replies.

You shoot your friend an intense, incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a second?"

"Sure thing." Steve nods, ambling away from you and your friend to give you a moment of privacy.

Bucky doesn't move an inch. He stands before you with that same arrogant smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm good right here."

"Fine," you scoff, speaking as bluntly as you can. Despite your polite upbringing, you you find don't care about offending him in the slightest. "We are not staying here!"

"Come on," she pleads. "What's the harm?"

"Where's the good in staying?" you shoot back.

"They're just so handsome," she fawns, looking over her shoulder to give a coy wave to the blonde boy. "And there's one for the both of us, it's fate!"

"It's not fate. They're nothing but trouble."

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "You remember that I'm still right here, right?"

You shoot a glare at Bucky. "I know."

He playfully clutches his chest. "You're hurtin' my feelings, Doll."

You can feel the anger raising your blood's temperature. You don't like how quickly he's gotten underneath your skin. "I'm not your Doll."

"Princess?" he suggests with an infuriating wag of his eyebrows.

There's an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to stamp your foot at him and yell at him to stop teasing you. You keep it together just enough to contain that visceral reaction you're having to Bucky Barnes. Mostly. "I'm not your anything!"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "What did I ever do to you, Princess?"

Your eyes narrow in accusation. "I know your type."

"Charming? Irresistibly handsome?"

"Horrendously arrogant," you seethe at him. You turn back to your friend, only to find her missing, "Now, can we please go-"

"Your friend ran off the second you were focused on me."

Your eyes flicker to behind Bucky to your friend, who sure enough is enthralled in a conversation with Steve. "I was not focused on you!"

"Then why didn't you notice your friend runnin' away from you?"

"You're incorrigible."

The corner of Bucky's lips twitch up. "Didn't they teach you in that finishing school that it's not polite to insult people who are tryin' to be your friend?"

"And how would you know that I went to finishing school?"

He quirks an eyebrow at you like the answer is obvious. His eyes rake over you. From the way you hold yourself. To the dresses that oozed quiet luxury. You and Bucky were as different as night and day. "I know an uptown girl when I see one."

"And I know trouble when I see it," you shoot back. "And you Brooklyn boys are nothing but trouble."

It only gets worse from there. After that first interaction, your friend in fully infatuated with Steve Rogers. There is no tearing her away from him.

And that means, as your friend's dutiful alibi, you were dragged down to Brooklyn far more than you ever wanted.

And worst of all, it meant you spent most of your free time in the presence of Bucky Barnes.

"Please, just be nice," your friend begs as you trudge up to their garage. "I'd settle for polite even."

You scoff at her, rolling your eyes, "I'm always polite - just like I'm always nice."

"Not to Bucky, you're not."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, walking into the garage. Your friend takes off, immediately falling into the arms of Steve Rogers. Leaving you with Bucky Barnes to sit with him on the the couch that's become your most constant companion on days like today. As you walk past Bucky, you snipe, "James."

Bucky quirks a brow, smirking at you, "Oh, so now I'm James?"

"That's your name, isn't it?"

He walks away from the bike he spends most of his time working on, snatching a rag from his tool bench and wiping his hands of motor grease. Your eyes involuntarily wander to his hands, the care he puts into wiping each and every one of his fingers.

You stare for a second too long for Bucky not to notice you staring at his hands. "Remind me to thank Steve for tellin' ya that."

You roll your eyes, finally snapping out of it. "It's far better than the alternative."

He flicks the rag over, resting it on his shoulder. "So you like my name?"

You softly snort as you settle onto the couch. "I didn't say that. I said it was better than the alternative."

That smirk only gets even bigger. "What else do ya like about me?"

You roll your eyes. "Not a thing."

He settles into the couch beside you. Far too close for your liking. You can almost feel the rough denim of his jeans through your skirt. "I just love these conversations of ours."

"I don't."

His entire torso turns towards you, mischief and amusement gleaming in those blue eyes, "I mean, why would I want warmth and affection when I could have blind hatred?"

"It's not blind hatred." In spite of easily Bucky gets under your skin, you can't deny just how unfairly handsome he is. Even now, you find yourself lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. "It's perfectly reasonable contempt."

He gently runs a finger down your cheek. "I love when you talk smart to me."

You swat his hand away from your face. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not!" Bucky insists. "I really love it! I know it's just your way of flirting with me!"

You scoff, making no attempt to hide your offense, "I am not flirting with you!"

He tilts his head at you, that arrogant smirk once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, just admit it, Doll. You're a little sweet on me."

"I am not your Doll!" You fly up out of your seat with an indignant huff. "And I most certainly am not sweet on you!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me when I walk around here without a shirt. Or the way you were staring at my hands just now. What exactly were you picturin' my hands doin'?"

"I was not picturing anything." Your cheeks flame as you continue to bicker back and forth with him. Sure, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid eyes on. And yes, he could be incredibly charming. And sometimes, you found yourself staring at him in an not so innocent way. But you hated him. He infuriated you to no end. "And I was not staring!"

The grin is practically splitting his face. "And you've definitely thought about kissin' me."

"I would rather walk from here to Jersey than kiss you."

He slides up off the couch, taking a long step towards you. "You've got a hell of a temper, you know that?"

You refuse to back down. You press an accusing finger into his chest. You can't help but notice just how firm the muscles underneath that white t-shirt are. "I just think you're real good at pushing my buttons."

"Real good?" Bucky teases. "I think Brooklyn is startin' to rub off on you."

"You know what I think?" Your chest starts to heave with the anger and frustration you feel towards Bucky Barnes. "I think that you're the last person I would ever let rub off on me. I think that you're an arrogant smart ass that likes to spend his day running his mouth."

"And I think you're a repressed priss that couldn't take what she wanted 'less it's handed to her on a silver platter."

"You wouldn't know a damn thing about what I want."

"You wanna know what I think..." He leans closer, lowering himself to your eye level. "I think that you're pissed off because you know deep down those punk ass rich boys will never make ya happy, I think you're pissed off 'cause you're bored, and I think you're pissed off 'cause you want me - even if you'll never admit it."

You don't have a response to that. There's not a single word that comes to mind. You don't think you've ever been this mad before.

And because you can't think of a single word to assuage your heaving chest and boiling blood, you do something that a polite, good girl like you would never even dreaming of doing. Before you can think, you find your hand opening and winding back.

Before you can even make contact with his cheek, he catches your hand, gripping your wrist between his warm, calloused hand. He hauls you forward until you stumble into his chest.

For a moment, you can almost hear a pin drop. The tension is so thick the only air in the room Bucky's breath dancing across your lips. "I think I'm gonna kiss you."

A soft breath stutters from your lips. "And I think I'm gonna let you."

You weren't sure what it was, but after that first kiss, you couldn't get enough of your Brooklyn boy. Even after your friend and Steve had mostly fizzled out, you couldn't get enough of him.

You waited for the moment that they all talked about, the moment when you had your fill of the boy from the wrong side of tracks, when your wild oats were sufficiently sowed, but it never came.

Every time you laid eyes on him, the seal on your fate only solidified more and more. The more you saw him, the more you wanted him. And the more sure you were that you would never be able to let him go.

You weren't a stranger to the boredom and monotony of your upper echelon life, but this was different. This wasn't boredom, he wasn't a distraction. From the moment you met Bucky, you lost all interest in the upper echelon of it all.

Suddenly, you don't care what your friends think, what your parents would think. Suddenly, you were throughly repulsed by the thought of marrying one of those repressed, trust fund babies that littered your street.

And even your friends, the same ones that lived off their fleeting attention, didn't understand.

Your friend rolls her eyes again, a sigh of irritation leaving her lips as you ready to go meet Bucky, "Are you really going back up there?"

"You're the reason I met him in the first place!"

"I know. I know," she groans, clearly disappointed that you hadn't lost interest in Bucky like she had with Steve. "And I'm happy for you! I am! I just I want to make sure..."

Her tone finally gets your full attention. You put your bag down on the table, your eyebrow pulled together, "Make sure what?"

"You're just sowing wild oats, right?"

Your entire face puckers with distaste, "What?"

"That sounded bad," she backtracks, a guilty look painting her face. She takes a deep breath, resting a condescending hand on your shoulder. "You just - you know your future isn't with Bucky, right?"

You shake her hand off your shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"He's from a different world than we are. You know that."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," you scoff. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Come on, he's not exactly the sort of guy you can bring home to your parents."

You snort, turning away from her, "I have to go."

"You know I'm right!" she calls after you.

You didn't know that. In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you saw why he was exactly the right person to bring home to your parents. He was everything you could ever bring yourself to hope for and more. Sure, he was different than you and your family, but he was a good man. He was perfect for you.

Surely, your parents could see that. Surely, they could see how good he was for you.

So that's exactly what you were going to do.

Bucky sighs against your lips, "I missed ya."

You don't know when that happened, but you've come to find a comfort in the scent of the faded leather of his jacket, in the feeling of his calloused fingertips trailing dangerously high on your upper thigh.

In the backseat of his beloved car, you curl closer into his side, resting your head on his chest, "Me too."

He kisses the top of your head, watching as you stare off into the distance, "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

You pull back slightly, lifting your head off his chest. With a furrowed brow, you ask him, "How serious are you about me?"

"Dead serious," he replies in an instant.

You lightly swat his chest. "Quit playing."

"'M not playin'," he swears. He does an 'x' over his heart, "Cross my heart."

His answer gives you all the reassurance you need. All there was to do was ask him. Still, there was a hesitancy. You worry that this will just make him realize that you two might just be insurmountably, irreconcilably different. You decide that the best way to ask is just ask. "Then what would you say about meeting my parents?"

"I'd love to," Bucky coolly answers.

You can't help the way your face lights up with hope. "Really?"

"Of course. Anything for my girl."

You really like the way that sounds. His girl. You could get used to being his girl.

The look on your face is worth it all to Bucky. He only hopes you don't see the anxiety in his expression.

He wasn't oblivious to how different your worlds were. He knew there was a good chance that this wouldn't last forever. It didn't really matter what he wanted or how much he was willing to fight for you, he knew the reality of it all.

He couldn't offer you half of what someone in your neighborhood could. Your worlds couldn't be more different.

And he's never been more aware of it than on the eve of meeting your parents.

Steve smirks at Bucky as he fiddles with his tie again. "You're really seein' this through, aren't you?"

Bucky smacks Steve upside his head. "Don't be a jerk."

"I'm just sayin'," Steve shrugs, settled into the couch of Bucky's family home. "I'm happy for ya, Buck. You really like this girl."

"I wouldn't be dressed like this for anyone else. Are you sure this is right?" Bucky tugs at his tie again. Maybe it was that the suit hadn't seen the light of day in a few years and was a little more snug than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he'd only dressed like this for funerals and weddings, but everything about his getup today made him feel like a fraud. He was sure if your parents saw him like this, they'd see right through him. "I feel like I'm goin' to a school dance."

"Where does she live again?"

Bucky tries his best to hide his wince. He'd never been to your side of town, but he'd heard stories. Sure, most of them were made up, but there had to be some truth buried in the tall tales. "Upper West Side."

Steve pats his shoulder. "Stick with the tie, Buck."

He listens to Steve's advice and sticks with the tie. As he walks through your neighborhood, seeing houses bigger than entire apartment buildings on his block that line your street, he's pretty confident in trusting Steve up until the moment he sees you.

Your smile stutters as you see him waiting outside the gate of your home. It was just his luck that your house was one of the biggest on the block. Your eyes trail up and down Bucky's uncharacteristic attire. "What are you wearing?"

His heart sinks. He looks down, patting his blazer and tie. "Am I - Am I not this thing right? I knew it - I told Steve -"

"No, no," you quickly interject. "You look great! I've just never seen you... like this."

"What's wrong with this?" Bucky hedges.

Your soft smile up at him is the only thing soothing his knotted stomach. "Nothing, I - I just wanted them to meet you, to meet the Bucky that I know and - and I want them to know you. Not whoever this is."

"I - I didn't think they would like that Bucky very much," Bucky confesses.

It doesn't escape you that he's nervous, especially as he fiddles with this tie over and over again. You're well aware of how intimidating this all is. Even as someone who grew up in this social circle, in the thick of the upper echelon, you still found yourself scared of doing and saying the wrong thing.

