#rumblincadefic

[colawinston]

“I don’t like ‘em...I just...”

♠︎ A little angsty dally / reader fic where reader comes to tell her boyfriend that she’s pregnant....and he’s not friendly about it. ♠︎ tw: no trigger warnings, except maybe language? talk of an abortion? mentions of sex. this is kinda jank omg sorry

He was at Buck’s again. That’s where he seemed to stay most often nowadays. ‘Spose it made sense — they were rodeo buddies, friends (even if Dallas refused to admit it), and Buck never seemed to mind to give Dally a place to sleep and sometimes you, if you bothered to be comfortable enough to spend the night in his home, as noisy as it became on weekends. It was the ideal place to find him, but then again, you figured it was better than nothing.

Better than the Curtis’ home...

Yeah, had you been there, this would have been a lot different. At least here, you could get a little privacy with no worry of a group of boys running around your ankles like a group of toddlers, hollerin’ and jokin’ like they did, eavesdropping in business that wasn’t theirs. Of course, even if you were at the Curtis’ home, you could get Dally alone, talk to him without curious ears.

But you weren’t. You were standing outside the door of Buck’s having knocked, and you waited. Nervously, almost impatiently. You twisted Dally’s ring on your finger, the thread that had been wrapped around the thick band to ensure it fit your digit practically rubbing your skin raw. What was taking so long? It was damn well past eleven-thirty on a Sunday, the both of them should be up should’t they? Just as your hand rose to knock one more time, the lock clicked and the door was cracked open.

“Y/N?” A groggy Buck rubbed his eye with the back of his fingers, voice still thick with sleep. “Lookin’ for Dally?” He asked, but barely waited for an answer before he stepped back to let you in.

You shut the door behind you as you stepped past the threshold, the house far cooler than the air outside — out of the sun, out the heat of the Tulsa summer. The house was quiet except for the creak of the floorboards beneath Buck’s heavy foot steps as he made his way toward the kitchen. You stood quietly in the foyer area, still twisting the ring, rocking on your feet. Was he going to say anything? Tell you where Dally was? Offer to let you go upstairs? Of course, you could probably of just gone up without asking — you’d been over plenty of times, had been up and down those stairs over and over again. You could go up, right? It seemed buck had caught on to your awkward politeness, peeking from his kitchen.

“Dally’s asleep upstairs,” He said, and without hesitation, you bounded up the creaky stairs.

The door was already cracked, and it swung open silently with the slightest push. The room was still dark for this early in the day, curtains draw to keep the bright summer sun out. Dally was sprawled out on his front, the blue comforter pooled around his waist, his hands tucked beneath the pillow and his head faced the wall. You lingered in the doorway, watching him, eyes raking over the curve of his shoulders and down his back. He was always so tranquil when he was asleep, and you almost didn’t want to wake him up. But he had to know, he just had to. 

The door was shut with a quiet click, shoes toed off by the door and the distance closed. Your knee met the mattress, pushing yourself over Dally’s sleeping body to come settle next to him. He stirred slightly at the commotion, one eye peaking open. 

“Hey, baby,” He murmured, voice thick with sleep and gravely. He didn’t seem all to annoyed that you’d woken him up, but he rarely ever did. Guess it was just seeing you that kept his blood from boiling over so quickly because he was disturbed. “Come in for a little early morning worship?” He teased, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand as he turned over to lay on his back. He got a little chuckle from himself, but you were far more focused on the bruises he was sporting now that you could see them. 

“What happened to you?” You asked immediately, reaching out to lightly touch his face, but Dally batted your hand away.

“Got into a fight with Tim Shepherd.” He told you, still blinking sleep from his eyes and noticing the look on your face. “I played fair, don’t worry.” He reached out to tug a bit at your sleeve, eyebrows raised. “What’s up with you?”

