planetscobell - Tumblr blog

planetscobell · 21 days ago

Text

spoiled!actress! reader freaking out because her ‘d’ necklace broke and bodyguard! dallas has to calm her down :(((

warnings -> nothing, just good fun, fluff! <3

*ೃ༄

the sunday morning light flooded into your apartment through the blinds and curtains. dallas was laid up on your bed, toying around with his switchblade whilst waiting for you to get ready. the plan was to go blow the average greaser’s entire salary on new clothes and makeup (which was something dallas hadn’t gotten entirely used to). he didn’t argue, however, and just considered carrying your shopping bags around all day as a good workout.

the bathroom door was shut, and you sat on the fuzzy pink stool beside your vanity. you had tears streaming down your cheeks, ruining and clumping the setting powder underneath your eyes. you clutched the gold chain and charm in your hands, examining where the chain snapped.

from his spot on your bed, dallas could hear your quiet sniffling and occasional whimper. he let out a quiet groan and ran his free hand through his brunet strands before walking over to the bathroom to check on you.

dallas rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, waiting momentarily for your response. once he heard you squeak out a quiet ‘come in!’ he pushed the door open.

“glory- what happened t’you?” dallas murmured, brows furrowed at the sight of the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“oh, dal,’ i’m so sorry…” you hiccuped, trying to steady your breathing as you showed him the broken chain. “i was trying t’save time, dally…”

“know you hate waitin’ so i tried to put on my necklace while m’setting my concealer but it got caught on my stupid rollers.” you explained, almost hyperventilating while trying to slow down your tears.

by now, your makeup was completely ruined. your eyeshadow had smudged when you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands, and your setting powder was pilling and clumped underneath your eyes.

dallas stood infront of you, slightly dumbfounded. he had never gone out with a girl who cried to him, let alone one that cried over a snapped necklace.

“well- cool it doll, s’just a neck-“

“no it is not!” you nearly gasped, offended that dallas thought so low of a gift he had gotten you. “s’the necklace you got me for our-our anniversary!”

by now, dallas was pretty much fed up with your little tantrum. he really did not understand why it was such a big deal? to him, it was just a necklace.

dallas leaned down until he was eye-level with you. he used his thumbs to wipe away any tears, which by now had dripped down your chin and onto your chest and neck. dallas’ hand cupped your jaw as he tried his best to calm you down.

“calm down- it’s jus’ a necklace, alright?” he spoke to you, voice low as he looked straight into your eyes. “forget about it, doll. we’ll go out and buy ya’ a new one, ‘kay?”

you looked up at dallas, nodding and sniffling as he wiped away the remainder of your tears. once he stood back up, hand cupping your cheek, you buried your face onto his stomach. your arms were wrapped around his waist, and dallas had to fight back at the big grin enveloping his face.

“alright… finish gettin�� ready, and i’ll buy you a new one today, happy?” dallas hummed. “n’ take your time, we ain’t in a rush. the store ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

dallas pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before leaving you to finish getting ready so you two could shop until you dropped.

*ೃ༄

taglist -> @diorgirl444, @r0seb100d, @johnnycadesslut, @twobitsblade, @browneyebby / @isasweetie, @glxsyymads, @mystiqueonfleek007, @beyondbluess, @johnnycadesmuse, @planetscobell, & @kahkie. (send an ask or dm to be added! <3)

150 notes · View notes

planetscobell · 21 days ago

Text

you’ve got mail or a dallas winston x reader prison penpal au…

warnings: bad writing?, um swearing i guess, fem! reader, set after the events of the novel, brief mentions of period typical prison violence, 3.1k words <3

also if people like this au i’d be happy to write more drabbles for it if they wanna send requests in!

to be completely honest dallas winston has no idea why he signs up for the penpal program in the first place.

he knows why the other men do - “hope to get a pretty thing who sends me real nice pictures” “yeah bet she’ll be a real betty” and he nods and guffaws like the rest of them but the real reason is a lot harder to think about.

he tells himself that it’s the boredom which is partially true. he isn’t the kind who thrives of the dull monotony of prison life the way some men do. knowing what’s about to happen everyday makes him feel strangled, makes him feel suffocated and like a cog in this endless machine of the corrupt federal system of Oklahoma.