You knew he was only trying to fit in as best as he could. Still, you missed the smell of his leather jacket, the waft of motor oil that often clung to his skin. "Well, I like you the way you are. Greaser and all."

"Thanks." It's comforting to him. Still, as his eyes rove over your house, he can't help but be glad he listened to both Steve and his mother. He holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "My Ma told me to bring these for your Ma."

An endeared smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. He was really trying to win over your parents. He really was serious about this - about you. "My mother will love this."

"Your mother," Bucky corrects himself, doing his best to tame his Brooklyn twang.

"Just be yourself," you assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you make your way up the long driveway. "No one else, just you."

"Any other tips?"

"If you run out of things to talk about ask my father about his cars. He collects them."

It takes everything in Bucky not to gape like a fish out of water. "He collects... cars?"

You ignore his question, continuing to fill Bucky in on your parents, "And my mother, well, she's a terrible gossip. If you can get her talking about her friends, you've won her over."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Just relax. They'll love you."

As he walks into your home, greeted by a man wearing a nicer suit than he is who offered to take his coat from him, Bucky's not quite sure he believes you.

Your heels click against the sleek marble flooring as you guide him through your home. He holds on tight to your hand, half afraid that you'll let go and he'll get lost in the labyrinth of pristine beige hallways.

Your father is the first to greet Bucky in your living room. He extends a hand out to Bucky. "You must be the boy we've heard so much about."

"It's nice to meet you both," Bucky returns the firm handshake before turning to your mother with the warmest smile he can muster through his anxiety. "You have a lovely home, ma'am. I brought these for you."

She takes the bouquet from Bucky's hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you..."

"Oh, it's Bucky," he supplies.

"Bucky?" your mother dubiously repeats. "How unique..."

"It's James, actually," Bucky corrects himself, already feeling himself getting flustered. "James Buchanan Barnes. 's where Bucky comes from."

Your mother nods, offering a tight smile, "How lovely."

As your mother hands off the flowers to one of the wait staff, he can't help but already feel like he's already made that dreaded bad first impression.

As though you can see the despair forming in the pit of his stomach and dampening the glimmer in his blue eyes, you give his hand a squeeze along with a smile.

"Dinner is ready," your mother announces. "Why don't we make our way to the dining room?"

"That sounds wonderful," you beam, leading Bucky into the next room. You stutter to a stop just before the dining table. You look at the table as you take your seat, your eyebrows furrowed at something that Bucky hasn't quite caught on to. "Mother? I thought we agreed on a more simple menu tonight."

As you speak you reach under the table, giving Bucky's hand an apologetic squeeze. Just from your inflection, Bucky can tell what awaits him will not be pleasant.

"Nonsense." She dismissively waves you off. "We have a guest."

"We talked about this," you admonish. "You promised."

"Bucky?" your mother calls. "Do you mind having a more formal dinner? I know it might be a tad unusual for you."

"Mother," you sharply warn.

"Um, no, ma'am," Bucky awkwardly lilts. "That sounds lovely."

A self satisfied smirk settles on your mother's face. "See? It's fine."

"Why are there so many forks?" Bucky whispers under his breath.

"Just work your way in," you reply as quietly as you can.

"Do you change forks every bite or somethin'?" It's half an attempt at a joke, half an honest question.

"In between courses."

"Courses?"

Before you can answer Bucky's question, your mother is already beginning her interrogation. "So, James, tell us about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," Bucky replies. "I was born and raised down in Brooklyn."

Your father snorts, "Really?"

You're not quite sure if Bucky catches the sarcastic lilt to your father's question or if he really does just try to rise above it. It's hard to tell with how he rolls with the punches. "Yes, sir."

"Any siblings?" your mother asks.

"I'm the oldest of four, ma'am."

"Any plans for your life?" your father finally pipes in.

"Dad," you hiss.

Your father shrugs, "It's an honest question."

Once again, it rolls off of Bucky's back. "Well, I'm workin' at a garage right now. Me and my friend, Steve, we're hopin' to buy it out. We've just about saved enough between the two of us to buy it from the ol' man when he's ready to retire."

"A man with a plan. I like that."

"Thank you, sir." You're sure that you hear Bucky's sigh of relief as he finds his footing. You can practically see his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your daughter tells me that you have an impressive collection yourself."

You weren't entirely sure how he pulled it off, but by the end of the night, Bucky is talking to your parents like they're old friends.

You're not even sure why you're that surprised, you hated him up until the moment you succumbed to his charm.

As the evening comes to a close, he stands in the doorway, shaking your father's hand again, offering your mother that charming grin once more, "Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious."

"You're welcome back anytime, James."

"Thank you." You're almost shocked at your mother's open invitation. He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "I'll see ya later."

The three of you stand in the foyer of your house as Bucky walks down the steps and down the driveway with his hands shoved in his pockets. You look up to your father, face filled with hope. "So?"

"He's a nice boy."

You're not sure your grin can get any bigger. "I really like him."

"You'll grow out of it."

Your heart sinks the moment the words leave your father's mouth. "What?"

"It can't come soon enough," your mother groans. "You're far too good for him."

"You don't know him."

"We know his type, dear," your mother condescendingly sighs. "And good girls like you don't belong with boys like that, but I do think it was sweet of you to invite your little infatuation to dinner."

You feel like all the air has been knocked out of you. For a moment tonight, you really thought they were coming around. You truly thought it would all work out for the best. "Infatuation?"

"That's what this is, right?" your father asks, concern painting his expression when he sees the furiously determined look in your face. "You're just... rebelling?"

You look up at your father, shaking your head. "No, no, I'm not just rebelling."

You fought with them the whole night before you went to find him the very next day. They threatened you with everything they could think of. When that didn't work, they bribed you with everything they could think of. You didn't care for any of it.

The moment you see him, you know he knows. You're not sure if he realized it the moment he walked out of your door or if it took him a quick recollection of the night to realize it, but he knows all the same. It looks like he hasn't slept a wink. A deep frown replaces his usual grin. He looks entirely and totally distraught.

He notices you the moment you walk up to his garage just like you did all those times before.

This time, it's obvious is different. There aren't barbed words or verbal jabs. You don't bound into his arms. Even Steve offers you a sad twitch of his lips.

Bucky watches you for a long moment before you break the silence. He reaches into his pocket, lighting a cigarette in between his fingers. "Hi."

"They hated me, right?" He doesn't waste words. Your lips press together in a tight line. He takes a large drag from his cigarette. You can't remember the last time you saw him smoking. He shakes his head, hissing under his breath, "Damn it..."

"Bucky?"

He takes another large pull from his cigarette. Even from feet away, you can smell the nicotine in the air. "Just do it. I understand."

"What?"

"That's why you're here, right? Just get it over with."

Your eyebrows furrow. "I don't understand."

"I'm not an idiot, alright?" he spits. "I know I didn't pass their little test, so just call it already."

"Is that really what you thought last night was?"

"What else would you call last night? 'Cause I think I was the butt of the joke from beginnin' to end."

"You were not the butt of the joke, Bucky."

"Oh, please, I fell face first into their punchline."

You suck in a shaky breath, both your own hurt and the cloud of smoke around Bucky burning at your throat, "Is that what you think of me? That I was tryin' to set you up?"

"Yes! No- No! I just - I - Don't you see it?"

"See what?" you demand.

"That I'm not good enough for you!" he desperately exclaims, tossing his cigarette on the pavement. "And everyone else already knows it! Last night proved that!"

"My parents are assholes, Bucky. I came here to apologize for them, to tell you that I don't care what they think."

His voice quiets, the anger melts off his words until all that's left is a heartbreaking sincerity, "You should. You deserve so much more than what I can give you."

"They don't know you, but I do." You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "And I think you've got everything I want. I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

"Do you mean that?"

"Every word."

"What did I do to deserve you? My perfect girl." He kisses the back of the hand he hods, using it to tug you closer to him. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him. "What?"

You wrinkle your nose at him. "I hate the smell of smoke."

"I'll quit," he immediately replies.

"You'll quit smoking? Just like that?"

"That surprise you?"

"It's just - Maybe you Brooklyn boys aren't as tough as you think you are," you tease.

He smirks. "Maybe we're not. Maybe I'm not - but I think it's because I'm in love with an Uptown girl."

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As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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austinramsaygames · 1 year ago

Text

Pro tip for world building: if you have an entity designed for the players to fight in combat, don't name it "pirate", "raider," "soldier" or something equally generic. And ESPECIALLY don't name their faction that!

It's much more characterful to give them a place or people that they come from.

Easy example: Fallout 3 vs Fallout: New Vegas

Fallout 3 has raiders, raiders, and more raiders.

New Vegas has Great Khans, Fiends, Powder Gangers, Jackals, Scorpions, Vipers, and Greasers.

All of the above are effectively "raiders" but New Vegas offers 7 different (or at least theoretically different) raider cultures with their own histories, while Fallout 3 has 1, maybe 0, raider cultures.

Even just naming these NPC groups will develop the world because it'll either make the players or YOU, the designer, ask questions about why they are named that.

In short: every NPC has a group they belong to, so at least name the groups.

PS: if you want more game design thoughts from me, my Patreon is here.

#world building #fallout new vegas #fallout 3 #ttrpg design #worldbuilding #my writing #fallout

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idkdudethisisntpermanent · 2 months ago

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Over the Limit - pt.ii

jenna ortega x female reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

summary: While performing your latest heist, you unexpectedly cross paths with Jenna again.

word count: 4.6k

————

You seriously considered getting a job at the warehouse. Ever since the race three weeks ago, your confusion had only deepened. For starters, those brown eyes still haunted you, lingering in your thoughts more than you'd like to admit. And then there was Anton—if you thought he was relentless before, now he was downright impossible. Constant messages about everything going on at the race club, endless invites to group meetups, even asking for your measurements so he could get you a custom jacket. He was acting like you were already one of them.

You finally do something you should've done a long time ago, and put his messages on mute as you make your way to Summer Valley. One of your contacts tipped you off about a luxury car ripe for the taking, with security that could easily be bypassed and minimal risk of trouble. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Glancing down at your watch, you take notice of the time: 3:24a.m. Everyone in this neighbourhood should be asleep by now.

"Twenty-four, twenty-six, twenty-eight..." you mutter under your breath, eyes scanning the street for the address with the Aston Martin. As you take in the houses, you can't help but feel a sense of awe. Each one is a mansion, towering at least three stories high—your own place barely scrapes one. The bricks alone on these estates probably cost more than your entire home. For a moment, you let yourself imagine what it'd be like to own something like this one day, a life so far from what you're used to. You can't help but wonder if your mystery girl lived in a place like this, hidden behind grand gates and perfect lawns.

"—ah! Thirty Oakmont Boulevard."

You look up at the house, tugging the hood on your head down. This house put all the others to shame, just who owned this house? You quickly shut down your curiosity, you were about to steal the owner's car. Curiosity only means guilt that will eat you up later.

You glance up at the cameras, fully aware you've already taken care of them. The only thing standing between you and that car is the garage door—and you just happen to have the code. With measured steps, you walk up the driveway, eyes locked on the garage door opener mounted to the brick wall just a few feet away. Almost too easy.

"Greaser?"

Shit—wait...Greaser?

You turn around fast and you see her. Walking down the side walk towards you with a confused look. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You scramble for an excuse, your mind racing. "Uh, just... taking a walk," you manage to stammer, trying to sound casual while your heart pounds, not knowing if it was because you got caught or because of the girl standing before you. You glance nervously toward the garage door, knowing you shouldn't be lingering here.

"Right," she says, crossing her arms. "You just happen to be out here in the middle of nowhere, staring at houses?" She takes a step closer, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "You looking to steal a car or something?"

Your cheeks heat up, and you can't help but chuckle nervously. "Actually, I'm just... uh, admiring the architecture." You try to sound nonchalant, but the look in her eyes tells you she sees right through you.

She narrows her gaze playfully. "Architecture, huh? I'm sure that's what everyone does at three in the morning when it's pitch dark." Her eyes squint, dripping with sarcasm, and you can't help but admire her wit.

