I Cant Live Without Them

ABBEY ROAD STUDIES

nothing more real

Suna Rintarou has ignored you for seven hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-five seconds. Not that you’re counting. He hadn’t looked at you when you waved good morning. Didn’t reply when you texted him during lunch. And now, during practice, he’s pretending you don’t exist—unless it’s to rotate away the second you step near him. Which is why you’ve had it.

You march across the gym floor with fire in your veins, stopping right in front of him during a water break. The rest of the team goes quiet, curious eyes flicking between you and the tall, unbothered middle blocker who’s carefully unwrapping sports tape like it's the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Rin, what the hell is your problem?”

Suna doesn’t even look at you. “I don’t have a problem.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

He scoffs. “Why don’t you just go hang out with your boyfriend?”

You blink. “I’m sorry— my what now?”

Now he looks at you. Flat expression. Bored tone. “The guy you hugged this morning.”

You stare at him. Then you laugh—one short, incredulous breath. “You mean my little cousin?” 

Suna freezes. A beat. Another beat. A visible oh, shit creeps across his face as the team collectively chokes behind you.

“Oh,” he mutters. “Well. He was… tall.”

You slap his arm. “He’s, like, an inch taller than me. And he was just thanking me for lunch money.”

“Well, it didn’t look innocent,” he grumbles, ears now bright pink.

“Are you serious right now?! You’ve been sulking all day over my cousin?”

He shrugs and drops his gaze. “Didn’t know he was your cousin.”

You narrow your eyes. “And what if he wasn’t?”

Silence. The team holds its breath.

Suna exhales, then mutters, “Then I wouldn’t like it.”

Your heart stutters.

His eyes meet yours again—and this time, he really looks at you. His voice is no longer bored. It’s quiet. Honest. “Seeing you with someone else, I mean.”

You tilt your head, a smile curling on your lips—sharp and smug. "Then do something about it.”

Behind you, Atsumu lets out a low, delighted cackle. “Ohhh, shiiit—she got you.”

You don’t wait for a response. Just turn on your heel, walking out of the gym with your head held high. But not before glancing back once—

And catching Suna frozen in place, face red, as the entire team starts swarming him with grins, whistles, and way too much noise. You smile to yourself.

Let him squirm.

maybe some hcs of ponyboy with a reader who's like americana coquette? i love your page btw 💓

────۶ৎ pretty little baby, i'm so in love with you

a bunch of headcanons for our favourite greaser acting like a lovesick puppy around Tulsa's prettiest girl!

warnings : canon typical classism, a few slurs/curses.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: i love this sm! i'm such a fan of this aesthetic. Also thank u very very much for your kind words, ur lovely!!<3333

⮞ Pony acts like he doesn’t care when you walk by, but he always notices.

⮞ His pencil stops moving, his eyes flick up, and he chews on his lip like it’s a nervous tic.

⮞ He memorizes the color of her headband every day. Pink on Mondays. Baby blue on Thursdays.

⮞ The day you wore one of those tight checkered tops? He nearly died. He turned redder than the squares in your clothing.

⮞ His school notebooks are filled with little doodles of hearts, curly cursive versions of your name, and once, a whole practice signature of his name + yours. —which Two-Bit found and has never let him live down

⮞ He imagines what it'd be like to go to prom with you.

⮞ His leather jacket over your shoulders. Your her hair all rolled up and nice, and he picks you up on the back of Steve's car.

⮞ Sometimes he zones out in class just thinking about holding your hand. Not even kissing—just pinky brushing pinky and boom, he’s toast.

⮞ Every time you talk to him, his voice cracks or he stammers, which only makes you giggle and he melts like a popsicle on the Fourth of July.

⮞ He never knows what to do with his hands when you're near. He tucks them in his jacket pockets, then takes them out, then scratches the back of his neck like an awkward puppy.

⮞ He starts bringing gum just to offer you one and get one of your smiles.

⮞ He sometimes writes you anonymous poems and slips them into your locker when you aren't looking. He always catchs a glimpse of you reading it, giggling and smiling all wide, with your girl friends all aweing at the note.

⮞ He can never find a believable enough excuse to explain to Darry why he's so giddy when he comes home those days.

⮞ Every time you compliment him—his writing, his hair, his jacket—he turns pinker than the strawberry milk you drink at lunch lol

⮞ When you walk together (always after dark so no one sees), he always walks on the outside of the sidewalk like Soda taught him.

⮞ If another Soc guy so much as glances at you the wrong way, his jaw tenses—but he doesn’t throw fists. He just writes about it on his journal later.

⮞ Once he's caught your interest he starts taking care of himself more.

⮞ He uses more pomade, makes sure his collar’s clean, brushes his teeth twice (even Darry’s like “what’s gotten into you?”).

⮞ He uses a little too much cologne, but it’s kinda cute cause it’s the cheap kind Soda wears and he’s just trying to smell 'good enough' for you.

⮞ He watches you from afar when he thinks you're not looking. In the library, at lunch, even across the lot when you're with your friends.

⮞ You always give him that sweet little wave and he raises his hand in the shyest half-wave like he’s afraid you'll change your mind halfway🥺

⮞ When she talks to Bob or Randy, even politely, he gets so sulky it's lowkey cute lmao😭 ^He’ll literally go smoke behind the bleachers.

⮞ He fantasizes about meeting your parents, wishing he had a nicer jacket and better grades.

⮞ Imagines saying “Yes sir, no ma’am,” while holding your hand under the dinner table.