but in the smallest part of him, the part that nobody will ever see or hear from he thinks the reason might be a bit simpler. that he just wants to remember that there are nice things out there. way, way out there. things that feel pink and golden and light the way ponyboy said there was. things like cinemas and banana splits and the cool silk of girls underwear and cigarettes that you don’t have to loose part of yourself to get. it’s not his first time in a prison, hell he attends prisons the way most people attend schools but now johnny’s gone it certainly feels like his longest sentence.

so he goes to the stupid meeting, walks along the corridor to with an officer and a gun at his heels and sits down at the scratched desk that feels altogether too small for his body. glancing around the room he’s struck by all the different sorts of men sat there: tall men, short men, old men, young men, innocent men, guilty men and he wonders where that puts him. what draws all these men together though is the hope - he can see it glinting in their hollow eyes,desperate, hungry hope.

the kind of hope you’d kill for.

the officer at the front rattles off rules though it’s clear he’s rather be anywhere else

1. no asking incriminating things like names or locations

2. no asking for things like pictures or cigarettes. if the person chooses to send it to you it’s different but you can’t ask for it

3. no using it to contact any gang friends

and that’s it, with the strict reminder that every letter is examined before being sent.

in that all too small desk he writes:

hi you,

if you’s one of those freaks writing hoping to get to talk to a real sicko you’re about to be real disappointed. mine was a real simple issue with the fucking asshole sorry we’re not supposed to say stuff like that. what i mean is i’m in here because of a little falling out with the cops. so yeah don’t be sending me vials of your blood or any witchy crap like that because i don’t want it. a pack of kools wouldn’t go remissed if you’s offering though.

i kinda wonder if we ever met before i was locked up but i doubt it. most people i know either already know someone locked up that is if they haven’t been in the jailhouse themselves so they probably wouldn’t be writing to some inmate. nah my guess is your some bleeding heart beatnik who wants to know what’s really going on behind the bars. good old commie bs. still i’d like to hear from you, don’t let my words fool you. i may be an ass but i’m a bored one so i’ll pretty much take anything.

anyways i think i’m supposed to tell you about myself or something like that so i guess i’ll do that. i like the band the monkees, paul newman because he just gets it, dairy queen sundaes, mustangs and the smell of cheap beer. christ how i miss ice cold beer, you don’t know what it’s like only get stale water and moulding milk with every meal. i’m telling you go and crack a beer open right now, one for me. also in your letter back to me tell me what stuff you like. and if you’re a guy or a girl… can’t blame a guy for wanting to know that.

thanks,

inmate 4175

he can’t lie he’s curious and strangely excited to hear from his penpal. some guys he knows have already got there’s and yeah it’s pretty infuriating the way they brag and preen about there’s. it’s even more infuriating the way his stomach sinks at breakfast every morning when there’s nothing on his bench.

but then on a rainy friday morning, he gets his letter. he wants to save it till he’s alone but patience has never been his strong suit and so he tears into reminiscent of the way a wolf hungrily tears through flesh.

dear inmate 4157,

glad to report that i have no evil powers that you need to be on the look-out for nor sick fascination of criminals (i could barely get through psycho) and most mention of any gore has me hiding my face in my hands. which now that i think about it probably isn’t the best thing to tell a criminal… but then again i don’t wanna think of you as a criminal which is silly i know but criminal is such a nasty word. it makes it sound like you did something completely wrong which i’m certain for most cases i simply isn’t that cut and dry. does that make me naive? maybe but i don’t mind.

and ouch bleeding heart beatnik that was kinda mean don’t you think? whilst i wouldn’t consider myself a beatnik, i like the colour pink too much to dedicate myself to that lifestyle, i don’t think there’s anything wrong with having empathy! that was part of the reason when i saw the flyer about the program i couldn’t help but sign up. it sounds kinda strange but i thought i could kinda connect with you. i like my life i do but it’s very ‘samey’ i talk to the same girls everyday, we all have the same opinions on things, we all go out with the same boys and are all planning on going to the same colleges as our parents. which is nice i mean i’m lucky, far luckier than most in fact but i can’t help feeling dissatisfied. the one girl i know who did break out of the box now refuses to talk about it and acts us if last year didn’t happen. secretly i’m jealous i wish i was as brave as her.