"Let me help!" she suddenly says, walking past you to the garage opener. "Tell me the code," she turns around looking at you expectantly.

Just who is this girl? You consider all the things you can say to get her to leave, but you find yourself saying something else, "0926."

She turns back around, and you finally take a look at her. She's wearing a simple, cute white dress that flows just above her knees, its fabric light and airy, with delicate lace trim along the sleeves and hem. A stark difference to the red viper jacket. This softer look reveals another side of her—one that feels almost disarming and invites you to know more. You were surprised that she seemed happy to see you. With the way you just left her in the alleyway at the race, you expected her to grimace at the sight of you.

Suddenly you hear the garage door open, and you're met with the beauty of the Aston Martin, its sleek curves glinting under the soft glow of the automatic garage lights. The car looks almost regal, standing there like a prize waiting to be claimed. Your heart races at the sight, but the girl's presence beside you adds an unexpected layer of excitement.

She glances at the car, then back at you, a playful grin spreading across her face. "Well, I suppose you didn't just come here to admire the architecture after all." Her eyes sparkle with mischief, and you can't help but feel the thrill of the moment pulse between you.

"Are you really going to steal it?" she asks with genuine curiosity. The question hangs in the air, and you decide to show her rather than answer.

You walk into the garage and approach the car, every instinct telling you to be cautious. You've done this before but this is the first time you had an audience, making you nervous. Taking a deep breath, you kneel beside the driver's side door, your fingers dancing over the sleek frame as you check for any security features.

After a moment, you spot the lock mechanism and pull out your slim jim—a 24 inch long thin metal tool.

"What the fuck, you just had that in your pants?"

You laugh at her question, and with precision you carefully slide it into the gap between the door and the frame, wiggling it just right until you hear a satisfying click.

You fought the urge to turn back and see if she was impressed with your abilities. Opening the car door, you slide inside, the plush leather seat enveloping you like a warm embrace.

Like it's muscle memory, you fumble with the ignition as you reach for the steering column. With a bit of twisting and pulling, you manage to bypass the ignition system. The engine starts, a deep growl that sends a thrill down your spine. The excitement gets to you and you start fiddling with all the foreign buttons.

You accidentally hit something, and suddenly the entire car unlocks with a soft click. Without missing a beat, the passenger door swings open, and before you can even react, the gorgeous Viper slides into the seat beside you.

"Uhm—absolutely not. You can't come," you blurt out, shaking your head immediately.

She turns to you with a slight frown, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What? Why not?"

Why not? Is this girl serious? You two are far from being friends—hell, you're from completely different sides of the track. You're not about to start committing crimes with a Viper riding shotgun. Getting buddy-buddy with someone like her? Yeah, that's not happening.

"Are you insane? We talked for maybe ten minutes three weeks ago, and now you want to be my accomplice?" you snap, frustration bubbling over. If it weren't for her, you'd already be on the highway by now.

Her demeanor shifts instantly, and you see an attitude rise to the surface that you hadn't seen before. Her eyes narrow, and her voice takes on a sharp edge. "I don't want to be your anything," she snaps, her tone dripping with sass. "But you better get this car moving, Greaser." Her words cut through the tension like a challenge, and for a split second, you see just how serious she is.

You grit your teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. This wasn't part of the plan—none of it was—but you're losing time, and every second she's sitting there, you're closer to getting caught. You weigh your options, but her fiery gaze tells you she's not getting out without a fight.

"Fine," you mutter under your breath, throwing the car into gear. You pull out of the driveway, you feel the adrenaline starting to kick in. You shoot her a quick glare as you hit the gas, tires squealing as you tear down the street. Your mind is racing just as fast as the car, trying to figure out who this girl really is and what she wants. This whole thing just got a lot more complicated.

Twenty minutes pass in tense silence, the kind that feels heavier with every kilometre. It's then you realize—you're heading straight for the Sinner's garage. And there's no way you can take her there.

"Hey," you murmur, quieter than intended, breaking the awkward stillness between you.

From the corner of your eye, you see her glance over at you. "I can't take you to the Sinner's garage. Tell me where I can drop you off," you say, keeping your voice as even as possible, hoping to avoid another argument.

"I'm not getting out."

Oh. My. God. Any calm you had vanishes in an instant, replaced with a fresh wave of frustration. "Why are you even here? Do you want the car for yourself?"

She raises a brow, clearly unimpressed. "Did you forget I'm from Summer Valley? We Vipers can actually afford our cars—we don't have to steal them."

That struck a nerve. "Then why are you torturing me like this?"

Instead of answering, she shoots back a question of her own. "Why did you freak out on me at the race?" You stay quiet, but she presses on. "I thought we had something going on," she says, her voice softening slightly. "And then you just ditched me."

Her eyes flicker with something like hurt, but you refuse to get drawn in.

"There was nothing going on between us," you lie smoothly.

"Oh bullshit!" she scoffs. "What changed your mind?"

"It's a long story," you respond, making it sound boring.

"We've got time," she retorts.

"Look I'm not telling a stranger my life story."

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"What?" you say confused.

"0927," she says randomly.

You take your attention off the road for a second and glance at her. You raise a brow, urging her to explain herself.

"The code for the garage wasn't 0926—you had the last number wrong."

Huh. "Why do you know that?" you say cautiously, your heart starting to race.

"Because the code was my birthday," she reveals, a satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

"Why would the code be your birthday?" you murmur, almost to yourself. Then it hits you, and your eyes widen as your heart stops. "Is this your car?!"

"My dad's," she corrects you quickly. "It'd be weird if I didn't know the code to my own house right?" she starts laughing to herself, studying your reaction.

You should've listened to the warning bells blaring in your ears as soon as you laid your sights on the girl. She was different, there was something about her you found intriguing about her immediately. But you didn't know intriguing meant insane until this very moment.

Deciding it's not the best idea to drive in shock, you exit the highway, now in your territory, Brimstone, and park alongside a lowkey street.

You put the car in park and turn your entire body to face her. "So if I don't tell you my life story, you're going to snitch?" you ask looking deep into her brown eyes, trying to find any sign of a bluff. "I took care of the cameras," you suddenly say, remembering that she didn't have any tangible proof of you stealing this car if you returned it. "It's your word against mine," you smirked feeling as though you got the upper hand.

"All of them?" she questioned. "Even that one?" she smiled, pointing to the horn on the steering wheel.

You turn to look at what she's pointing to and see absolutely nothing. You turn back to her, you catch her glancing at an app on her phone displaying multiple surveillance feeds. One of them showing your face live, in perfect view from the steering wheel.

What kind of rich people technology is this? You look back to the wheel and still couldn't see the camera. You were trapped and this stranger had the upper hand on you.

You sigh, your mind running through millions of different possibilities on how to leave this situation unharmed. "Okay I'm sorry. Let me return the car then. I can't afford to get arrested," you plead, embarrassed to be caught in such a ridiculous situation.

"Greaser, I don't care about the car. I want to know why you ditched me. I want to know you."

Your heart flutters at her declaration. She wants to know you? All of this is just to get to know you? You may be a little twisted, but you're intrigued by the lengths she's gone to for answers.

"Okay. I'll answer. But can you please turn the camera off now. I don't want this to be documented."

She nods, tapping on her phone to disable the camera. She then turns to you, looking at you expectantly, waiting for your response.

So you begin. You open up for the first time in your life—not entirely by choice, but because you feel like you have to. You verbalize the inner turmoil, the impending doom that clouds your mind when you think of the life you've been dealt. The choices you make—the choices you must make.

You tell her about Anton. How your father's founded the Sinners. How your cousin's the leader and you're not a member, but rather a mechanic who makes her living off of stealing, working and selling cars. How Anton's been trying to make you join the crew, fulfill your legacy. How you're conflicted because you don't know if that's what you want. How your father died during a race, and that's deterred you from joining the crew and driving in general. How you don't agree with the illegal activity the group partakes in. How your mom has also conditioned you to hate and avoid anything racing related. How you feel trapped in the confines of Brimstone and stuck in the narrative of another poor Brimstoner who has to work themselves to the bone for the rest of their life.

When you finally finish, you realize you've been rambling, but you don't apologize. She asked the question, and the entire time, she listened intently, nodding and showing understanding.

"And here I thought you were more than just a pretty face," she shakes her head disapprovingly.

You're shocked. You open up to someone for the first time and they're calling you stupid? You narrow your eyes at her, not knowing what resulted in this response from her.

"So from what you've told me I've gathered that, you hate doing illegal shit, yet you steal cars. You hate racing, but you speed away from cops. You hate Brimstone, yet you're still here? You do realize you're the reason why you're playing the typical narrative."

You narrow your eyes, your blood beginning to boil. How dare she? After everything you just laid bare, she's making it sound like it's all black and white, like you're choosing this life.

"You think it's that simple?" you snap, your voice dripping with frustration. "You think I haven't tried to get out? I'm stuck here because I don't have a choice. My whole life has been about surviving—making sure I don't end up like my father. You think I want to be in this mess?"

She doesn't flinch. In fact, she barely reacts, just keeps looking at you with that infuriating calmness.

"Survival's one thing," she says calm, "but you're not just surviving—you're making excuses. You let the people around you make choices for you because it's easier than standing up to them."

You grit your teeth. "You don't know me."

"Maybe not," she admits, leaning back in her seat, eyes flickering with something like challenge. "But I know enough to see that you're scared. Scared of breaking away. Scared of what happens if you do. So you settle, and teeter on the edge, never crossing the lines—never pushing the limits."

The truth of her words stings, more than you care to admit. But you've never had anyone call you out like this before, and you don't know whether to be furious or impressed.

"You think I can just walk away from everything?" you ask, voice low but trembling with barely contained anger.

She tilts her head, considering you. "Maybe not. But you could try. Stop running from yourself and start making decisions for your own damn life."

The silence that follows is thick with tension.

You pull out your phone, scrolling through the flood of texts from Anton. From the string of messages, you piece together that the crew is busy on the opposite side of town, partying it up. The garage should be empty. You clench your jaw, too frustrated with the girl sitting beside you to even ask her to leave. You don't have the patience right now, and you need to make sure no one sees you bringing her to the garage. If anyone caught wind of this, it'd be a mess you couldn't afford.

Putting the car into drive, you embark on the ten minute journey to the garage where you mod your cars. Neither of you two say a word the entire way.

The garage comes into view, glancing over your shoulder, you double-check the coast is clear—no crew, no unwanted eyes.

As you cut the engine, the weight of the silence emerges again. You exhale sharply, gripping the steering wheel for a second longer than necessary before turning to her.

"End of the line. You can get out now," you say, trying to sound firm, though your frustration is laced with exhaustion.

She doesn't budge. Instead, she leans back in the seat, crossing her arms casually, like she's not about to leave anytime soon.

You roll your eyes. Instead, you decide to step out of the car first, feeling her gaze follow you as you make your way to the tool bench.

You hear the car door opening softly behind you, and shut a second after.

"Why are you still here?" you ask tiredly, turning around leaning against the tool bench. "I've told you my story."

She doesn't answer immediately, just watches you with those damn unreadable eyes of hers, arms still crossed leaning against the car you just stole, like she's perfectly comfortable in your world. After a moment, she tilts her head slightly, studying you.

"And yet, you still don't get it," she finally says, her voice low, but firm. "I'm not here for your story. I'm here for you."

Her words hit you harder than you expected, and you blink, thrown off guard.

"For me?" you scoff, shaking your head like it's the most ridiculous thing you've heard all day. "You don't even know me." You say again for the second time today.

"But I want to," she admits, pushing off the car and taking a step closer, "And I think you want me to, too."

Your heart skips a beat, but you try to ignore it, turning away to focus on anything but the intensity in her gaze. You're not about to let her see how much that statement rattled you.

That smirk is dangerous. You feel yourself slipping for a moment but catch yourself before you fall. She steps closer, her attention shifting to the workbench in front of you both. She picks up a wrench, but you can tell right away—it's too heavy for her. Her grip is awkward, and the strain on her flimsy wrists is almost comical.

You chuckle at her struggle. "That's not how you hold it."

Before you think twice, your hand moves over hers, guiding her fingers into the right position around the wrench. The touch lingers just a second too long, and you catch the faintest hitch in her breath.

