I’m currently obsessing over dallypop, i can’t get enough of them
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The Urge to see Outsiders x Cobra Kai… it’s eating me alive.
Like Pon goes to the same school as the cobra Kai kids. It’s never said what school he goes to soooo? Or maybe the cobra Kai kids have to bunk in Tulsa for like a well or two before the all valley and get into some beef with the greasers?? Someone understand my need for this pls 💔
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Planned on updating each chapter with my thoughts, but then I finished it in like a few sittings and never could think of anything decent to say that wasn’t just “oh it’s so good!!”
One thing that stayed with me is how- hm. not “feminine”, but something else- they all are. They feel and aren’t afraid to show affection and stuff. Some scenes it really stood out to me: Johnny getting jumped and Soda cradling him in his arms and soothing him; Pony talking about how they all know acrobatics?? Because Darrel took a class apparently?? Fucking wild; and then everyone calling Johnny “Johnnycake” the entire book is so cutesy.
OH and Pony insisting that Johnny is the gang’s “pet”. Like;;; he even said it to the guy’s face. If the younger brother of my group of friends told me I was like their “pet”…man. Johnny Cade I understand why u were suicidal bro.
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“Soda has bad handwriting!” “Dally has bad handwriting!” “Two-bit has bad handwriting!” YOU DUMBA—
no, but realistically, this is the 1960s where people wrote in cursive regularly. It was standardized and like the print of today! Kids were taught cursive from 3rd grade. And expected to use it as the normal for most of their schoolwork and/or business/personal things.
This is back when there was a penmanship class too! (How good your handwriting looks) so they’d all have lots of time to learn good cursive. Yeah, teachers back then actually gave a damn about how legible (readable) your handwriting was. (Half joke)
Typing and print only became more regular after the 1960s and into the 1970s. When typewriters first started happening, around Tex’s time. (Remember when he made the typing keys explode? Yeah good times 🥰)
So the Curtis gangs print might be bad, but that’s because they never practice it. (Same as some of us never practice cursive.) but their regular handwriting? That is completely in cursive and it’s looking beautiful. ✨
have a nice day/night! 👋
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Coquette DALLAS!!!🎀🎀
Gorgeous in pink 💞
[[MORE]]@adirtyfallingapartconverse @fr3akology @offical-papa @puppetqueen2 ;3 @jaybaeblue @nayomistorm @not-karl @melticholy @whatthekoi @andespeppermintcandies @happysaly @abbys-tea @scribble-clover @alaskan-wallflower ^u^ @scalls @dr-gl0rbiez @dr-zl0rp-zl0p-the3rd @your-denis215 :3
Not moot:
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nature is Healing. the wakfu subreddit somehow acquired taste on one of the hottest men in the krosmoz. i am satisfied to witness this
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The Gang Matchmake You and Dallas at the Drive-In
In which Dallas has a huge thing for you, gets awkwardly set up, makes a move, and opens up a little about his past.
Soda is fully invested in getting you and Dallas together. He’s a romantic; always has been. Plus, Dallas is really good at standing in his own way when it comes to being happy. He would never say as much to Dallas, because usually when things get to be too much, and he feels too vulnerable, Dallas will disappear or go cause some trouble. However, Soda is not above some scheming and matchmaking to try to help his buddy out. Dallas deserves to be happy, whether he believes it or not.
[[MORE]]Soda has never tried to fix Dallas up before, for a few reasons. Dallas usually has terrible taste, and gravitates toward people who are gonna mistreat him. It’s like he seeks out people who are incapable of giving a shit about him, because he doesn’t believe he deserves to be cared for anyway. The other reason Soda has never tried to fix Dallas up is that he’s yet to see Dallas show any real interest in a gal, or anybody for that matter, for anything other than just sex. Or some other means to an end. He’s never seen a Dallas develop real feelings for somebody.
Dallas seems to have a crush, and Soda is practically giddy about it. He’s just trying not to make too much of a big deal, because that’ll shut Dallas right down. Soda likes you, and thinks you might be good for Dallas. You see his rough edges and still treat him with kindness. There’s potential, so Soda is gonna meddle. Even if Dallas tries to kill him for it.