j guess this is me breaking out / rebelling in my own way, in my bedroom lit by candles writing a letter to convict which i suppose will do for now. maybe if we meet when you get out you’ll like teach me how to rob a store or something (joking!!!) and sorry i don’t fancy a beer! anyways i got side tracked from what the actual letter was supposed to be about so to answer your questions i’m a girl if that wasn’t obvious enough already and to answer whatever question you might be wondering next - no i won’t send you any pictures. but for likes, my favourite band is the beach boys (don’t laugh even though i bet you want to), audrey hepburn because she just gets it!!!!, vanilla milkshakes, peonies and the smell of the ground after it rains. i’ll stop it here though because my letter has turned out so much longer then yours so sorry about that.

bye for now,

a friend <3

the letter is - the letter is so nice which he knows sounds ridiculous but it’s true. there’s hardly anything nice in his life right now but this is truly nice. he can imagine the sort of girl that would write a letter like that, pretty and sweet and clever. the exact kind of girls who would never so much as look at him on the outside let alone talk to him and instead here she is spilling her guts out. he reads it over and over tucking into against his undershirt so that nobody else can read it. then he sets to work writing his response.

dear a friend,

is that what we’re calling each other now? pals are we? i’d tell you that’s pretty dumb of you but you’ve made it pretty clear that you’re aware so i guess it’s alright. you probably need someone to take care of you, one day someone’s gonna try and take advantage of that thing you call optimism. so just be on your guard okay? but and even though it’s the same kinda thing it did make me smile to read that you don’t think criminal means fully guilty or whatever. not many people look at it like that, the jury certainly didn’t.

on the whole your life being “samey” thing i would tell you to embrace it, that at least it sounds like you’re well provided for and looked after. the truth is though reading what you said about it makes me not think that at all. because what kinda life is it if it’s living you and not the other way. my life was the opposite of that, it was wild and chaotic but it was mine. you should do something wild, doesn’t have to be big like stealing from a store (might hold you to that offer) but you should do something. i dare you to do something and then you have to write and tell me what it was. i’m living through you right now after all.

and yeah i think i worked out that you were a girl the second you started your letter with dear. that’s a dead giveaway. anyways wasn’t gonna ask for pictures, i can already tell you’re pretty just from the things you say you like. the beach boys might need a rethink if you ask me. i mean you got the beatles and the rolling stones and you choose some guys with stupid soc haircuts and striped shorts who sing about going surfing and cars…. i’d sort that if i were you. peonies were something i’d never heard of before your letter so i visited the library here, my first time ever going in that dusty old building, and i asked the guy what they were. he just threw this yellowing book on the table in front of me and said “picture in there”. i learnt that they’re those fluffy ones that grow on big bushes. i’d seen them before. i used to pass pink ones growing in front of this masisve old white house on the nice side of town. never saw the people inside it which is good because they were probably they were probably a bunch of preppies too scared to even look at a greaser. but i mean part of me wonders if we weren’t writing to each other would you even look at me? ignore me, being in prison so long has got me overthinking stuff.

bye,

inmate 4175

which begins the friendly correspondence of dallas winston and his mystery girl. what’s great about writing to her is there’s no societal pressures, though he’s gathered she’s a soc, or worries about matching how people think guys like dallas winston should act. they talk about anything and everything and he hoards whatever he learns about her like its the most valuable jewel.

“grandiose gestures are so wonderful, i think if you were out i’d be you a bouquet of cigarettes. how’d you like that inmate 4157?”

“i think things are getting better on the outside. still your lot had a right to be angry considering the way my lot screwed them over”

“i want, no i beg even for you to give the beach boys another try. don’t worry baby is the most gorgeous song in the entire world”

and she sends things too, sweetheart that she is, packs of cigarettes, those caramels that old women keep in pockets, polaroids of her dog françoise and posters of movies that he’s mentioned liking tied up with pretty pink ribbon. he thinks johnny would of liked her, yeah johnny would of liked little miss optimism that’s for sure. every letter from her is carefully tucked away from his bunk mate and though the guys tease him, he’ll never let them read her words. the only person he tells about her properly is ponyboy when he visits.