You notice the brief flicker in her eyes. You quickly pull your hand away, pretending it didn't happen, and step back. "There. Now you won't drop it," you say, clearing your throat, trying to steer the moment back to neutral.

You swear you saw the faintest tinge of red on her cheeks, but she quickly looks away, trying to play it off. The sight of it sends a ripple of satisfaction through you, knowing you've managed to chip away at that confident exterior, if only for a moment.

"What's your name?" you suddenly ask, realizing you couldn't even address the girl who's been the bane of your existence.

"Jenna."

"Jenna," you repeat back softly, testing the name out on your lips. "It suits you."

"And what about you Greaser?" she asks with a smile, the rouge tint still on her face.

"Y/n," you reply, a hint of a smile creeping onto your lips as you say it. You know the weight of a name. It was the very reason you ditched Jenna at the race. Now that she's given her name and she's got yours, you know that means connection, connection means vulnerability and vulnerability means complications.

"Well, I'm calling it a night," you yawn, stretching your arms wide. You notice her gaze trailing over you, your shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin at your waistband.

"How are you getting home?" you ask, catching a glimpse of the playful spark in her darkened eyes.

"Uber? Or I could just crash at yours," she muses, wiggling her brows teasingly.

You know she's half-joking, but the idea lingers in your mind longer than you'd like. Honestly, it wouldn't be the worst thing. But you're relieved she's not serious; the last thing you want is for her to see how you really live.

It suddenly dawns on you that the home you were just at is hers, along with that stunning car. She leads a lavish life, one you can barely fathom. You can only imagine what she'd think of your own living conditions—a stark contrast to her world of luxury.

You sigh, cursing yourself for what you're about to do. Grabbing a key off the table, you walk towards another car in the garage. "Come on, I'll take you home," you call out.

Jenna tried her hardest to hold the smile on her face in. You cared about her, that's what that had to mean right? You didn't want her getting in the car of a stranger, and would rather have to drive her all the way back to Summer Valley, then potentially have her at harm's way.

Before you knew it you were back on the highway to Summer Valley. In the silence, you realized that the girl knew so much about you, yet you knew little to nothing.

"So why didn't your boyfriend drop you home?" you ask her, shifting the conversation you two were having about which crew had the better jackets.

The question catches her off guard, and she does a double take. You remember how she startled you earlier when you were about to steal the car—she was walking home. "Boyfriend?" she repeats, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Yeah Percy," you say looking straight ahead.

"Oh my god ew! He's not my boyfriend," she retorts, shuddering at the thought.

You can't help but chuckle at her reaction. "That hug you shared with him at the race says otherwise."

"You saw that?" she asks, her voice softening with a hint of embarrassment.

You nod. "So, you're not into him, then?"

"Not even close," she replies, crossing her arms defiantly. "He thinks he's so cool, but I can't stand him. It's all just an act."

An act? Posturing?

You fall silent for a few moments, weighing whether to voice the thought swirling in your head. Something tells you that asking this question could open a door between you two, or perhaps it already has.

"Okay," you sigh, glancing over at her. "What do you need my help with?"

Jenna's expression shifts, seriousness replacing the playful glint in her eyes. She realized that you finally picked up on the tension and underlying problem under her words.

"I need to get some dirt on Percy," she reveals getting right to the point.

You didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. But for some reason it does make sense to you that this asshole's crew member did not like him. You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because he has some serious leverage over me," she explains, her tone steady. "If I can find something on Percy, maybe I can turn the tables and protect me and my family."

Your heart races at the revelation. You want to press for details, want to know what exactly does Percy have on her, but you decide better against it. She'll tell you with time. "So you're with the Vipers because of him?"

Frustration flashes across her face. "Yeah, something like that," she sighs not elaborating. "He thinks he can control me. And he has been all this time," she frowns. "But I want to show him he's wrong!"

You can't help but admire her determination. "Why me? You couldn't find someone else to help you?" you ask, genuinely curious about her choice.

Jenna meets your gaze, her expression resolute. "Because you're not like the others in the crew—you're different. I can't turn to any of the other Vipers incase they rat me out. I can't ask any of the Sinners for obvious reasons, but I had a feeling about you. And its perfect now that I know you aren't a Sinner. You're close enough to the race world but not too close. Plus, I saw how resourceful you are when you stole that car. If anyone can help me, it's you."

Her faith in you feels like a heavy weight and a warm glow all at once. You take a moment to process her words. "And you trust me?"

She bites her lip, contemplating her response. "Trust is a strong word, but I believe you understand what it's like to feel trapped. I need someone who gets it, someone who wants to fight back against the odds."

"I know I'm throwing a lot at you right now. Just... talk to me about it later, okay? It's 4am and I get that this is a lot to take in."

All you can do is nod. You can't believe you're even considering this for even a second. Why would you help a Viper? Especially one who's been so disrespectful and always seems to challenge you.

She grabs your phone which isn't password protected, and starts putting her number in it. "I really hope you help me Y/n. I need you."

You don't respond. As you approach her street you see a swarm of cops in front of her home. Knowing exactly why, you pull over about 12 houses away from hers.

"Wait won't your dad also have the camera footage of me—"

"Don't worry, I already took care of it," she smiles, proud of herself. "Consider that car a friendly offering for our potential alliance."

A four-hundred thousand dollar car, as an offering is baffling. But maybe this is how the rich operate.

While you're lost in thought about everything that's happened tonight, you suddenly feel a soft brush of lips against your cheek.

It's gone as quickly as it came, and you're left stunned.

"Thanks for the ride, Greaser. I'll be waiting for your text."

With that, she steps out of the car and strides toward her home, toward the police, her distraught father, and a world so different from your own.

You already knew your answer to her request. You could've told her right then and there, but you wanted her number and kept silent. You also didn't want to seem too eager.

As you watch her walk off, you realize you never answered her question.

I want to know why you ditched me.

"Because I think you're the answer to all my problems. I need you too."

next chapter

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mou-aresei-to-keik · 2 months ago

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nothing just Ponyboy growing up. Ponyboy not cutting his hair (his blond tips) for fear of forgetting Johnny. Ponyboy stopping washing Dally's jacket because it's starting to smell less and less like him. Ponyboy going to unversity and having even more sleepless nights due to studying. Darry noticing his stubble and the fact that he's losing his youthful features. The baby-face now replaced by tired eyes and more distinct lines. The small, skinny body replaced by a taller, well built, slim body. The youthful spark of daydreaming barely present anymore. Ponyboy having less time to draw and daydream and think. Ponyboy trying to hard to stay gold for Johnny but if there was ever a greaser that the world smiled upon, pigs fly.

nothing just Ponyboy growing up.

#the outsiders #ponyboy curtis #dally winston #darry curtis #johnny cade #the outsiders headcanons #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #dallas winston

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b0n3s-is-gay · 3 months ago

Note

Size kink w/ dallas winston?

Anyone?

Just me?

Deliciously Delicate

Synopsis: Dally just got out of the cooler, what a better way to celebrate freedom than visiting his baby doll?

Tags/CWs: Size kink, hand jobs, Gn! reader but could be read as Fem! reader, Penetration, smoking, typical greaser style, social status is left up for interpretation, reader is called baby doll, kinda sorta aftercare.

(Credits to @riottsrph for the post divider)

When he stepped out of the cooler, Dally had 2 things on his mind: His baby doll and cigarettes. The loud sounds of the Tulsa streets did nothing to distract him, but it did serve as nice background noise. The sound of Dion Dimucci's "The Wanderer" caught his ear as he passed by the music store. "Oh well, I'm the type of guy who will never settle down. Where pretty girls are well, you know that I'm around. I kiss 'em and I love 'em 'cause to me they're all the same, I hug 'em and I squeeze 'em, they don't even know my name. They call me the wanderer. Yeah, the wanderer. I roam around, around, around... "

"Ain't that the truth..." Dally thought as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up one of the cancer sticks. Sucking in the nicotine laced smoke didn't do much in terms of actually being enjoyable, but it did make him seem tuff. And tuff was the way to describe him... among other words.

Dally let his feet guide him to where he knew he was going first, baby doll's house. The place where his girlfriend was residing at. After all, that's where they normally were after 3, so it was where he was going.

Knocking on the window, the soft sound rousing his baby doll from bed to their feet. The curtains drew and there they stood, looking down at the hood. Their eyes darted between the cigarette in his mouth and the window.

Dally sighed, already knowing what she wanted. Dally liked his cancer sticks but something made wasting this one worth it. He stubbed out his cigarette and once they saw that it was out, they opened the window and helped the hood inside.

"Come on, ya hood..." They grunted as their smaller hands grabbing his larger, calloused hands. Dally took this help, knowing what was to come soon after.

"Hey baby doll..." He smiled as he leaned down to their height, his fingers tilting their chin up to look at him... God, something about the size difference never got tiring to him... "Did you miss me?"

"Of course I did, you hoodlum. Missed ya every moment that you weren't here with me..." They replied as they stood on their tiptoes and captured his lips in a kiss that quickly grew heated.

Dally pushed them against the wall, enjoying the feeling of his tongue exploring their mouth. The taste of their clove flavored gum that coated their tongue tasted better than the nicotine that coated his. "Fuck doll... You're still chewin' that clove gum?" He joked once he pulled back from the kiss to catch his breath.

"Always." They said softly, panting just like he was. Dally leaned forward and started trailing opened mouth kissing their neck, leaving a train of saliva in his wake.

"Mind giving me a hand here, would ya?" He whispered against their neck, gently grabbing and guiding their hand to his bulge. They quickly took to it and pulled him out of his pants.

He looked down and watched their small hand, the finger tips just barely meeting, start to move up and down. A soft sigh escaped his throat as he enjoyed the feeling of their soft hand moving. "Feels better than my own hand, baby doll..." he whispered as he bit down gently on their pulse point.

A soft moan escaped their lips at the feeling of his teeth biting down on their pulse point. "Damn Dal..." They whispered as they rubbed the tip of his dick, precum sticking to their thumb.

"Come on doll... Have some fun, yeah?" He panted softly as he grinded against their hand. "I just got out of the cooler and I've been aching for some time with you..."

Dally scooped them up and kissed them again, the feeling of their smaller frame in his arms just made him feel just a little bit more desperate. When he laid them on the bed, he looked at them for permission before pulling down their pants. "Fuck baby doll, all for me?" He asked, not expecting an answer as he started prepping their hole. His fingers gently found their hole, spitting on his hand before starting to prep them. "Dal... Stop, please... Need you, need you inside..." Dallas, ever the smug bastard, smiled before pulling his fingers out, replacing them with his dick. "Think you can take it, baby doll? Y'think your small hole can take it all?" He asked as he started slowly thrusting into them, the moans sounding like music to his ears.

"Hot damn... So... Deliciously delicate..." He murmured, locking his lips with them as he kept thrusting. "All for me... All. for. me..."

"Dally... Dally please..." They panted as they squirmed under him, already close to cumming. "Then do it, baby doll. Ain't nobody stoppin' ya..." He hummed as he enjoyed the feeling of them tightening around him.

"Mph... Fuckk..." Dally groaned, feeling them milking him for everything he's got. He didn't last much longer, pulling out and cumming on their stomach. "Damn... I needed that." He smiled as he got up and went to the bathroom to get something to clean up his mess.

#See what I did there #Using the opening from the book as an opening for this shit show #the outsiders x reader #dallas x reader #dallas winston smut #the outsiders dally #dallas winston #I could be doing school work right now.#dally x reader #dallas winston x reader #smut? Smut

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sweetsreverie · 1 year ago

Text

Saviors

while walking home after dark, the gang comes to your rescue after a group of socs jump you. pairing: outsiders gang x f!reader wc: 1,537 warning(s): assault, blood, allusions of intent to SA

You had spent the majority of the afternoon at the library working on a project before you left in the evening. It was dark by the time you left, and while you knew better than to walk home by yourself, you didn’t want to inconvenience anyone by calling your parents or any of the guys in the gang.

So you start walking home, and in an attempt to give yourself some peace of mind, you grab your house keys and clutch them in your hand. You wished you carried a blade on you.