Dallas Winston wasn’t good at much besides fightin’ and getting himself into trouble — and he’d tell you as much — and talking really wasn’t one of his strong suites either unless he was ragging on somebody or cussing up a storm and threatening someone, but he’d gotten good at reading people, at least reading you. He’d gotten real good at picking up when you were upset and things of the sort. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but shut it again. It felt like your heart had dropped into your stomach. It didn’t feel right telling him, but it’d be wrong not to tell him. It’d be wrong to hide it, pretend you didn’t know until it was obvious, that you’d been late, that it was obviously his. Perhaps if you hid it, shit would hit the fan when it was discovered and it would only be dramatic. But it felt wrong. Why? Oh, you didn’t know — it was ridiculous. This shouldn’t have been this hard. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dally propped himself up on his elbows, brows bunched together in a thin line as he looked at you. A look of concern crossed his face. Before he could open his mouth and say anything else, you spoke up.

“Dallas, I’m pregnant.” It came out quickly, rushed and quiet. You looked at him only long enough to see his face change — the concern washed away and replaced with shock, and then softened into something else you didn’t bother to pick up by the time you averted your gaze. 

The room grew quiet, almost tense. It felt heavy, but wasn’t too uncomfortable. It felt as though a heavy blanket had been draped over your shoulders, weighing you into the bed. Neither of you said anything, but Dally had pulled himself to sit up completely, mulling over the situation. You didn’t want to look at him, you knew how he felt about kids and shit like that. You both took the precautions you could, which really involved him buying condoms and making sure he used them — but that wasn’t foolproof. 

He was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat. “You sure?” He asked, voice rough and low. It didn’t help the growing knot in your belly. 

You merely nodded, unable to find your voice. Was it supposed to be this scary? Well, surely! You were both seventeen, for Christ’s sake! You weren’t old enough to be a mother! You hadn’t graduated high school, your parents were going to kill you when they found it — and it’d be worse considering Dallas Winston was the father of the unborn baby. Not like you were the most upstanding citizen, but your family was well enough off that it’d tarnish something important. “Yeah,” You finally squeaked out, rolling your lips in. “I’m two months late...I’ve been getting sick lately and am exhausted....” 

You only looked up to see Dallas getting off the bed, fixing the waistband of his boxers before he bent to grab his jeans. The look on his face was indiscernible, though the way his muscles tensed and rippled beneath his skin you could tell he was unhappy. The knot in your belly tightened, got heavier. 

“You’re not just pulling my leg? Sylvia did that shit with me, and I don’t fuckin’ like it...” He started, pulling his jeans on and buttoning them. His voice was hard, but when he looked at you, he almost looked hurt. Well, maybe not hurt. Dallas Winston didn’t get hurt, he’s the one who hurt people. He looked as though he’d been struck in the face. When you barely gave a nod, he shoulders dropped. This is it, you thought, he’s going to end it. 

“Can’t you like...get rid of it? Markowski’s sister did that an—” 

“Dallas!” It came out louder, harder than you expected it to, and now it was your turn to look hurt. You gave him an incredulous look, and in turn he shrugged and looked away. “I...Wh-....I can’t do that.” You say. This earned a small shrug from Dallas, who pressed his tongue into his cheek. “That’s...That’s illegal and wrong and...and...” And it’s our baby.

He finally looked at you, hands hitting his thighs, and his features softened. “I’m just saying, y/n...We...We can’t...” he paused and sighed, it nothing more than a frustrated huff. “I can’t fuckin’ be a dad. I don’t even like kids. You really want me to be a dad! Do you?” He asked, waving his hand some. “And I really don’t think you’re gonna haul ass off to Florida like Sandy did Soda. Look, there’s ways, and —”

“I’m not getting rid of it, Dallas!” You told him, and shutting him for a split second. The anger and boldness died quickly however, as your eyes stung with tears. Impatiently wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, you kept your gaze off him. “Look, I’m scared and maybe it was foolish to come to you about it....” ‘Y/n...’ “I don’t want to be a mother as much as you don’t want to be a dad, but...but this is where I am, Dally, and I need you. Please?” It was desperate, pleading. Silence grew between the two of you again, and you could feel his eyes boring into you, already able to envision his tight jaw and cold eyes. 

The dresser drawer opened, and Dallas sighed once more. “I’m going out for a smoke. We’ll talk about it.” He muttered, tugging a shirt over his head and had no hesitation to leave the room, leaving you sitting on the bed and staring at the empty space where he’d been laying moments before. We’ll talk about it, he said, and that only made the knot in your stomach bulk and writhe. 