When Ponyboy invites you to the drive in with the whole gang, Soda makes sure to tell Dallas. Dallas, predictably, pretends not to care.
Darry actually drives them all to the drive-in this time. He reminds them at least four times to behave and that he is not going to pick anybody up from the cooler tonight. They decide to play cards while waiting for the movie to start. Ponyboy suggests Go Fish since they need something that isn’t too involved in case the movie starts to play. Dallas complains about it being a kiddie game, and they compromise by betting cigarettes for each round.
Steve is just as annoyed by the game choice. “I can’t believe we’re playing Go Fish. Just cause Pony’s eight years old don’t mean we all need to play baby games,” Steve moans.
“I’m fifteen, asshole,” Ponyboy snaps back.
“Then why do you still act like you’re in fourth grade?” Steve teases.
“You’re one to talk,” Ponyboy grumbles.
The game doesn’t get too far before the bickering starts.
“You got any fours?” Two-Bit asks Soda.
“Go fish, buddy,” he says, grinning.
“Now I know you’re cheating,” Two-Bit complains.
“Nobody cheats at Go Fish!” Soda protests.
“I mean, you cheated at Old Maid,” Ponyboy says immediately.
“And Crazy Eights,” Darry adds.
“I was ten!”
“Right, you were ten. Way too old to be cheating at kiddie games, Pepsi,” Darry jokes.
“Y'all are the worst,” Soda grumbles. “I ain’t a cheater, right Steve?”
“Soda, you cheated at War last week,” Steve deadpans. “And there’s a four sticking out of your shoe.”
Soda scowls and flops down in the bed of the truck dramatically. “I should just go home,” he grumbles. He sits up suddenly with a grin. “You know, the movie ain’t started yet.” He shoots a look at Two-Bit. “We need popcorn.”
“Hey, Dal. Why don’t you go get some popcorn and Cokes?” Two-Bit asks. He looks at Dallas with a glint in his eyes and continues before Dallas can tell him where he can shove his Cokes, Two-Bit looks directly at you. “You don’t mind helping him, do you darling?”
“No, that’s fine,” you say while Dallas shoots death glares at Two-Bit. You stand up, and Dallas vaults out of the bed of the truck.
“Dal, why don’t you be a gentleman and help her out the truck?” Soda says nonchalantly. Dallas is going to murder every one of his friends, swear to God.
He holds a hand up, and when you take it he feels something lurch in his chest. And, because someone up there hates him, you stumble on your way out of the truck and the next thing he knows he’s caught you around the waist and you have your arms around his neck.
You seem kind of stunned as well, because you don’t pull away. You’re pressed all the way up against him, and he feels like he’s on fire and like his heart’s gonna beat out of his chest. Glory’s sake, he isn’t inexperienced. But then again, while he’s awake below the waist, most of what he’s feeling right now, what’s about to overwhelm him, is up in his chest.
“I’m sorry,” you say, and Dallas drops his arms and steps back.
He shrugs. “No big deal.” Jesus, why does his voice sound like that? You smile at him, and Christ he feels like his heart is in his throat.
The two of you start to walk toward the concession stand, and you startle him with a hand on his arm.
“Sorry,” you say again. “I wasn’t thinking about how soft the ground would be when I put on heels. Do you mind if I hold onto you?”
“Whatever,” Dallas mutters. Are you trying to kill him? What is this? Also, why in the hell do you want to be seen holding onto his arm? He can’t believe you even came in the truck with him and the gang, and now you’re holding onto him like you ain’t got a care in the world about who sees. When you get to the paved area of the concession stand, you don’t drop his arm immediately, either. What the hell is this?
“I may not be as much help as Two-Bit thought, if I’m having to hold onto you on the way back,” you say apologetically. “You know, I’ve never actually walked around at the drive-in. It didn’t really occur to me that the shoes were a bad choice.” Dallas hums in response, because he doesn’t know what he is supposed to say. “I know Pony loves the movies. Do you come often?”
Dallas shrugs. “Often enough.” What is the matter with him? You’d think he had never talked to a girl before. Of course, usually he ain’t as interested in the talking part. But still.