“no i don’t think you understand kid if this girl is even half as pretty as a box of matchsticks i’d be crazy not to turn my life around and marry her in some dinky chapel out west” he whispers passionately to ponyboy one one of his visits, glancing around to make sure no one head such a soft statement and anxiously running his hands through his cropped too short hair.

ponyboy just grins, bemused at how these letters has reduced his friend to a different man altogether. “must be a pretty special girl then” he drawls knowingly.

but the letters continue, sweet as anything and then she asks something especially wonderful.

dear inmate 4157,

this isn’t my best letter. i haven’t got anything special to tell you about but i wanted to write because the truth is i’ve grown to love writing to you more than nearly anything else. you are the rebellion in my life, i hope you don’t mind and i hope you understand. most of friends don’t, they think i must be crazy to write to some greaser convict. my father kinda think your okay though so i guess that’s kinda good. anyways i’m getting sidetracked. the real reason i’m writing now is because i wondered if i could come visit you?

it’s okay if not but i desperately want to. to see you, to hear your voice, maybe take your hand if that’s allowed. i’ve imagined it all lots but i can never get it right in my head. i mean how can you imagine someone who you’ve never met but seem to know more intimately then anyone else. i hope you feel the same, i hope you aren’t dreadfully disappointed by what you see. i’ve been more hopeful then i ought to be about something that i don’t want to have to write. i want to say it to you face to face. i hope that’s okay.

yours,

your dear friend <3

it’s right at the end and beside it there a few scribbled out words as if she overthought it again and again before finally settling on asking. his letter back is short, he wants it sent as quick as possible. and to her question it says “yes”

he awaits that visit with ther nerves of a schoolboy awaiting a test, pacing his cell, splashing cool water on his face and making sure the dull grey of his jumpsuit is unbuttoned just enough to see his vest and st christopher. the bang of the guard’s truncheon against the metal of his cell bars breaks him out of it.

“out you go winston” grunts the man as dallas is carted along the corridor like cattle but all is forgotten when he sees her sat at his table.

he knew she’d be pretty but christ.

she looks too good to be sat there, her floral dress splayed out prettily as she sits, hands nervously clasping at the fabric and her hair framing her face like a dream. her expression softens into a surprises smile when she sees him sit opposite.

“dallas winston” she says quietly and his own eyes widen.

“you know who i am? thought i was supposed to tell you that angel” he says in quiet disbelief.

she laughs softly, idly wonders if he could tuck the sound beside her letter in his vest.

“oh no it’s just that everyone in tulsa knew you. i didn’t realise it was you i was writing to. goodness i probably bored you half to death with all my ramblings about flowers and whatever else i was blabbering about” she says chewing on her lip, shy expression on her features but he just shakes his head.

“nah doll i liked hearing about your world, the things that mattered to you. all flowers and shit” and he means it, desperately but even if he didn’t it’d be worth it to see the way her face lights up. she introduces herself, and “isn’t that funny?” he thinks. that to know someone the way he knows her and yet to not even know her name.

then she’s looking at him again, eyes wide and hopeful before speaking and her hands now toy with a silver locket at her neck “well that’s - um - that’s good. the thing that i wanted to talk to you about - well the thing i was hopeful about - about you was that maybe um - i could write to you not just as friend. if you feel the same that is…”

a grin cracks across his face. there she is - the girl he’s had countless foolish dreams of, the girl who’s letters he’s cradled like precious gold and who knows more about him then he probably knows about himself - sat before him with a shy little smile on her face asking if they could go steady.

he’s an asshole though and so he can’t help but tease her ever so slightly “nah don’t think that’s gonna work doll” and yeah he gets a confidence kick from the way her features fall as if the thought of him not wanting her is upsetting, as if he ain’t lucky just to breathe in her perfume (something sweet and floral - he hopes she’ll spray some on his next letter for him). quickly he glances at the guards which since they’re not looking he leans over and tilts her chin up to meet his gaze.

“ah cool it duchess it’s only not gonna work cause i get out on account of good behaviour next month. just making sure that you know i’d want you to be my girl when we’re both on the outside too…”

he decides it was worth it to tease her if only to see the way her smile returns, bright as sunlight and twice as warming.

