Hitcoco - Cocobrownies

"Wow, you talk about that character a lot" I want to fuck him.

When pony is in an “I hate myself” mood he says his eye color is green, when he’s in an egotistical mood he says they’re grey

Gray-green is for his normal mood

It’s how Darry and Soda do check ins

ugh school again tmrw </3

Oh, to be held like this by him

Pony would randomly just jump on his brothers' backs and hug them like a koala while they act like it's not happening cause they're so used to it

Darry walks in

Two-bit: "Hey Darry, I think ya'll are out of bread"

Darry, with a ponyboy on his back: "Really? I'll get some later then." Darry gets out a bowl and starts pouring cereal

Two-bit: "make sure to get the- Woah, you know you got a wild pone sittin there on your back?"

Darry, acting like it's normal: "yup"

Pony: "yup"

Two-bit: "Is this normal?"

Darry: "mhm"

And he just keeps eating his cereal and reading the newspaper like there isn't a 14 year old on him

sylvia they can never make me like you

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.

“suddenly it wasn’t only a personal thing to me. i could picture hundreds and hundreds of boys living on the wrong sides of cities, boys with black eyes who jumped at their own shadows. hundreds of boys who maybe watched sunsets and looked at stars and ached for something better. i could see boys going down under street lights because they were mean and tough and hated the world, and it was too late to tell them that there was still good in it, and they wouldn’t believe you if you did. it was too vast a problem to be just a personal thing. there should be some help, someone should tell them before it was too late. someone should tell their side of the story, and maybe people would understand then and wouldn’t be so quick to judge a boy by the amount of hair oil he wore. it was important to me.”