“It’s kinda fun being here in a group, playing games and everything,” you say. For some inexplicable reason, you haven’t let go of his arm. “I’ve only ever been on dates.” He doesn’t really want to hear any more about that, but he can’t think of a single thing else to say. “You feeling alright, Dallas?” you ask quietly, leaning toward him a little. He looks at you, confused. “You’re just real quiet is all. Not that you normally talk my ear off or anything, but…” you shrug and looks at him expectantly.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says gruffly. And he is. Other than the fact that his arm is doing some bizarre tingly/burning thing under your hand, and his chest feels tight. Besides that, he’s doing great. He’s actually relieved when it’s time to pay for the popcorn and Cokes, because it’s a distraction from his abysmal social skills.
When you get back to the truck with the snacks, and you’re still holding his arm, Dallas thinks that there’s a nonzero possibility of his being caught up in a murder rap before the night is over. He glares so hard at Two-Bit in particular that he’s half surprised his eyes don’t pop straight out.
“Oh, shoot,” Soda says suddenly. “I probably shouldn’t have set these on the back gate. Dal, can you give her a boost and then hop up from the side?”
The chance of murder is steadily rising. When you turn your back to him, Soda shoots Dallas a huge grin and winks at him. He’s gonna kill him.
“I can wait for everybody to get settled, if you don’t want to lift me over that,” you say softly to Dallas. “I know it ain’t the easiest to hoist a whole person up that far.”
“Is that a challenge?” Dallas blurts out, and you give him an amused look.
“Not at all,” you say with a smile. “But you are welcome to toss me into the truck.”
“I’ll lift you up so you’re set on the side, then you can just swing your legs over,” Dallas tells you. He puts his hands on your waist, and falters for a second when you lock eyes with his. Then he lifts you up.
“Thank you,” you smile broadly at him from the side of the truck as you swing your legs over. “You want a hand up?”
Dallas does not need a hand up. He really doesn’t.
He holds onto your hand while he climbs up anyway, because he’s a glutton for punishment apparently.
And he wonders if everybody is intent on messing with him today, because there is exactly one spot in that truck big enough to fit a person in. Or, just barely, two people. Which means he ends up sitting with his shoulder pressed up against you and his heart ain’t gonna slow itself down anytime soon.
Dallas barely pays attention to the first movie. He’s tense, and he keeps sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When you grab a blanket, you turn to Dallas with an eyebrow raised. He doesn’t say anything, so you drape the blanket over his legs, too, and smile at him.
It’s late when the second movie, a horror film, starts. The movie isn’t too scary, but Dallas about has a heart attack when you startle and suddenly grip a hand on his leg. You mutter an apology. Dallas starts to wonder if you’ve ever watched a horror film, because you seem pretty antsy with it. You keep fidgeting with your hand, and Dallas swallows his nerves and offers his to you. You grips onto it tightly.
It occurs to him that, with everything he has done, he has never actually held hands with a girl. Not once. Something squeezes in the center of his chest at that thought. And he misses most of the remainder of the movie as his mind and his heart both race.
He offers to walk you home from the Curtis house after the movie.
Neither of you say anything when he reaches for your hand again.
“Dallas, I never asked you,” you say quietly. He tenses a little bit. “Did you graduate, or drop out?” You shoot him an almost apologetic look. “I’m not gonna judge. I just want to get to know you more.”
“I dropped out,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. He doesn’t know if he wants to tell her more, but if she wants to get to know him…
“I dropped out as soon as I turned sixteen,” he tells you. “My old man didn’t want trouble from police for truancy or for not meeting my basic needs or whatever,” he mutters. “It’s kinda funny almost, given the rest of what home was like, that he drew the line there. But he told me if I wanted to live under his roof, I’d go to school until the state said I didn’t have to.”
“Why did you want to drop out?” you ask. Your tone is curious, and he can’t see any judgment on your face, but he’s still apprehensive.