“yeah i’d like that dallas” she says softly just as the guard calls visiting time over.

and as he’s walking back to his cell he thinks ponyboy might be right, there are nice things out there…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

132 notes · View notes

planetscobell · 21 days ago

Text

MY SHAYLA

225 notes · View notes

planetscobell · 21 days ago

Text

ੈ✩‧₊˚ “OH HONEY, HONEY, I COULD BE YOUR BODYGUARD…”

- bodyguard! dallas winston x spoiled!actress! reader

: ̗̀➛ summary. when spoiled!actress! reader makes it as the star of hollywood’s latest blockbuster, her parents are desperate to keep her safe; which is why they hired dallas as her bodyguard. (even if he probably has a longer criminal record than the men her parents are worried about!)

: ̗̀➛ warnings. old married couple bickering, swearing, striptease(?), very flirty.

: ̗̀➛ taglist. @diorgirl444, @r0seb100d, @johnnycadesslut, @twobitsblade, @browneyebby / @isasweetie, @glxsyymads, @mystiqueonfleek007, & @beyondbluess. (send an ask or dm to be added! <3)

you sat facing your vanity, freshly straightened hair neatly tucked in rollers and setting powder patted under your eyes. you were still in your pink silk robe, white fur lining the hems, because you wouldn’t dare to risk ruining your gown.

your hair and makeup team ran around the room to ensure you looked perfect for the big night. from everything to coffee and hairspray, every need of yours was met instantly.

dallas was tucked by your side like always, sitting in the chair beside you. he had been ready hours before you, your team having been on it as soon as possible.

dallas hadn’t been one for a pampered lifestyle. in fact, he applied for the job as a joke, but when your parents read 6’2 and 200 lbs, they decided he was perfect for the job.

he couldn’t complain, however. dallas had every single one of his needs met fully. and he couldn’t lie, it was fun bragging to tim that he got paid to hang out with a hot soc actress all day.

regardless, you can take a greaser out of the grease, but you can’t take the grease out of the greaser. dallas was living proof of this, and despite having walked his fair share of red carpets by now, he never got quite used to the whole fame thing.

he sat in the wooden foldable chair of your dressing room, bad posture, manspreading, and itching for a cigarette. dallas was like a greaser trapped in the body of a soc.

“christ, doll, this fuckin’ tie is choking my neck…” dallas groaned, fingers tugging against the grey satin fabric.

you turned over to look at him, brows furrowing at the sight of him loosening his tie. tugging at his wrist, dallas winced when you slightly dug your fresh pink acrylics into his pale skin.

“will you stop that?” you hissed, arms crossed. “gonna ruin all of my pictures… and will you quit slouching?”

“alright-alright, cool it, doll…” dallas brushed you off, quietly fixing his tie back to your liking

your makeup artist quickly chided you for furrowing your brows and creasing your concealer. she quickly fixed it, before you shut your eyes so she could apply the final touches to your eye makeup.

once she had finished, and your hair stylist had removed your rollers, you were ready for the finishing touches of your look. despite this, dallas had other plans.

“hey- look, give her a little space, yeah?” he told your hairstylist and makeup artist, standing up to meet their gazes when he realised you were almost finished.

the two girls looked at him, confused at his sudden conversation considering he usually ignored them.

“are you sure? we have to make sure she puts it on right-” your makeup artist was quickly cut off by him.

“she’s got it.” dallas assured them, guiding (forcing) them out of your dressing room. “she’s a big girl, she can put on a little dress by herself.”

the two of them didn’t argue, dallas was intimidating after all. when he had shut the door in their faces, and clicked the lock on the room shut, he turned around to look at you.

“well aren’t you going out too, dally?” you teased, looking up at dallas through thick, false lashes.

“nah. see i’m your bodyguard, doll. s’my job to make sure you’re safe.” dallas told you, sitting back down in his designated chair. “who knows what kinda weirdo’ll sneak in if i ain’t around, huh?”

you only sighed, getting up to grab the freshly steamed pink silk dress off of the hanger. as you were about to change, you noticed that dallas was very obviously watching.

“aren’t you gonna turn around?”

