Sodapop Was For Sure One Of Those Babies That Was 1000% Reaction Dependent. Dude Would Fall Down A Flight

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

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."

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"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.

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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this is so real loooool

i lobe food