Your walk home was fine until you were only three blocks away from your house. That’s when you saw headlights shining from behind you, and you heard a car engine; a white corvair was soon in your periphery, and there were three boys inside, around your age if not a little older.

“Hey grease!” One shouts from the window, and you try your best to ignore them as they shout obscenities at you.

“Broad’s ignoring us. Look.” One comments as they pull up the car closer to the curb, and they steadily drive beside you.

“Hey! You’re too pretty to be with those greasers all day. Let me show you a good time, huh?”

You couldn’t help but feel panic as they continued to follow you. There really wasn't anywhere to run or hide. There was an alleyway nearby that led to a dead end.

When the car came to a stop, that’s when you started booking it. You take off in a full sprint and listen to the three pairs of footsteps rapidly approaching you from behind. One of the boys reaches out and grabs the top handle of your backpack and yanks on it, and the force sends you to the sidewalk on your back. It knocks the wind out of you and that’s when one of the boys pins you down to the pavement, and the other two stand above you with sinister grins on their lips. You were powerless under his weight, no matter how much you kicked.

“You know, we wouldn’t be here if you had just stopped to talk with us, hm? Now look where we are.” The brunette kneeling on you says, and his knees dig into your arms that were pinned to the sidewalk.

“Just let me go- please, I won’t tell anyone-” You stammer, and he shakes his head while making a tsk tsk sound.

“I think it’s too late for that now. It’s late and everyone’s in for the night, so there’s no one to bother us.” He says before he looks up at the other two, and without another word, the three of them begin to drag you into the nearby alleyway. You kick and scream, making any and all attempts to escape from their iron grasps.

“Shut up! Shut your trap!” The blond shouts as you’re pushed to the ground again, and it was his turn to taunt you while the brunette and redhead watched. He reaches behind him and pulls out a switchblade, flicking it open and holding it in front of your face.

“Now you be quiet. Or I’ll skin you right here.” He warns you while he puts his hand over your mouth, and by now your vision is blurry from the tears that were welling up in your eyes.

You came to realize that you were fully at their mercy. If one of them had a knife, the chances were good that they all did. They were bigger and stronger than you, and if you didn’t want to be left for dead on the sidewalk, you had to be careful. You knew what happened to Johnny.

“You know, it’s a shame when pretty girls like you hang out with greaser trash.” He says while he moves his knife down, trailing the tip of the blade down your chin and chest, and his smirk grows.

“A lot of greaser broads are skanks. You don’t seem like it though.” He comments, and as his knife moves closer to the belt on your jeans, your brain goes into fight or flight mode.

“Let me go!” You screech, and you kick your legs as hard as you can to try and free yourself. You land a kick to the blond’s leg, and he grunts in pain while the brunette reaches down and grabs your ponytail with one hand, and he lands a hard smack on your cheek with the other. Your cheek began to burn from the impact immediately, but that didn’t stop you from fighting your way out of their grasp. The redhead whips out a knife from the pocket of his letterman jacket and flips it open, and he grabs you by the neck and holds the blade up to your jaw.

“Please let me go- please-” You cry as he presses the cold metal into your skin, making a small slice into your jaw. You felt weak from fighting them and your throat was beginning to hurt.

Your attention was taken from them when you heard another voice shout from the other side of the street.

“Hey! Get your ass out of our side of town!”

It was Dallas. You’d honestly never been so glad to hear his voice.

“Shit- get outta here!” The brunette says quickly, and they pretty much drop you to the pavement while they scramble back to their car. You turn onto your side and curl up, but you hear multiple sets of footsteps shuffling around. The tires on the corvair screech as they peel away, and you’re relieved.

When you turn to look, you see Dally, Johnny, and Two-Bit approaching you.

“Holy shit- Y/N is that you? Are you okay?” Two-Bit says quickly as the three of them jog closer to you, and Dally stands nearby while Johnny and Two-Bit crouch beside you. One would think that he didn’t care, but you knew he did. He just didn’t show it like the others.

“I’m okay-” You say meekly, and Two-Bit tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. The blood on the cut was beginning to clot, your cheek was still red, and your eyes were a little red from tears.

“They cut you?” Dally asks, and you nod slightly. Dally grunts under his breath.

“You’re okay kid. C’mon, let us get you to Darry’s place and clean you up, alright?” Two-Bit suggests. The Curtis house was closer than your own home, and it was a good idea to get cleaned up before you see your parents.

Two-Bit and Johnny help you up to your feet, and Two-Bit takes your backpack and slings it over his shoulder as the four of you begin to walk.

“Where were you so late, Y/N?” Johnny asks, and you sigh.

“I was at the library. I’ve got a history project due soon.” You explain, and he nods.

“You could have called any of us, kid. One of us could have picked you up or walked with you.” Two-Bit comments.

“I know, I just… I didn’t wanna put anyone out.” You mumble. “Where were you guys at?” You ask them, and Johnny rolls his eyes.

“Dally took us to the nightly double. We only got through one of the movies before we had to leave, thanks to Dal.” Johnny explains, and Two-Bit laughs. You didn’t even need an explanation to know that Dally probably stirred up some trouble, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if Two-Bit helped him.

The four of you walk for a few minutes before you arrive at the Curtis’ house, and as soon as you walk in, you see Pony and Soda on the couch, and Darry was in his chair reading the newspaper. Once the three of them turn and see you, they get up from their seats quickly. Darry’s the first one to approach you.

“What the hell happened? Did you get jumped?” He asks, and you nod while you move over to the couch to sit down since Pony had motioned for you to move over.

“I was comin’ home from the library. They pulled over and grabbed me.” You mumble, and Soda disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a bag of frozen vegetables. He hands it to you and you silently thank him with a nod before you hold up the cold bag to your cheek.

“How deep is that cut?” Ponyboy asks, and you shrug while you reach up to touch it.

“Not very. It stopped bleeding pretty quick.” You explain, and Darry nods while he moves to sit back down in his chair while the others find places to sit. In a way, Darry saw you as his kid sister. You were a little older than Pony, and you became good friends with the boys quickly. Darry saw you as one of their own.

Dally stands beside the couch and against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Glad you’re okay, kid. Just call one of us if you’re alone like that again.” Dally says, and he reaches down to nudge the top of your head slightly. You couldn’t help but smile slightly at the gesture. Maybe he does show that he cares.

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders oneshot #the outsiders one shot #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders fic #the outsiders fanfiction #ponyboy curtis x reader #dallas winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #steve randle x reader

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listofwhyyouloveher · 7 months ago

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wha if the greasers gf got their inital on their nails??

Summary: The Outsiders react to you getting their initials on your nails

Warnings: none

Author's Note: sorry I've been posting slow, I have around 26 asks and I'm trying 😭😭😭

PONYBOY CURTIS

Pony's the type of guy to freak the fuck out when he sees your nails because he's excited

He's not going to tell you to get his initials on your nails but he definitely thought about it

He always knows when you get your nails done so he always comes to see them

He finds them so pretty and the fancy lettering of the PC has him on his kneeeess

JOHNNY CADE

Johnny really likes when you get your nails done because you give the head massages

You've definitely gotten his favorite color on your nails and he loves when you get personalized stuff

the thought of idea of his initials on your nails never crossed his mind until he saw it on you

Hes so excited that you would openly wear his initials and asks you to do it every time if possible

SODAPOP CURTIS

Soda really likes your nails when you get them done because they look so elegant and ties your look together

He often tries to pay for them when he has the money because he loves to spoil you.

Because of this you often ask him what you should get for your nails and he jokingly says his initials

Hes surprised you did it because he thought you might be embarrassed about it or something but he's so grateful for you

STEVE RANDLE

Like Sodapop, he finds your nails to be extremely attractive and loves when you get them done.

Likes them simple and long with rounded tips because he doesn't want them to “take away from the beauty of your face”

Is absolutely stunned when you get his initials and he thinks it's an amazing display of affection

Tells you that if he had known you were getting his initials on your nails he would've stepped up and paid for it

TWO-BIT MATHEWS

Two loves when you express your creativity through your nails, he adores the big y2k nails and the gyaru nails

Like when you draw shapes into his skin with your nails because it makes him feel tingly

Immediately noticed when you put the initials on because he likes to go to your appointments with you

hes so happy, clapping with excitement and paying for it even if you tell him not to

DARRY CURTIS

Darry likes your nails being done because you like them being done, he also thinks it makes you look sophisticated

He never really cared for it and never makes a scene if you get a new color or something

However when he sees the small DC on your new set he's beaming with excitement

Gives you tons of forehead kisses and totally grossed out Pony and Soda by telling you that he loves you so much.

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas likes when you get your nails done because he thinks it makes you look sexy, especially when it's a deep red

Like Darry, he won't make a scene about it but he'll definitely notice when you get a new set

Dallas noticed when you got your nails done but he couldn't read the fine lettering so he sat down next to you and grabbed your hand to examine it

He smiled and teasingly asked you who DW is and if he'd have to fight him for getting with his girl.

#shroomsroom #clara'sroom #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #steve randle x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader #darry curtis x reader #two bit mathews x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two bit x reader #ponyboy x reader #pony curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader

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diorgirl444 · 6 months ago

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seven minutes of hell or dallas winston and his soc! rival are stuck playing seven minutes of heaven together

warnings: bad writing! (girlies i’ve never kissed anyone or flirted so my expression only comes from writing fanfiction so it may not be the most realistic i’m afraid), fem! reader, very self indulgent, i’m also aware that realistically socs and greasers probably wouldn’t be round the curtis brothers house together but like if you wanted realism you wouldn’t be be reading dallas winston fanfiction would you considering he’s canonically dead lol 😭, weak ending, 903 words <3

you’re going to strangle Cherry Valance after this. when she invited you and your other friends out for the evening not once did she think to mention that you were going to that side of town…

not that you have anything wrong with the Curtis brothers, they’re all lovely and very nice-looking. nor do you have a problem with any of their other friends who despite what you might think are all very sweet apart from the insufferable Dallas Winston. and you suppose it makes sense because if she had said that he was going then you would have spent another night reading shitty romance books alone in your bedroom. but still, there is no one you can’t stand more than Dallas Winston. he’s snarky and callous and violent - and beautiful.

yes, you’re not blind even you can recognize that he’s exactly your type but he pushed your buttons like nothing else with the way he patronizingly calls you “princess” and takes every opportunity to drive you absolutely up the wall. you two bicker like night and day whenever you cross paths so you honestly don’t know what Cherry was thinking. and despite that, you assumed it couldn’t get any worse. what could be worse than a party with the boy who makes you red in the face and with a desperate urge to wrap your arms around his neck and - let's not go there?

well, you were wrong anyway it can get worse and it did. because as Daryl’s taking Ponyboy to bed some wise guy (two-bit) suggests that the rest of you play seven minutes of heaven. it is quite possibly the most juvenile thing you’ve ever done and you and every intention of sitting out till surprise, surprise Dallas makes a snarky comment.

“what too good to kiss a greaser is that it princess?”

you flush angrily clearly the fact that you’re at this stupid get-together should prove that you don’t harbour any of that foolish class nonsense. you roll your eyes as you take a seat. fine, you’ll play one stupid round of this silly game you think as you spin the bottle hoping to get it over and done with. with any luck, you’ll get Johnny or something who won’t want to do anything but talk.

but no that would just be so easy so instead the Coca-Cola bottle reaches its final spot right in front of the worst person it could ever be. even he has the decency to look embarrassed with the tips of his ears tinging themselves red and taking a long swig of his beer.

“I can spin again” you shrug awkwardly not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

“you can’t cheat the bottle girly” he tells you as he sets his drink down and stands up expecting you to follow after him. you can feel everyone’s gaze on your neck as you silently walk into the small cupboard with him. you hear the click of the lock and you're plunged into total darkness. your back presses up against the wall and his tall frame awkwardly clashes against yours. you can hear him muttering various expletives under his breath. god, you’re not that bad surely. the silence is loud and awkward. you swallow heavily before speaking.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask softly before you think it through. cheeks flushing so you’re grateful for the dark.

he scoffs “You think I hate you…” he says it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

you feel insecure as you speak again, voice small and weak as you try to explain why. “well like you call me stupid things and you make fun of me and-“

he interrupts you before you continue “I call you princess 'cause you remind me of one. I wind you up because it means you look at me and you get this cute little flush on your cheeks. I don’t hate you and man I hate all that sappy stuff but I do seriously like you doll”

“wow” is all you can manage, taking in what he’s saying.