[colawinston]

“ i ain’t no fortunate son, no...”

a/n — hello, hello. I’m here with a little fic for you all, something simple and sweet and maybe a little shitty.

A Sodapop Curtis and vague reader fic for @radiantcade. Idk, I hope you enjoy it :)

we’re also going to totally ignore that hinton said soda dies in vietnam cause fuck that shit

He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been.

Coming home had been...a hassle almost. Sure, it was better than trekking through miles of hot, shrouded forest, scared shitless and waiting for the next bullet to whiz by or mortar to come sailing through the trees and drop in the midst of them, waiting for the next ambush or false alarm or snap of a branch. Yeah, being home was far better than being stuck in the near ceaseless rain and heat and barrage of casualty, even if it still held its own set of completely different issues. Sodapop couldn’t really bring himself to complain, though. He was grateful he made it home, grateful to be alive, goddamnit. 

It just felt...different. Verging suffocating. He enjoyed the fact he could step off a bus and immediately be near bowled over by his kid brother, arms tight — Lay off the man, Ponyboy, Darry had barked, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words. Lay off my kid brother, Soda chided, just as heatless, though far more playful. He enjoyed the fact he could catch up on his brothers lives, greeted by his old friends and take in what they’d been up to in the last two and a half years he’d been gone.

 Ponyboy had grown up, was damn near as built as Darry by this point, but still the soft mess of a kid he’d been when he’d left. He played football, was set to graduate, go off to college and do something important with himself. Darry still worked on houses, but had found himself a gal, a sweet girl named Joanie, and he was real smitten with her, got bashful when Soda asked if he was gonna pop the question. But he wasn’t the only one. Seemed like everyone had found them someone, Soda had noted. Steve, who’d gone off to college ‘round the time Sodapop left (which had kept him from the shit storm of a draft that Sodapop found himself plucked from), and had himself a pleasant college girl — her face sweet, hair kept neat and her clothes impeccably clean — not someone that Sodapop would have thought would end up with Steve, but life was full of surprises. Two-Bit ended up with Marcia, Randy Adderson’s now ex-gir. Took a ride on the wild side, Two-bit had grinned, tipping back a beer. He looked cleaner — they all did. Weren’t damn near as greasy as they had been, wore new clothes, looked as though they’d really gotten themselves out of a rut. 

But they all still converged in the Curtis home, crowded together around the coffee table smushed in between the arms of that old couch. 

That was all good, felt fine, but the suffocating part was, well, talking about the very large elephant in the room. The war. What he’d seen, what he’d done, just the barrage of questions and unwavering interest in things he’d rather not brag about, talk about, think about. How many of them vietcong did ya kill, Soda? Heard they was sending ladies off for you boys while stationed out there, weren’t they? Get anything good? Still as charming as ever...But he supposed they didn’t quite understand. They knew the horrors, the happenings, what went on, but they didn’t understand. And he’d brushed it off, gave them some bullshit response and smiled and sat back. Conversation had moved away from him and onto something else, and he was left staring at the wall, chest tight and suffocating.

He didn’t sleep well. Hell, he hadn’t slept well in a very long time. Although comfortable, his bed felt foreign. The silence of the house deafening despite the chirp of crickets outside, and every soft creak of the house sending a jolt through Sodapop, his fists clenched in the sheets, eyes locked firmly on the shadowed ceiling. Among the delicate noises of night, he could hear his own heart, occasionally Ponyboy or Darry stirring, a cough or a shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, only for the same shuffle to retreat down the hall and a door to click shut. He didn’t sleep, once bright eyes and crooked grin now a murky pool of green and teeth barely shown, the smile itself barely meeting his eyes. He was plagued, and he hid it.

Which was unlike him, but if he was being honest, it felt wrong to push these things onto his brothers — the two of them had enough to worry about without the extra baggage of something they wouldn’t understand. Maybe Ponyboy would be soft about it, sympathize. He’d gone through his own bit of trauma years back, struggled in his own way afterwards. Soda had helped then, so why wouldn’t he ask now? Was he that much of a coward to admit something was off, something wasn’t right with him. He knew what to expect when he’d gotten home, he’d heard the rumors and the tales of those who’d come home from the second world war. But that couldn’t be him. He did want it to be him. 