“I skipped a lot, before we moved here,” Dallas tells you. “And there wasn’t ever anybody helping me with homework or nothing. The old man wanted me out of his hair, but he didn’t care how I did, or if I even passed.” Dallas looks down at your joined hands. He wants to look to see your reaction, but he’s also kind of afraid to do so. “Plus there were times he wasn’t around to make me go anyway.” He shrugs his shoulder. “Moved here when I was thirteen, but I was so far behind I wasn’t passing nothing hardly. There wasn’t any reason for me to stay past sixteen, wasn’t any way I was gonna graduate anyhow.”
“Do you ever regret it?” you ask carefully.
He bristles a little at that. “Lot of things I regret,” he mutters. “Don’t matter or change nothing. What’s the point?”
“Thanks for telling me,” you say softy, squeezing his hand. And then, thankfully, you drop it.
It takes Dallas a little bit to relax again after that conversation. He’s got a lot of memories, mostly of New York, running through his head and he really needs something to distract him.
He rubs his thumb up and down over yours, and the next time you turn toward him he leans in to kiss you. He deepens the kiss almost as soon as you kiss him back. He slides his hand just underneath the bottom of your shirt, running his fingers over the skin of your lower back, and you pull away. He looks at you, hurt.
“I just want to slow down a little, okay?” you say gently. “I like you a lot, Dallas. I don’t want to rush things and mess this up.”
How is he supposed to argue with that? He’s having a hard time telling his body to listen, but he doesn’t want to mess it up, either. “Okay.” What were you talking about before this started? Oh. Right. “You looking at colleges?”
You nod. “Yeah. I’m not sure what I want to do yet, but I think I want to go to college. Maybe teaching? Or I thought about working in a lab, I like chemistry. But it’s not the easiest job to get into for women, even if they’re just as capable. I don’t know. But I figure I can start with general requirements and then figure it out.” You turn the questions back to him. “You have to pay all your own bills and everything? You dad doesn’t help?”
Dallas laughs bitterly. “He barely helped when I lived there.”
“How do you do it?”
“Rodeos, mostly, and working the stables. I pick up odd jobs sometimes for Buck here or there.”
“Do you like it?”
“The odd jobs are just something to pay the bills. The rest, though? Yeah. I do. I love riding bull, and working with the horses.”
“How’d you get into rodeo?” you ask.
“Wasn’t long after I got here,” Dallas tells you. “I’d never been on a horse or a bull before we moved to Tulsa. I got to know Soda a little, and he got me into horses. When I met Buck…”. Dallas smiles at the memory. “I started out jockeying for him, after Soda taught me to ride. Once we got to know each other a little, Buck told me I was an ornery little shit and he thought I might make a half-decent bull rider.” You laugh, and it warms something in him.
“Can I come watch you, sometime?” you ask.
“You want to?” He is surprised. “Do you like rodeo?”
“I don’t know,” you answer. “But I like you. That’s enough of a reason to go.”
That…his old man never came to see him. Not once. Other than the gang, who are also there for Soda, Dallas has never had anybody show up for him. He doesn’t know what to even say to that, or how to tell you what it would mean to him. So he figures it’s as good a time as any to kiss you again.
You indulge him for a minute before you pull away. “What else do you like to do just for fun? Besides rodeo?”
“Nothing legal” pops out of his mouth before he can think twice about it. You looks more amused than anything, thankfully. “How about you?”
You shrug. “Lots of things. I like reading a lot. Movies, music, dancing… I like trying new things. Figure it’s at least a one time adventure even if I don’t end up loving it. A good story to tell, or an experience. I’ll try most things at least once.” You give him a sideways glance, and smile as you correct yourself. “I’ll try most things once, as long as I ain’t gonna get arrested for ‘em.”
Dallas snorts. “You’ve never been arrested?” he teases. “I’m shocked.”
“You gonna tell me about your rap sheet?” you tease back. Dallas stiffens. “I’m sorry,” you say almost immediately. “You joke about it with the guys, I didn’t think…”
“It’s okay,” he shrugs. Might as well figure out if you’re gonna run. This had to come up eventually. “I was ten, first time I got locked up. Been in the cooler a bunch of times since then. If we count stays that were just a few hours, I lost count. I’ve had three times that I’ve been in for a month or longer.”
“God, you were so young,” you breathe, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. He’s afraid he’s gonna see disgust or judgment. Or even worse, pity. “You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do.”