⮞ His journal? Straight-up a shrine.

⮞ He collects everything you give him. Little scraps of notes you've passed him in class, a flower you once dropped, a napkin with your lipstick mark on it.

⮞ Speaking of lipstick.. Your red lipstick drives him crazy, like crazy crazy. He just wants you to kiss him all over his face and leave a thousand kiss marks on his cheeks and lips so everyone knows he's yours, though he's too shy to ever admit such dreamy little fantasy to you.

⮞ If you cry, he’s done.

⮞ He drops everything and goes straight into panicked-comforting mode. Wraps his arms around you so gently it feels like he thinks you're made of porcelain.

⮞ Your glossy lips, little hair bows, the way you taps your pen when you're bored? It kills him.

⮞ You once asked if you could wear his jacket. He couldn’t speak for a full minute and then just nodded, dumbstruck.

⮞ When you gave it back it smelt like your perfume and he swore he would never wash it again.

⮞ The boys tease him to death.

⮞ Soda ruffles his hair when he sees you walk by like, “That’s your girl, huh?”

⮞ Steve is always acting annoyed about Ponyboy's sappy stuff and always makes comments like: “You gonna write her name in the sky next?”

⮞ Two-Bit actually threathened him with serenading you two with a ukulele.

Ponyboy doesn’t want to steal you from your world. He just wants to earn his place in it.

i <3 shitty outsiders shorts

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Dallas doesn’t love you.

So, when his forehead is placed on your shoulder, bloodied and busted hands gripping the fabric of your shirt— it feels contradictory.

After the rumble, you’d pulled him away and quietly tended to his wounds. There was no room for words, because Dally knew he wouldn’t be himself if he spoke. If he spoke, he’d tell you he was in love. But, he can’t— won’t— love you. Not when he’d have to lay himself before you, show the darkened corners of his tormented soul.

He lifts his head up, meeting your gaze. His eyes showcase a poorly-hidden softness, telling you love poems and epic tales. You only smile at him, and he knew then that he’d do anything to keep you looking at him like that.

Dally pulls his hands away, one reaching to grab his cigarette box from his pocket as he steps back. He murmurs a thanks, looking away from you.

No, he’d never let himself love you. Dally wasn’t made to love.

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TV IN BLACK AND WHITE

Dallas Winston X reader

"if you get lonely, think of me only. Prison isn't going to keep me from you."

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

"Y/N L/N."

You hear your name before you see the guy calling it. He’s standing by the desk, flipping through a clipboard, looking bored out of his mind. The guard barely glances at you when you step forward. He just nods towards the door on his left. "You the little girlfriend?"

You don't answer, just duck your head and walk past him quick. Your face is hot, and you can still feel him looking at you. You hear the lock click behind you, and then you’re in a smaller room, cold and grey and ugly, and he’s there.

Dallas Winston. He’s leaned back in the metal chair, smirking like this is all a big joke. The second he sees you, that smirk gets a little wider, and he lifts his hands—both cuffed to the table—and wiggles his fingers at you. "Look what the cops got me in, doll. Ain’t this a crime in itself?"

You roll your eyes, but your heart is pounding. It's been weeks. Too long. You sit down across from him, folding your hands in your lap so you don’t do something stupid, like reach for him.

"What’d you do this time?" you ask, even though you already know. Everyone knows.

"Oh, you know," Dallas shrugs. "Cops ain’t got nothin’ better to do than pick me up for dumb shit."

"You robbed a convenience store."

"I borrowed."

"You punched the cashier."

Dallas grins. "He had it comin’."

You let out a long breath, staring down at the scratched-up table. "You're a real idiot, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah." He shifts in his seat, his chains clinking against the table. His eyes flick to your hands, and for a second, his smirk softens. "Nice ring, sweetheart."

You glance at it, twisting it on your finger. "Thanks."

He watches you do it. Like he wants to be the one doing it for you. The thought makes your stomach flip.

There’s a moment of quiet, just the sound of some other prisoner yelling down the hall. He leans forward a little, and it makes your breath catch. Like he's trying to get closer even though he can’t. "You doin’ okay?"

You shrug. "Had a test the other day. Think I failed."

"That’s my girl," he says, like it’s something to be proud of. "Your folks know?"

"Yeah. They both do."

"What’d they say?"

You hesitate, then sigh. "Dad called you a local disgrace."

Dallas snorts, shaking his head. "He ain’t wrong."

"I don’t care."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He looks at you for a second, just looks. And then he smirks again, tilting his head. "They can’t keep me away from you, you know."

You roll your eyes, but your face is burning. "You’re chained to a table."

"Yeah, but not forever."

"Maybe you should stop getting arrested."

He laughs, full and careless. "Now what fun would that be?"

You press your lips together. It’s not funny. Not really. But he’s looking at you, and there’s something about the way his voice drops when he says, "Miss me?"

You should lie. You should make him sweat for it. But you nod, just barely. His smirk twitches, like he’s fighting something softer, something real.

"Miss you too, doll."

There’s a buzz, and the guard’s voice comes through the speaker. "Time’s up."

Dallas groans, tilting his head back like a little kid being told to go to bed. "Aw, c’mon."

You stand up, slow, like maybe if you move slow enough, they’ll let you stay longer. But they won’t. And you can’t. You shove your hands in your pockets scratching the denim feel.

"Be good, Winston."

"That’s askin’ too much, baby."

You shake your head, and you don’t smile. Not all the way. Then you turn and walk away, and you don’t look back, even when you hear him call your name.