”you know this is the point where you say that you like me too sweetheart” he teases you but you’re sure theres a small twinge of insecurity in his voice and you haven’t heard a more wonderful thing in your life. he likes you.

you kiss him of course. you pull him down by the collar of his leather jacket and press your lips against his and it’s perfect. his hands wrap around your waist and he tastes like the beer and it’s perfect. you want to stay like that forever. you can hear the beach boys playing on the record play in the other room and idly you wonder why it sounds like it’s getting louder and why the room seems to have gotten brighter.

”seven minutes is up lovebirds” you hear Soda’s teasing voice ring out.

immediately you jump out of Dallas's grip like you’ve been burnt.

all your friends are gathered by the doors and are watching as Two-bit hands a dollar over to Cherry who is saying “told you they wouldn’t be able to keep their hands off each other”

before you can say anything else Dallas snaps at them that the games are over and he shuts the door plunging you into two obscurity again as he pulls you in.

“eager are we?” you say laughing against his lips.

“very” he says faux seriously before kissing you again.

you decide that you’re eager too.

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

#diorgirl444 #flo answers #dallas winston x y/n #dallas winston #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #the outsiders dally #dally winston #dallas winston x fem! reader #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders 1983 #soc rival! reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚

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cyanityy · 4 months ago

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Sketch dump 4 of what I stumbled on in the OC storm !!

In order from left to right:

-> @flip-the-rat's Greaser sweetheart, Dolly

-> @obriganeatspeople's Yuri who I'm so curious to know more about

-> @wolfxplush's scary (and secretly soft) prefect OC, Lovette [WOO PREFECT OCS MORE CHEERING]

-> @lyalyagushkina's Holly who was the catalyst for this OC board, I love that girl

-> @redninjaoutfit's Colt De Luca who stole my heart instantly

-> @celorangeine and BENNIEEEE !!! What more needs to be said? it's Bennie !

-> @gordismybabygirl's Oliver on a cheeky shopping date with Gord..every yapper needs a listener ',:]

-> @namranii's beautiful girl, Harin ! She deserves the world, oh best girl you

-> @jimothy-hopkins' Chris Kelly, again. I need to preface how I have a soft spot for Jock OCs especially the ladies. I adore her

-> @fugochka-blog and the Art, not the artist, Donny. I had to sauce out on him, he's such a model did you know?

-> @calciumdeficientt and my favorite fratboy that's actually a surfer girl, Lenora. I could successfully defend her with my life and then she'd proceed to choke on a bottle cap (I died for nothing)

There's sososo many more amazing characters out there that I wish I had more time to include but with uni around the corner, it may be a while until I can pump out another one of these. In the mean time, consider dropping a tip on my Ko-fi and keep a look out for when comms open again! thank you all for your patience <3

#Bully #bully scholarship edition #artists on tumblr #bully cce #Bully OC #honestly considering the fact that I was using my thinnest brush and yet STILL the page got so clumpy...#canis canem edit #bully game #bully rockstar #art #bully canis canem edit #Lenora harker #lovette jackson #Chris kelly

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supernatural-bias · 8 months ago

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𝐓𝐰𝐨-𝐁𝐢𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ notes: tagging @orinscrivellos who motivated me to write this. i really enjoyed doing it

↳ warnings: slight implications of transhobia. nothing directly mentioned

↳ song: a little less conversation—elvis presley

masterlist | commissions | carrd

• Two-Bit thinks you’re super kickass for being out and open about yourself in the way you are. It is the sixties after all, and along with living on the East side of town, you aren’t exactly getting treated the best

• But that doesn’t really matter to you. As long as the gang, and most importantly Two-Bit, likes you, then you couldn’t care less

• So yeah, Two-Bit thinks you’re brave. Probably calls you his ‘fearless knight,’ and treats you poshly for a good laugh sometimes. Or about as posh as he can pretend to get. He’s never been really good at playing a rich character despite his improvisation skills. You suppose it’s the way he was raised, the way all of you were raised, that makes it difficult

• Is loud and proud about you being his partner. Unless you want him keeping it under wraps, Two-Bit will pretty much scream it from the mountain tops about how much he loves his boyfriend. Consequences be damned

• “Golly, Two, you just don’t stop talking about him do you?” Ponyboy ogles at his friend as they make their way down the street, heading to meet you for a night out at the Nightly Double. He was in disbelief that anyone could ever talk so much and for so long, much less about the same thing. Even Soda didn’t use to talk about Sandy this much

• “Nope!” Two-Bit pops his ‘p’ loudly, grinning like a shark as he continues on with his train of thought. Pony just shook his head in a mix of awe and horror, already regretting that he had thought to ask Two-Bit how you had been doing. And that was over ten minutes ago!

• Two-Bit has definitely gotten into fights to ‘defend your honor,’ as he likes to put it—most of the time he can hear people at his school bad mouthing you, which any one of you can handle. You don’t live the greaser life without getting your name dragged through the mud after all—but when they start throwing out those names about you, he’ll start a fight quicker than you could blink

• “Oh glory.” You stare at Two-Bit unblinking one afternoon. Two shiny new black eyes peer back, accompanied by a split lip, and you have to resist the urge to drag a hand down your face in exhaustion.All you had wanted to do is come pick him up from his house, and you were met with this mess

• “What? I’ve been trying on a new look. What do you think baby?“

• “I think you’re stupid.” You don't even have to ask how he got those, you already know. A part of you swells with affection at the thought of him caring about you enough to do that, but the more responsible part of you pushed it down in order to sigh

• “But you love me.” Two-Bit retorts with a gleeful laugh, sounding like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Which he doesn’t. In his eyes, he’s got all he ever needs. A mom that loves him, a sister that adores his jokes, friends that have his back, and a handsome boyfriend. What more could a greaser like him want?

• If you come out and then transition, in that order, Two-Bit and everyone would definitely help you with your new style. They’ve spent their entire lives in boys clothes, so they have plenty of fashion tips, if you can even call them that, and materials to spare

• if you wear a bigger size, or want baggier clothing, Dallas and Two-Bit with go and nab pretty much anything you want from the nearby corner store. If you like tighter fitting clothing, or run a little gangly, you are always welcome to borrow one of Pony or Johnny’s outfits. They’d give them to you in a heartbeat if you asked

• Hair greasing lessons! They’ll teach you how to grease your hair up nice so you’ll look tuff, until eventually you’ve learned to do it all by yourself. Two-Bit always smiles the biggest when you come out of the bathroom with your hair slicked back. He likes to think he’s got the best looking partner this side of the railroad tracks

• It doesn’t matter what kind of body you have or want. Two-Bit will support you all the way. It’s not like you can really afford testosterone or major surgery considering you live in the slums of Tulsa with everyone else, and those services aren’t exactly offered to the public thanks to laws at the time, but if you manage to get our hands on any of that stuff, the gang will support your recovery/shot sessions all the way; bringing you whatever you need in the moment and all that jazz, even if Dallas or Steve gripe about running errands

• “Here’s your stupid bandaids.” Dally threw a small cardboard box onto the foot of the couch you were sitting on with a slight rattle. You look up to thank him, and he just blows out a bit of smoke from his mouth. You had half a mind to ask him for a drag of his cigarette, but knew Darry would kill you if he caught you smoking after administering testosterone. He was already nervous enough about you constantly taking shots, so you didn’t want to worry him anymore

• “No problem.” Dallas’ gaze drifted over to Two-Bit, who was sitting next to you, and he smiled lazily

• “Hey Two? If the two of you are banging, does that make you gay, or straight?”

• Dally walked away from that conversation that day with a bruise on his arm and a big laugh tumbling from his lips

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mattsturniolosmuse · 9 months ago

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Steve Randle x Reader

This is also from the poll.

Summary: You ask him to fix your car, and you keep him company while he does so. You drive him home after, making a little pit stop *wink wink*

Warnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, oral (male receiving), fingering, face sitting, cum play, car sex, dom! steve, sub! reader, this is probably the filthiest thing i've ever written

"Fucking piece of junk." You mutter, pulling in to the DX to get your car fixed.

You get out, slamming the door. It had been a gift from your father 2 years ago.

"What's up with it?" A boy asks. He had dark hair, and it was grease back, and he had a DX shirt, unbuttoned, to reveal nice toned abs. You glance at his name tag. Steve.

"My car is making a weird noise. I'm sure you heard it." You say, gesturing towards the engine.

"Yeah. I think that the axle is rusted. I can fix that up for you." He says. You nod, sighing a breath of relief.

"Yes, thank you." You say, plopping down on a nearby bench.

"You been working here long?" You ask. Steve nods.

"Four years." He says.

"Mm." You hum in response. You would offer him help, but you were wearing a short leather skirt and a white tank top that showed quite a bit of cleavage.

You made small talk with him while he worked. You learnt that he is part of a greaser gang, and that he lives with them most of the time, unless his dad offered him money.

"There. All done." He says, slamming the hood shut.

"Thank you so much!" You say, smiling.

"That'll be $150." He says. Your heart drops. You didn't even have $50.

"Shit. I-i don't have that. Is there any other way I can pay you?" You ask, fidgeting your thumbs.

"Nah. Just give me a ride home, would ya?" He says, hopping into the drivers seat.

"Well, I'm not really giving you a ride home if you're driving, am I?" You chuckle, getting into the passenger seat.

"Wow. Real beauty." He says. You note that he's talking about the car. The first minute of the ride was silent.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else I can do to pay you back?" You ask.

Steve thinks about it, and when he stops at a red light, he quickly unbuckles his jeans, and pulls them down. His erection smacks against his abs, and your eyes widen. He smirks.

"Come on, gorgeous, you can do it." He says, chuckling. You are suddenly aware of the wetness in your panties.

You bend over the console and take his tip in your mouth. Steve moans quietly.

"Wait, what's your name? I need to be moaning the right one." The boy asks. You take your mouth off of him.

"Y/N." You take him back in your mouth, and the car starts moving. He takes one hand off the wheel and tangles it in your hair, pulling your head up and down on him.

"Fuckkk, baby, just like that." He moans, bucking up into you. He hits the back of your throat and tears start rolling down your cheeks. You gag, momentarily stopping, but then you get right back to it.

Steve hits a speed bump, and you jump, his dick going farther down your throat this time. You whimper, and Steve twitches.

The car comes to a stop, and he bucks up into you, both hands now on your head.

"I'm so close." He moans. Soon enough, his seed is shooting down your throat. You swallow it all, and he pulls your mouth off of him. You pull yourself over the console, straddling his lap as your mouths collide in a hungry kiss. Steve grabs your hips and grinds his waist into yours, letting out a loud moan.

"I-i need you." Steve says, pulling away. You pull the handle on the side of the seat, to make the seat go back. You start grinding into Steve, who hastily pulls your tank top off. He smirks when he sees you're not wearing a bra. He grabs your wrist to stop you.

"It's almost like you knew this was going to happen." He says. You shrug.

"The top has a built in bra." You say, grinding into him again. You stand up momentarily, to unzip your leather skirt, pulling it down your legs.

Steve smacks your hand away when you go to remove your panties. You look out the window, and you guys are outside a house.

"Steve! Is this your gang's house?" You ask, covering your chest.

"Yeah, but they're too busy watching the football game to see you, I swear." He says, removing your arm from your chest to admire you some more. He takes your panties and puts them in his shirt pocket, removing the shirt after.

"Those are mine now." He says.

Your lips collide again, more heated this time. Steve licks your bottom lip, but you deny him entrance. He squeezes your tits and you gasp, and he takes that opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. You whimper as his tongue collides with yours.

"Ready?" Steve asks you. You nod. Steve picks you up and you slowly sink onto his dick. He made you feel so full.

"S-steve!" You moan, wrapping your arms around his neck. You start moving back and forth, and Steve grasps your waist to push you down farther.

"Y-yeah, gorgeous, just like that." Steve moans, bucking into you. You pulled off of him completely, and slammed back down.