His heart is pounding a little. He doesn’t want to tell you. He’s never even told the guys what really happened.
For some reason, his mouth starts moving. “When I was ten, my old man got locked up,” he starts. “It had happened before. Once we even got evicted while he was locked up for a couple of months. But this time, he was in for a six month sentence.” Dallas has bragged about his rap sheet a ton of times, but never about this. Beyond telling the guys he was locked up at ten, he’s never said more about it. His stomach feels like it’s in knots.
“I got by, for awhile,” he tells you. “Started having to steal food a month into his sentence, when I could get it. Sometimes I panhandled, at first. But lot of people aren’t too charitable with that.” He smiles, but it feels like a mask. “We got evicted two months in, because of course he wasn’t paying the rent while he was locked up. I lived on the street for the last four months of his sentence. And of course, he couldn’t have gotten locked up in early spring or something. We got evicted in fucking January.” Fuck. He hates talking about this, and he’s not sure why he’s telling this goddamn story. He feels her squeeze his hand, and he shakes himself out of the memories. He stares ahead. “Later that month I got sick. So sick I thought I was gonna die in the damn alley or on a park bench. It was ten below, and I was cold and sick and so goddamn hungry.”
He clears his throat, and it feels painful and tight. “I tried to mug somebody. But I was shit at it, because I was fucking ten. Thought maybe I could get money for a room or something, just for the night. Then maybe I wouldn’t die outside, at least.”
He rubs his eye, and his hand comes away wet. Fuck. Is he crying? He laughs at himself, but it feels hollow. He can’t believe he’s being such a goddamn bawl baby.
“Anyway, I told the fuzz what was going on, and they didn’t give a shit. But on the bright side, I guess I got a room. It was just in lock-up,” he says bitterly. He swears under his breath rubbing his eyes hard with the heel of his hand.
“Dallas-”
He cuts you off. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay,” you say softly.
“Fuck, I don’t know why I told you that story.”
“It’s okay.”
“I never told anybody that story. Nobody.” His voice sounds thick, and he feels a little bit hysterical if he’s honest.
“I won’t tell anybody,” you promise. “And we don’t have to talk about it it anymore. But I’m glad you told me. It’s okay.” You pause, and your next words absolutely break him. “I’m so sorry you went through that. You had to be so strong, back when you should have had people taking care of you.”
His breath catches in his chest, and God if he starts crying on the damn street he’s gonna fucking kill himself. He stops, tugging you toward him and leaning in to kiss you again. You reach up and strokes his cheek, and he drops his forehead to rest against yours. “I can’t think about this anymore right now,” he whispers, voice strangled. And even though he’s gonna hate himself for it later, he doesn’t know what else to do. “Please. I just need to forget for awhile.” He kisses her again. He can’t say it again; but he looks into your eyes, his own burning with tears he doesn’t want to shed and pleading with you to understand.
You kiss him, and he manages to lose himself in that for awhile.
The threat of tears, thankfully, passes before too long, and he walks you the rest of the way home.
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You Patch Dallas Up and Leave the Friendzone
(Female) Reader insert.
Dallas had needed to blow off some steam, and the guy smarting off to him outside the hardware store provided a convenient distraction. Guy got a couple of good shots in, though. He heads over to the Curtis house; maybe a little bit to get patched up, but mostly just to tell somebody about the highlights of the fight.
[[MORE]]When he walks in, he sees you with Ponyboy at the table. When you look up, the smile drops from your face and you gasp. Before Dallas can even process what is happening, you are standing in front of him reaching for his face, and he’s flinching back. Shit. He’s not used to people reaching for his face for any reason other than to throw a punch.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without permission,” you tell him softly, withdrawing your hand. “What happened?”
“Just a fight,” he mutters, suddenly not really wanting to go into details.
“Can I help you get cleaned up?” you ask. Dallas isn’t sure about how to answer. Part of him wants to push you away, and part of him wants you to touch him again. He shrugs. “Pony? You got a first aid kit? And a couple of wash cloths?” you ask.
“Yeah, I’ll get ‘em.”