But he kept up his image, because being home was nice. He’d gotten a job back at the station, something to keep himself preoccupied. It wasn’t the same as it had been without Steve there, though pretty girls still flocked his way, got him to smile, flirted back and forth. Hippies, mostly. Not that he was particularly interested in them. No, he was still set on a broad he’d been seeing back before was shipped off. One he wasn’t sure if she knew he still existed. Not until she came by the station one day, in one of them fancy new Pontiacs: blood red and loud as hell. She noticed him near immediately, jaw dropped and not a moment of hesitancy before she flung herself around him — a lot like Ponyhad that day he’d stepped off the bus. 

“Sodapop Curtis, I didn’t know you were home!” She had squealed, and pushed him back an arms length, as if to get a good look at him. He gave a bashful smile, averting his gaze and shrugged.

“Haven’t been back too long. Sorry I didn’t write. You back home for a bit?” He’d asked her, keeping the subject off him.

She was a college girl, much like Steve’s pretty blonde girl. Smart as hell and pretty to boot. Her soft features hadn’t changed much, eyes still bright as ever and lips spread into a familiar, comforting grin. She’d smacked her hand against his chest, pushed him slightly. “I am. Why? You wanna take me out sometime? Like you used to?” She asked, bubbly as ever. 

“I just might, if you’re willing,” He grinned right back. The first grin he had since he’d seen his brothers, his old friends. 

And take her out he did. 

Now, the two of them hadn’t ever really been a ‘thing’. They’d been friendly, talked a lot, eventually started gettin’ affectionate but he didn’t think either of them wanted to put a label of things. She hadn’t, having gotten into that new age idea of goofing around, just living her best life, not worried about settling down, just kicking up dust and running on. He thought that way too, or he thought he thought like that. He thought that maybe settling down was a bit of a joke, something for older folks who knew what they wanted, but sometimes it’d felt like he was just....coasting by on the fumes of her own ideals. That he was just jazzed and caught up in the feeling of her fun, her change, her life. Sodapop was always one to get drunk off life, and she gave him that tugging feeling that drag races had, that dancing around did, and he’d soaked up every moment he could get of it, which was why she was settled against him again, pressed into his side in his bed, delicate fingers playing with his own. Darry and Ponyboy weren’t in the house, which was the only reason she’d come over — he’d allowed her over — and things had led to them snuggled up like they used to be. They lay quietly, Sodapop keeping one arm around her and the other bent at his side as she played with his fingers. 

“It fucked you up, didn’t it, Soda?” She eventually broke the silence, voice light as a feather, almost sounding sad. “I can see it, y’know. You don’t smile like you used to,” She reached up to cup his face with one hand, body shifting to be able to get a better look at him. He kept his eyes off her, green-blue gaze locked on the ceiling like it usually was. His body stiffened, hand on his belly curling into a fist. She was the first person to prod him about it, maybe to immediately notice it. Given, he’d kept up his attitude to the best of his abilities and been working, his brothers had been busy with their own things. What was he really supposed to say to her? He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the obvious conclusion she’d come to himself. 

But it came out as a soft “Yeah,” His chest rising with a deep sigh, eye flitting to meet hers. “It did.” He admitted, voice thick, low. His throat suddenly felt dry, stung in the way it would as if he were trying to hold himself back from crying. Sodapop held her gaze for what felt like hours, just until her lips pouted and she had her cheek against his bare chest, hand tucking against his body. 

There was another bout of silence, and her soft voice broke through the silence again. “You’re gonna be alright, Sodapop, I promise.” It was firm, knowing. She’d always been like that, positive to a fault almost, but he believed her. She’d always been right about things — about her getting into school, Steve, too, Pony getting on well with some of his new friends back after Johnny and Dally had died, about Darry getting another job when he’d lost the other one. She’d always been right, and he had no reason not to be. 

Stroking a hand over her hair, he gave a short nod, eyes back on the ceiling, his vision blurred. “I’ll be alright.” He agreed. With you, sat on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to put that on her. She was going back to college soon, would be busy with her friends and forgetting about him until she came home again, so he wasn’t going to pressure her into thinkin’ she needed to care about it. “I’ll be alright,” He repeated.