Oh How I Love Being A Woman (sometimes)

New York City, 1975 Joel Meyerowitz

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.

Me trying to choose between gloomy coquette, bimbo, americana,dollete, 2000's aesthetic, that girl/clean girl, psychotic cunt, femme fatale and sweetest girl in the town

(And then I choosing be all of them some how)

I headcanon that Darry does a headcount before and after a rumble

horror sub-genres: gothic

this is me :3 if you even care >_< !!

By: darkning.art

Darry Curtis Headcanons

Darry is a reader at a level to rival Ponyboy

He reads all sorts of books, and is an avid enjoyer of romance (but you could not waterboard that information out of him)

Darry absolutely HATES history with a burning passion

In a modern day high school au, you would regularly see him crashing out over APUSH tests

When he was real little, from the time after Soda was born until he and Darry could actually talk to each other, Darry wanted a parrot because he wanted somebody to talk to that wasn’t his parents

This also happened to coincide with his pirate phase

y’know, kill two birds with one stone

He still thinks birds that can talk are pretty neat, especially crows

He absolutely loves baseball

Darry played all through his school years before quitting after his freshman year to focus on football (if he hadn’t played football, he would have 100% played baseball)

That man is MOISTURIZED. If he does not put lotion on after every single shower, his skin literally hurts

He and Ponyboy share that in common

Darry also cannot draw for shit

He loves playing cards, and he has a great poker face

He eats his s’mores with a Reese’s instead of Hershey’s

Darry would sleep ridiculously late on the weekends in high school, unless he had plans

He has always been a ridiculously deep sleeper. There could be a tornado actively blowing the house apart and he still would not wake up

But he only needs one alarm in the morning

HOWEVER. If anybody speaks to him in the half an hour after he has woken up, he will not respond and will look at them with murder eyes

Has really neat penmanship, but in the way that a lot of men do, where lowercase letters look like uppercase letters, just smaller

In later years, he is a really big fan of Billy Joel, Jim Croce, and the Eagles

Darry is absolutely petrified of heights

He has a really nice singing voice, and he often sings along with the radio or record player

rot with me?