“Come sit down,” you tell Dallas. He’s not sure why he listens, honestly. You sit at the table next to him. “May I?” you ask quietly.
He swallows hard and nods. Then you reach out, and your fingers ghost over his cheek.
“We need to clean this one well,” you murmur, thumb moving gently over his cheekbone. “Guessing you got caught on a ring or something. Are you hurt anywhere besides your face?”
Ponyboy comes back with the kit, then, and he pulls away. “I ain’t hurt,” Dallas says gruffly.
You get both washcloths wet, and puts soap on one of the two before sitting down across from him again. You reach carefully to hold his chin with one hand and makes eye contact with him. “I’m sorry, this might sting a little,” you murmur.
“I ain’t delicate,” he grumbles. You smile kindly at him and start to gently wipe at one of his cuts. He isn’t sure where to look while you’re doing this, and he’s uncomfortable but he feels something else, too, that he can’t really identify. His stomach is twisted up a little, and he feels like his heart is beating a little bit fast. This is nothing compared to the kind of stuff he’s done with gals that weren’t much more than strangers, and he’s not sure why he’s feeling like this. You’re touching him with all this tenderness, like he’s something to be cared for, and it’s driving him crazy. The last time anybody touched him with this much gentleness is back when Mrs. Curtis was still alive. He sucks in a sharp breath when you stroke your thumb over his cheek, wiping away a little bit of the water that had started to drip.
“I’m sorry. Did that hurt?” you ask, and he feels the tips of his ears turn red. It just surprised him, and he felt…hell, he doesn’t know what he is feeling about any of this. He shakes his head slightly to answer. You resume cleaning up his cuts, and then what he is assumes is blood that has dripped to other parts of his face. His throat goes dry when you wipe gently at his lower lip.
“Dal, this is the calmest I think I’ve ever seen you with somebody patching you up,” Ponyboy teases, and Dallas kind of wants to kill him. “You’re practically docile right now.” He flicks his eyes over to Ponyboy, glaring at him, and he gets a sheepish grin in response. “Okay, okay,” he mumbles.
You grab a cotton ball and dab around each cut one-by-one. “Y'all got Neosporin in here?”
Ponyboy huffs out a laugh. “Please. You’re lucky there’s bandaids in there.”
“I got some in my purse. Could you grab it for me, please?”
“You have Neosporin in your purse?” he asks in disbelief.
“Yeah?” You give him a look.
“Jesus, what else you got in there?” he asks.
You grin at him. “A girl’s gotta have some secrets.” When he hands you the purse, you pull out the tube. You put a little on your finger and start dabbing it on one of his gashes. He studies your face a little bit, then, and when you catch him looking he feels himself turn a little bit more red before he looks away.
When you put the first bandaid on him, Ponyboy laughs. “I can’t believe you’re letting her do that. You gave me so much shit last time Darry put a bandaid on my face.” Christ, why does Dallas like this kid again? “You ain’t never let none of us bandage you up,” he teases.
“Well, she’s prettier than you,” Dallas snaps, and then immediately wishes he’d kept his mouth shut when that causes more laughter from Pony. “Shut up,” he mutters, trying not to go fully red.
He feels a pang of loss when you stop touching him, and it agitates him. He doesn’t like people touching him. It doesn’t make sense.
“There,” you tell him with a smile. “All patched up. You oughta put some ice on your eye, it looks like it’s gonna bruise.” Ponyboy stifles another laugh, and Dallas shoots a withering glare at him.
“I’ll be fine,” he says more harshly than he intends to, still avoiding eye contact with you. He curses himself internally. He actually wasn’t trying to be an ass for once. “Thanks,” he mumbles uncomfortably.
“You’re welcome.”
After that, he pretends to watch TV and tries to make sense of what just happened.
Ponyboy turns on him as soon as you leave.
“You like her,” he accuses.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dallas retorts.
“Yes, you do.” Ponyboy is trying not to grin. “You let her sit there and get you all patched up without a single complaint.” Dallas scowls. “And you were blushing.”
“I was not,” he snaps.
Ponyboy cackles. “Yes, you were! You shoulda seen how red your face was, man.”
“I liked you better when you were scared of me,” Dallas mutters.