"HOLY FUCK!" Steve moans loudly, forcing your hips to go faster. Your hands are on his chest, boobs hanging in his face as you bounced on his dick.

"God, oh god, Steve!" You moan as you lean down to kiss him. His tongue immediately clashes against yours. You leave his lips to lick his neck, leaving hickeys.

He does the same to your breasts, leaving hickeys everywhere.

"I'm so close, Steve." You moan out, digging your nails into his chest.

"Yeah. Cum all over my cock. Do it for me." Steve moans. You bounce a couple more times, until you release all over his cock. He pulls you off of him and releases all over your chest.

He scoops it up, guiding his fingers to your mouth. You suck on the digits, not breaking eye contact with Steve. His boner grows again.

He scoops up more of the mess on your chest, and draws a big SR on your chest, chuckling.

"I want you to sit on my face." Steve says.

"No, i'll suffocate you!" You say, blushing.

"No, you won't. It'll be fine. Please?" He begs.

"Ugh. Fine." You say. You bring yourself forward, and hanging onto the handle above you, you hover over Steve's face. His hands grasp your waist and he pulls you onto his face.

"Oh! God..." You moan. It was a different feeling, and his nose brushed against a soft spot.

"Steve! Fuck, that feels so good!" You moan as his tongue slips in and out of you. His hands start moving you back and forth on his face, and tears leak out again. The pleasure was too much, you were seeing stars.

You couldn't think straight. You didn't know which way was up and which way was down. You could only think of Steve.

Steve. Steve. Steve.

Your orgasm came very quickly. You gasped and pulled yourself off of Steve, his face covered in your cum, and he had a stupid grin on his face.

"Thanks, babe." He says, grabbing a cloth from the console and wiping his face.

He flips you over.

"Round two?" He asks. You nod, and he pushes into you, pistoning his hips into yours at a fast pace. You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing his lips to yours. Your clit was pulsing with pleasure, and it was added to as Steve rubbed it gently.

"I love you, Steve." You say, accidentally. He stops.

"What? Say that again?" He says.

"I-I love you." You say quieter.

"Fuckkkk" He moans, going faster than before.

"I-I love you too, g-gorgeous." He says, twitching. He releases into you. He dresses you, but you are wearing your tank top and your very, very short skirt with no panties. You step out of the car and into the Curtis' house, Steve's cum still dripping down your leg.

"How was that for paying me back?" Steve asks, grabbing your ass and kissing your neck.

#steve randle #the outsiders #the outsiders smut #the gang

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vampiricnature · 4 months ago

Text

Hey guys

FOP hcs under the cut

Dev Dimmadome

-has manic BPD

-curly hair (inherited from Dale)

-extremely closed off, emotionally really sensitive but is just really good at masking

-sleeps in the corner of his bed even if it's absolutely humongous

-likes futurama unironically

-favorite mlp character is sunset shimmer because she's "like, I dunno, whatever" (pretty and rebellious)

Hazel Wells

-favorite mlp character is Applejack because she's cool and strong, plus her accent

-high functioning autism!

-will debate people on whether or not ice cream is a food (it is and she always wins)

-usually when having episodes, her brother always helps her calm down, so when Dev has manic episodes she knows how to help him

Cosmo

-Bed hog

-loves slugs for no reason

-gifts Wanda moss and leaves (she loves it)

-very bisexual tbh, also uses she/her on occasion because he does drag 💪

Wanda

-genuinely enjoys Stephen King books, her favorite is Misery

-watches commentary videos about things she knows nothing about

-keeps every little trinket given to her by everyone (one time, hazel gaze her a rock with one big googly eye and Wanda put it on a shelf, and when hazel came over and saw it she started crying because Wanda displayed it)

Dale

-gay

Peri

-due to his love of fashion and his passion for helping kids, he's looked into symbols of support (he paints one of his pinkies red to show his support against csa)

-autistic because I'm him and I said so

-clicks his tongue against his teeth as his main stim (it usually hurts the tip of his tongue but he can't stop)

-scared of peacocks even though they're absolutely gorgeous to him. He just hates how they look at him

-loves fashion from all eras, but usually wears 70s/80s style clothing, with the occasional greaser look from the 50s

Jasmine Tran

-likes Katy Perry more than Taylor Swift

-had a weeb phase where she dressed in only anime merch for three months straight

-her favorite mlp character is Rarity because she's slay

-doesn't actually like musicals unless it's Disney or other animated movies, especially if the genre is pop or jukebox (like Trolls or strange magic)

Winn Harper

-avid Justin Bieber and Eminem fan

-tried roller skating but they don't have very good coordination like that, so skateboarding is much easier for them

-loves the "cool s" symbol

-says based about everything they like

-favorite mlp character is obviously rainbow dash because she's based

Anthony Wells

-ADD+OCD

-theatre lover, the kinda guy to like parody musicals (also watched scamilton and sobbed so hard because of how funnily atrocious it is)

-prefers red over blue Gatorade

-genuinely just a really good guy to everyone, naturally sweet

Irep

-Rivers is a vampire. Look it up

-uses gen alpha slang but also outdated trends like dabbing and flossing

-listens to ABBA on a daily basis, literally every night he plays gimme gimme gimme (a man after midnight) and in the morning it's Dancing queen

-only wears platforms because it makes him taller by like. An inch or two

-telle people to commit suicide on the internet for shits and giggles

-genuinely glad Peri changed his name because Foop embarrassed him and ruined his intimidating image

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carolmunson · 7 months ago

Note

7 ✨ with any lil steve for me? 🥹 tis your daughter (the first born)

—⭐️🛼

‘don’t think about it, boy leave her alone.

she likes my tone, my cologne, and the way i roll.’

wealthy!steve/pbv!steve

He tucks his hair behind his ears before running over it with pomade, boar bristle brush following up after his deft fingers. It was his grandpa’s, he thought it was the slickest thing ever. His grandpa taught him how to comb his hair like greasers used to in the 50s — his dad didn’t love that. Didn’t love that his son used Farrah Fawcett spray either — but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit.

“Babe, where’s my — oh,” you smile when you catch him styling his hair, plush lower lip tucking in between your teeth, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he smiles back at your reflection while he perfects the swoop of the sides, the top perfectly coiffed. He watches you stare for a little while he continues with his pomade, structuring the top just so.

“Did you come in here to ask me a question or just stare at me, Manhattan?” he asks, snarky grin pulling at his original smile — glint in his hazel eyes.

“Uh — oh,” you shake your head, a breathless laugh coming from your chest, “Where’s my black coin purse? The beaded one?”

He rest the tip of his tongue on his teeth while he thinks, brows contorting while he looks at you through the mirror. After a moment he snaps his fingers, turning to you fully.

You feel silly over how your skin gets hot when he turns around in his Stefano Ricci suit. Black on black, only the flash of a gold tie clip on his sternum to break up the color.

“I brought it to my tailor, honey,” he frowns, “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. Remember the last time you brought it out and some of the beads pulled? I wanted to get it fixed.”

You scrunch your nose, disappointed, “You’re lucky you’re hot, Harrington.”

He snorts, turning back to the mirror to give himself a once over before spritzing himself with his standard Dior Homme. He likes how your eyes darken a little whenever you smell it on him. Steve liked to call it his ‘liquid guarantee’.

“You have ten other black bags you can wear tonight,” he offers, making his way to your shared dressing room off the side of your suite where you stand in front of all of your purses.

“I just had my heart set on that one for this dress,” you shrug, “It’ll be fine. Worse things have happened to me. I mean — you’re here.”

He clicks his tongue again, coming up behind you where his hands smooth over your shoulders, nose gliding up the side of your neck. He can feel the goosebumps raise on your skin, “Bring the silk one, that’ll be pretty.”

“You sure?” you ask, heart fluttering when you hear his deep, bass-y ‘mhm’ in your ear.

“You smell good,” you mumble back, vision getting hazy while he encompasses you from behind. His lips press softly against the base of your jaw.

“Thank you, angel,” he kisses again, voice husky. Steve leans forward, grabbing the black silk coin purse from its spot on the wall and tucking it into your hand while you lean against him — jello, “Now let’s go.”

#wealthy!steve #pbv!steve #steve harrington #steve Harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x thick!reader #steve harrington x you

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scoobysnakz · 6 months ago

Note

1950's greaser Miguel 😭 that's that

a/n: i had something like this in my drafts i was so happy omg 😭 also im so sorry this took so long i ended up falling down several rabbit holes around 50’s culture for no reason whatsoever. idk how to feel abt this it’s rushed and not proof read at all!!! so sorry for any dumb mistakes

warnings: none really except maybe threats of violence and very poorly written angst bc i just cant handle it.

everyone had warned you to watch out for guys like Miguel- the loud, cocky ones that only think with their dick. but you’ve never been one to listen, not to overbearing second cousins and patronising aunts, anyway.

your ignorance to their advice doesn’t do much, though, because as much as you pretend, they’re right. he knows he could have any girl he wants, all he’d have to do is flash her that signature smirk, maybe wrap one of his toned arms around her waist, and they’re putty in his hands.

so why would he give you- the gut-wrenchingly awkward waitress at the diner him and his friends flood after work- the time of day ?

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It's a peacefully slow day at the diner, booths just as empty as the tip jar and the counter bell unrung.

This would be the perfect opportunity to relax, count the cars passing by and try to work out if you can afford takeout for tea, but you are stuck talking to some random guy.

He's sweet enough, fairly attractive, and a large tipper. Hopefully, things don't get too difficult.

"So then I said to my buddy, Clarence. Y’know Clarence, sweetheart? Comes here twice a week with his wife on Tuesdays and then comes on Saturdays with his… lady friend?"

You internally grimace at his words. Your smile falters slightly but you fight to keep that forced, hospitality smile plastered on your face.

If working at this grimy diner has taught you anything it's that people like him don't want to see a strand of emotion other than flattery at their crude compliments.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, darling.”

Your gaze snaps back to him, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Do. You. Know. Clarence?" he sounds much gruffer now, more stern.

Panicked, you shake your head a quick no.

You do know Clarence and he is even more pushy than this guy, always taking a not-so-conspicuous glance at your chest, 'accidentally' groping your ass.

Somehow, he knows you're lying and his expression hardens. "Don't lie to me, m'kay? I asked you a simple question and all you have to do is answer it for me."

The way his words are so slow to pass through his thin, leathery lips makes your stomach form knots.

You glance around the diner but there's no one else there, the very few people who had been there left the moment he came in.

Is there something you don't know? You've been working here for just over a month and you thought you knew all the inside secrets, the customers to flirt with to get the big tip, who to give extra sugar too because they're too nervous to ask for it themselves, which families will clean up after themselves. Obviously not.

The sticky brown tables are lined with half-eaten meals and a few bills that people left behind before running off.

You can hear the stove humming lowly in the kitchen and the man's heavy breathing accompanying it.

"I don't know who Clarence is, sir." your tone matches his, harsh and unwilling. It's nine forty-five on a Saturday and all you want is five minutes of sleep. "So either order something or leave. It's company policy.” you pick up a creased piece of laminated paper that says pretty much what you did but in a much more formal narrative.

His face contorts into a snarl as he glares at you, lips curling and nostrils flaring in a way that immediately makes you regret your sudden surge of confidence.

"You're lucky I don't hit women," he mutters under his breath.

Those words alone are enough to make your skin crawl. It's a threat, a cleverly disguised one, but a threat all the same.

"I'll ask one more time, sweetie. Do you know Clarence?" his voice is painfully condescending. Under different circumstances you would have chewed his ear off.

Before you get a chance to snap back at him the bell chimes as someone else enters the diner. You thank God, and whoever else is up there with him, that you are no longer alone.

It's a regular- Peter. You flash an uneasy smile, willing him to get the hint.

His mousy brown hair hangs flat on his head, a few strands wrapped around his daughter's pudgy fingers. Lazily, he turns to face you, eyes narrowing as he takes in your nervous expression.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

The man scoffs and rolls his eyes. “We're fine, get your coffee and go.”

It takes him a second, round brown eyes darting between the two of you before he sucks in a sharp breath and nods his head.

Peter knows he isn't intimidating, painfully the opposite. It’s almost impossible for him to come across as anything other than naïvely friendly… perhaps a little agitating, though. There's never a moment where a charismatic grin isn't etched into his thin, rosy lips or an awkward joke said to ease the tension. According to him, it’s his Achilles heel.

Hurriedly, he excuses himself and Mayday and pushes his chair away from the counter before stumbling out the door. Your eye twitches with slight irritation but you push past it; there’s no point staying angry with Peter when he didn't have any obligation to ‘save’ you.

Smirking, the man looks at you. It’s just the two of you now.

You know you shouldn't have begged to take the closing shift alone. You had assumed you’d keep all the tips, get to clean up with whatever music you like playing and have some downtime before trudging through the busy New York streets. And now you know how idiotic it was to think that.

“Hey, bebita.” the shrill sound of the bell doesn't do anything to dampen obnoxiously loud entrance.

You drag your gaze over to the source of the tall shadow that’s blanketing the top of the sticky, wooden counter. It takes you no time at all to recognise that sturdy build and dark heap of slicked-back curls.

Your eyes scrunch as your lips utter a silent thank you to God for freeing you from the burden of this creep and a little less grateful plea to get rid of Miguel as soon as possible.

Don't get it wrong, you couldn't be happier someone has come to rescue you from whoever this balding weirdo is but you might be a little more giddy with glee if it wasn't Miguel. It’s not that he's a bad guy or anything but things can get a little tense between people when one of them stands the other one up.

Miguel slides onto one of the stools next to the man, who is now looking considerably less confident now that there's a 6’9 man sitting next to him.

“Can I get a coffee, please,” he orders with an awkward curve of his lips that doesn't quite form a smile.

“She’s busy right now, might want to go someplace else, lad,” the stranger says with a nod towards the door, almost trying to act pally with Miguel. But he knows better than that- surely.

You can see Miguel’s jaw tensing from the corner of your eye but you brush past it, finding amusement in his irritation.

“You know how I like it, black, no sugar,” he says before turning his attention back to the man.

You make your way down to the other end of the counter where the coffee pot sits, encompassed by splodgy brown rings stained into the wood. You wonder how long you can stay down here, how many excuses you can come up with before one of them grows weary and snaps.

The wash cloth is still damp, you know it is because you wiped everywhere down at least fifty times whilst waiting for your unwanted visitor to leave. You begin to scrub the battered wood again, trying in vain to remove the surplus of coffee stains that you know won’t budge.

It’s not even late and you’re exhausted. Just the thought of getting on the train has your eyes growing heavy and shoulders sagging. And now, you have to deal with two of the most irritating people to exist.

“Hurry up with his coffee, we have things to talk about!”

You whip your head around, eyes narrowed with spite and lips parted to spew whatever crude insult spills out first but Miguel beats you to it.

“What?” he scoffs.

“She’s taking forever, acting like we have all the time in the fucking world!”

Without any hesitation, Miguel is up, towering over the balding reprobate. His expression is calm, surprisingly, but the slight clench of his jaw can't hide from your watchful gaze. You’re tempted to intervene, cautious of the mess Miguel’s infamous outbursts leave behind, but this loathsome man getting put in his place is more than worth it.

“Apologise.”

The man swallows, yellowing eyes widened with panic. On his own, the man is intimidating. He’s taller than you and it’s easy to tell he works out but he's no Miguel. Side by side, he looks like an influenza-ridden Victorian child whilst Miguel continues to stand proud, attracting all attention like a pompous black hole.

His chapped lips move but no intelligible words come out, just a serious of worthless splutters and squeaks.

Miguel rolls his eyes. “Apologise to the lady. Now.”

Only silence follows. Silence so soft and crisp you swear you can hear the snowflakes falling on the dirtied pavements outside before they instantly melt away. That’ll be fun walking home in.

“Por dios,” Miguel groans, “You have one last chance, tell her you’re sorry or I’m dragging you out and telling everyone how much of an uneducados, baboso bastardo you are!”

“I-i only understood bastardo,” the man stammers and you just about manage to muffle the chuckle that bubbles in your chest.

“Getting kicked out it is,” Miguel sighs.

You watch through amused eyes as Miguel grabs him by his tattered collar and drags him towards the door. The man continues to protest this, blabbering about how he's more than happy to apologise and that he has friends in high-up places who won't be pleased to hear about this, but Miguel doesn't care.

He chucks him out into the street and you don't even have to see his face to know he’s smirking as the idiot lands flat on his ass because you are too.

The bell chimes his entrance once again, a proud grin on his face as he saunters towards you.

“So?” he questions expectantly.

Pushing past your amusement, you shrug your shoulders.

“I just kicked out some dick head for you and you’re not gonna say anything?”

“He didn't get a chance to pay, so you’re gonna have to cover it.” you flash him a sarcastic smile before picking up the tip jar and pushing it towards him, “and tip.”

His eyes narrow before he pulls out his wallet and behind to leaf through a series of wrinkled tens and twenties before pulling out a fifty. “Treat yourself.”

Again, you offer a forced smile before taking the jar away and opening the register to change the fifty for five tens. Your ears perk at the sound of his exasperated sigh, the corner of your mouth twitching into a grin at his irritation.

“You are so petty you know that, hermosa?”

You slam the register shut, mettle blooming in your chest at the dumbfounded expression on Miguel’s face.

You remain unblinking as you glare at him, not a slither of emotion is present on your face other than pure unbridled spite. You’ve never been able to wrap your head around his confidence. Sure, he's conventionally attractive and can tell you how the reason you never see stars at night isn't because of all the light pollution but because they know they’ll never compare to the grace of your smile or the dazzling beauty of your eyes all in Spanish. But is he really that amazing?

He pulls out a small metal tube from his pocket and pops it open. “Toothpick?” he offers, sliding one between his lips, “cherry flavoured.”

You keep staring disdainfully at him, expression unmoving.

“I’m starting to understand why he was in such a grump,” he mutters to himself, although his eyes are still carefully trained on you, “with service like this, any man would end up in a funk like that.”

That does it. You slam your fists on the tacky counter with a furious groan. You’re so fucking tired, not one single person in this entire rat-filled city has manners, the last thing you need is some self-obsessed playboy messing with your emotions.

Palms stinging , you look back up at him. His eyes are slightly widened but he stays silent, slightly baffled by whatever just happened.

“Get out, Miguel.”

He scoffs and stays where he is, clearly not oblivious to how infuriating he is.

“I’m not joking. Get out.”

His expression falters slightly but again, he simply refuses to move.

“I am so tired of people walking all over me, not an ounce of courtesy or anything. I'm not letting you, of all people, treat me the same.”

Slowly, he stands up, pushing his toothpick holder into his inside pocket.

“Please,” your voice cracks as tears sting the corners of your eyes, “just get out.”

You don't wait to hear the door close before allowing yourself to crumple, head falling onto your folded arms on the counter while unwanted tears trail down your cheeks.

You can’t believe you just broke down that, completely unprovoked. Miguel didn't help but whatever just happened was… it was more than unnecessary it was just plain childishness. How could you have allowed yourself to get so worked up? Normally you’re so collected, and always know how to act, yet the second that cocky idiot is around your emotions run havoc.

Then, your nose breathes in that familiar cedar and menthol smell. Internally, you groan.

“Look, I’m sorry that was out of order,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. It's all well and good being able to apologize for being a dick one time but when you're continuously being a douche the effect tends to wear off.

“How did you even get behind here?” you mumble into your arms.

Ignoring your question, he slowly wraps an arm around your waist. You jump, at first, but allow yourself to relax. It’s nice being held, even if it's awkwardly and by someone you detest.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

What a gentleman.

Sniffling, you lift your head and turn to face him. “I don't have a car, Miguel!” you croak out.

What could pass as either a pout or a thoughtful frown forms on his lips as he stares at you. Whatever it is, it reeks of sympathy that you didn't ask for.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that.”

“No. I’m sorry about before.”

You scoff. It’s like he refuses to listen to you on purpose.

He runs his fingers through his hair, a sigh pushing past his lips. “I’m sorry about not showing up.”

It takes a second or two before you get what he means. You raise your brow, taken aback by his sudden ability to take just enough responsibility to apologize but not enough to actually say what he did. It’s funny, in a way, that it took you having to yell at him and break down crying before it even clicked that he should apologize.

“It’s fine, you were a dick and I got over it.” you lie.

He scowls, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm his apology earned him. He steps a little closer, fingers grazing against your middle. Instinctively, your stomach clenches at the contact but you don't move away.

“That’s… that’s fair.”

You hum in agreement but remain silent.

“Forgot how to speak?” his voice is smooth like velvet but you don't take the bait. You’ve been in this position before, Miguel holding you close, a sudden softness to his demeanour whilst he comforts you. And last time it ended with you crying into your pillow until you fell asleep.

His hand turns your face towards him, thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. “Que niña tan linda,” he utters.

Your upper lip curls up in disgust and you push him away. You might be exhausted and emotionally distraught but that doesn't mean you don't have common sense.

Something, you’re not quite sure what, flickers across his expression as he bites down on his bottom lip.

Defensively, he holds his hands up and takes a dramatic step away. “Misread the room.”

You laugh. Again, it's not even a proper apology, just something to clear his conscious until he does something equally as idiotic. It would take a miracle for him to give a heartfelt, meaningful apology and you sincerely doubt any miracles are coming his way.

Another awkward silence fills the room. It's not like the one before, though, there’s no fear of death or ill-mannered slobs taking up all thinking space. Just you and Miguel, stood dangerously close while you cumbersomely sniffle away your tears.

You can feel it, Miguel’s intense gaze burning holes into the side of your face. He doesn't look away, just keeps staring at you, unblinking and unmoving.

“Bebita.” you allow yourself to look at him. The harsh, flickering yellow lights hang close to his head and burn the corners of your eyes. “I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“If you thought so, I wouldn't have been left standing outside the movies for an hour in the rain waiting for you,” you mutter snidely.

Ditching his previous tactics for forgiveness, he groans. “I told you already, I was busy.”

Everyone had warned you to watch out for guys like Miguel- the loud, cocky ones that only think with their dick. But you’ve never been one to listen, not to overbearing second cousins and patronising aunts, anyway.

Your ignorance of their advice hadn’t done much, though, because as much as you’d pretended, they were right. He knows he could have any girl he wants, all he’d have to do is flash her that signature smirk, maybe wrap one of his toned arms around her waist, and they’re putty in his hands.

And you'd fallen for his flirtatious trap once before. Hook, line and sinker.

You force your gaze away, deciding eye contact with him isn't worth the optical damage that will surely present itself sooner or later.

“You have a house phone, could have called me or the diner, hell- Peter would have been happy to be your little messenger pigeon!” it all comes out at once, a toxic blur of anger and regret that has been burning in your chest since the moment he walked in tumbling out your mouth before you could get a chance to stop yourself. “You are the scum of the earth, Miguel. I hope you know that.”

He lets your words settle in the air, arm slowly retracting from your waist and coming to rest on the countertop. His lips are pursed into a tight line that hides all emotion but the remnants of a frown tug his brown eyes downwards.

“Peter had come out, before, telling me that some creep was in there bothering you.” he glances back down at you, waiting for something other than fury to be represented on your face only to realise his optimism was all in vain and continuing on. “And I thought… maybe if I sort this out for her, she’ll forgive me.”

“You trying to be a good person now doesn't make standing me up okay.” you pause, angling yourself to face him, a sudden wave of sympathy crashing over you at the sight of his shiny eyes. “I forgive you, for now.”

This time, he doesn't even try to hide the pleased smirk on his face. His obnoxiously sharp canines poke proudly over his bottom lip and that ridiculous cocky twinkle is back in his eyes. If he was a dog, his tail would be wagging to no end.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

You scrunch your nose and shake your head. “I can't be friends with someone who tips with a fifty, it’s too ironic and tacky.”

He clutches his chest in feigned offence before a low chuckle rumbles from deep within his chest.

You aren't too sure what you are, in all honesty. The two of you had started off as acquaintances, which led to a strange friendship which had snowballed into him kissing you in the kitchen after closing hours before he stood you up on your first proper date. And now you’re both here, laughing even though you’re certain you wanted him dead almost a minute ago.

“Can I try again, then? I want to get it right.”

You shrug, you only live once.

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