“Sure, buddy,” he teases. He grins at Dallas again. “You gonna make a move?”
Dallas scoffs. “Please.” When Ponyboy keeps looking at him expectantly, he groans. “No, I ain’t gonna make a move. Even if I liked her, which I don’t, she ain’t gonna be interested in advances from a no-count hood.” Ponyboy looks kinda sad at that, almost pitying. “Quit it. Don’t look at me like that. And I’m done talking about this,” he says harshly.
Ponyboy looks like he wants to say more, but he listens for once and drops it.
You’re there again the next time he comes to the Curtis house looking beat up.
“What happened?” you ask, as Soda goes to get the kit.
“Taught some guys a lesson,” he says dismissively.
“What kinda lesson?” you asks him, lips quirking up slightly.
Dallas looks away, embarrassed. “Not to touch gals after they’ve said no.”
You look at him in shock, and then Soda is back with the first aid kit.
Soda is real charming most of the time. He’s also very observant, and you know exactly what he’s doing when he sets the first aid kit in front of you with an innocent look. Not that you’re going to argue. You think you and Dallas have become friends, but you like him more than just platonically.
It’s hard not to fall for him when he’s looking at you the way he is right now. Harder still when he has enough trust in you to close his eyes while you clean his wounds.
He’s quiet, just watching you. You wipe away some of the blood near his lip and he swallows hard enough that you sees his Adam’s apple bob.
You glance around, and realize that the two of you are alone. Soda is a meddling busybody, but you kind of love that about him.
Suddenly, Dallas leans in and kisses you. When you start to kiss him back, he deepens it immediately, reaching a hand up to the back of your neck and slipping his tongue into your mouth. Your heart is pounding, and when you rest a hand on his chest you can feel that his is pounding, too.
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Dally’s Partner Says I Love You (and he cries)
Folks, this is my first post that is written as “x reader” and first that is not just cross-posted! (Though it borrows heavily from my Dallas x OC fanfic that is much longer.). Was written female but I think could be any gender?
It has been a crummy day so far, and you go to see Dallas in his room at Buck’s. Within about five minutes of being with him, maybe less, before you feel a thousand times better. He lets you vent, and then he makes you actually laugh.
[[MORE]]You decide that you want him to know how much he means to you. The hell with waiting for the guy to say it first. You can handle it if he isn’t ready to say it back.
You looks at him, calming down the giggles. He looks back into your eyes, still smiling himself.
“I love you, Dallas,” you tell him then. He stares at you in shock. Of course you wants him to love her back, you’re human. But you would rather he say it when he’s ready. When he means it. “You don’t have to say it back,” you say softly. “But I love you. And I just wanted you to know that.”
“You can’t,” Dallas says dumbly.
You give him a look that is almost amused. “What do you mean, I can’t?” You bite your lip, looking at him with a small smile. “I can. I do.”
Dallas is chewing on his own lip, now, and looking more upset by the moment. “Don’t say that to me,” he says in a strangled voice.
You start getting more concerned. “Why not?”
“You- I can’t -” Dallas shakes his head, eyes too bright. “Don’t play with me with that shit.”
“Dal, I’m not playing with you. You really think I would do that?” you ask incredulously.
“I ain’t the guy you fall in love with,” he says hoarsely. “I just ain’t.”
You reach over to touch his cheek, and he flinches. “Dallas. I love you.”
He turns away from you then, staring at the wall. You had known he might not say it back; you were prepared for that. This, though, is not what you were expecting. You’re still trying to figure out how to respond to this entirely baffling and kind of hurtful reaction when you hear a choked noise.
There’s another that follows, and you realize Dally’s shoulders are trembling. He keeps staring toward the wall.
“Dal?” you say cautiously. “Honey?” His breathing sounds ragged and wet. “Can you look at me?” He shakes his head, and there’s a kind of wet snuffling sound.
You have no idea what to do, but God he’s breaking your heart. He’s crying and you have no idea why. You reach out to put a hand on his shoulder, and you can feel his chest spasm with effort. He drops his head, covering his eyes with his hand, and his shoulders shake.
“Baby, talk to me,” you plead. When he doesn’t react to that, you wrap your arms around him, resting your cheek against his back. It seems to make things worse, though, because then there are violent tremors running through his body as well as yours. A strangled gasp comes from somewhere deep in his chest. You press your open palm flat against his chest over his heart. “It’s okay,” you say almost desperately. You rub your thumb back and forth soothingly. “Honey, it’s okay.”
He shakes his head, and he sounds like he’s choking on tears as he tries to hold them back. You hug him a little bit tighter.
It takes a long time before he starts breathing more normally. Before his chest and shoulders stop lurching with barely-contained sobs. When he starts to still, his muscles feel rigid.
You wait, holding him until he pulls away.
Dallas is so far beyond mortified. God, what the hell is wrong with him? Just because he’s never heard those words from anybody outside the small handful of times the gang have said it, he’s gonna fall to pieces? You were holding him, your cheek against his back and your hand over his heart, and you had to have felt all of it.
He’s never gonna be able to look you in the damn eye again.
He feels raw and like his chest has been ripped open and torn to shreds.
“Can you talk to me, Dal?” you ask softly. His breath is still hitching, trying to regulate. God, he can’t do this. “Please. At least tell me if you’re okay now?”
“I’m fine,” he croaks out.
“Honey, what just happened?”
He bawled like a damn baby because you said you loved him. That’s what happened. It’s exactly what it looked like. “I can’t…” his breath catches again. “I can’t explain.”
He can tell you don’t like it. “Do you know what happened? Even if you ain’t got the words?”
He wants to lie, he really does. He nods once instead.
“Okay. Did I do something wrong?” The only wrong thing you did was somehow start to love him, so he shakes his head. “But you’re upset.” It’s not a question.
“I’ve only heard those words, at least being said to me, maybe five times in my whole life,” he admits quietly, voice still raspy. “Just from the guys. Maybe not even five times, I ain’t sure.”
He can’t bring himself to look at you. “Your parents…?” you ask hesitantly. “Never?” He shakes his head, rubbing his eyes hard with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. It must’ve been so hard,” you murmur, and goddammit how does he still have more tears? “Do you not want me to say it?” you ask hesitantly.
“No,” he chokes out. “It ain’t that I don’t…” He cuts himself off with a sob. “Fuck.” He scrubs desperately at his face. “Stop looking at me,” he grinds out, pleading.
“Okay,” you tell him. “I’ll close my eyes.” You pause. “Just don’t leave me here without saying nothing,” you say almost teasingly. “I’m gonna be mad at you if I sit here with my eyes closed for an hour and you ain’t even here.”
He chances a peek at you and sees that you do actually have your eyes closed. He puts his head in his hands, digging his nails into his scalp and trying to settle down.
“I can’t see you, but if you want a hug you know where to find me,” you murmur softly. He doesn’t know what he wants, and it’s killing him. “Or if you want a hand.” You raises one up and waves almost playfully. It makes it easier for him, just a little…that you’re being playful with him when he’s a damn mess.
He has to work way too hard to pull everything back inside, and he’s still so embarrassed that he has to wait several minutes before he can bring himself to tell you that you can open your eyes.
When you open your eyes and looks at him, glory’s sake it almost restarts the waterworks all over again. He’s tougher than this, dammit.
This might be the first time since you started seeing each other that Dallas is actually glad when your curfew comes and the night ends. At least he’ll have some time to nurse his wounded pride.
Answer
*Catches*
HELL YEAHHH TRANSFEM DALLY!!!
Shes just what I needed today
Thank you, go wild, im glad you like her
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Day 25-28 (sorry gang Halloween and November Christmas got me a bit busy)
Best two bit moment/quote - “pity the backseat”
Best Johnny moment/quote - “stay gold Ponyboy, stay gold”
Best dally moment/quote - uhhhhhidk
Best sodapop moment/quote - “we’re all we got left” speech
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Have the fanfic that Hinton wrote abt the Curtis bros after Jonny, Dally, and ofc their parents died
yw 🫶
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okay so i emailed this photo to myself earlier and istg I’ve been looking at it like he’s my wife and I’m at war
also lunchtime