“no way. gotta make sure nobody’s sneakin’ up on you, baby.”

despite murmuring something about dallas being a ‘perv,’ you accepted his decision without a fight. he was your bodyguard after all. he only wanted to keep you safe… right?

letting your robe fall to the floor, exposing nearly your entire body to him. dallas watched, eyes wide and grin big. he couldn’t help but admire the sight of you in a little pink thong and matching bra.

in true dallas fashion, he was quick to let out a low whistle and a cheeky remark about your ass. you just rolled your eyes, and slipped your dress on.

“dal,’ you wanna help me zip it up?” you offered, turning your back to him.

“yeah, i gotchu, baby.” dallas hummed, emerging from his seat.

his arm wrapped around your waist, making you giggle. he quickly zipped it up, before accompanying it with a kiss on your neck and a light pat on your ass over the soft fabric of your dress.

“god, i can’t wait to take this off tonight…”

133 notes · View notes

planetscobell · 23 days ago

Text

eeeeee new blog theme! please tell me you guys like it ☹

#rip my old theme you'll be missed #i loved my last theme soso bad #it was time for a change #gab chats! ♡₊˚⊹#planetscobell

8 notes · View notes

planetscobell · 23 days ago

Text

𝗕𝗔𝗕𝗬 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞. 𓍯𓂃

IN WHICH the greasers mess up and regret it .

warnings swearing, tiny angst, fluff, the boys are down bad😭 𝓯! reader x the outsiders .

𓍼 i think i could eat avocado toast for the rest of my life and be okay. also i don’t get why ppl don’t like the self tanner smell or maybe it’s the fact my tanner smells like coconut idek.

now playing . . . baby come back - player

𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗡

you hadn’t even meant it that seriously when you said it—just a teasing little murmur.

“you’re never sweet to me y’know that?”

but of course—dallas being dallas— got verryyy defensive and he flinched.

he shrugged you off like a bad itch, your spot tucked under his arm and resting your head on his chest forgotten. he lit a cigarette and said something like, “you want sweet, go date a lil’ bitch.”

the warmth in the smokey room vanished. next thing you knew you tugged your little ballet flats on, almost kissed his cheek out of habit but just walked out. slamming the door just a little bit for dramatic effect.

he lasted two nights btw.🙏🏻

two whole nights of no contact before he was pacing his room like a gooner on no nut november. muttering under his breath like “i ain’t callin’ her. hell no. she’s the one who walked out.”

then five seconds later he’s in bathroom mirror like “be fr, dallas. what if she thinks you don’t care. what if she actually already got a new bitch?!”

he DEFINITELY stalks your house like a creep. he’ll “stroll” pass your house atleast five times a day hoping he’ll catch a glimpse of you, nonchalantly ofc.

when he finally sees you again, after two days of stalking, he doesn’t really say anything. just flicks the cigarette away and stares at you like he wasn’t just tweaking out last night.

“you done bein’ mad?” he asks, voice rough, arms crossed. but his eyes gave him away, the way he looks at your hands, your lips, your wrists— like it’s been years and he almost forgot how you looked. dramaticcc

“cause i cant do that again. the.. not talking shit. alright?” he doesn’t apologize, not exactly. but he looks at you like he wants to. like the words are caught somewhere between his throat and pride.

and when you don’t answer— just take one step closer— he doesn’t stop you.

he lets you fix the collar of his jacket, tuck the strand of hair behind his ear without flinching, lets you look at him. really look.

so maybe dallas winston isn’t sweet.. but he lets you touch the softest parts of him. sometimes! ☺️

𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦

you guys don’t usually fight, you two are really mature. but on the rare occasions you do. it hurts so bad☹️

you got up early today, cut the crust off his sandwich because you knew as much as he refused he liked it, you knew better. you ironed his coat with care and even laid everything out for him.

you just wanted to lighten the weight on his shoulders, give him a peaceful morning where he wasn’t racing time.

oh were you wrong!

“why does it smell like pickles?” “you know i can’t stand that.”

then a second later— his voice sharp, short—

“did you use steam on my coat? it’s wrinkled as hell.” “christ— cant you do anything right?”

your heart immediately hurt, a quiet ache. and you didn’t say a word. you folded the sandwich in wax paper, into the brown bag and handed him his coat.

“sorry,” is all you say, “just go.”

and he does.

but who tf? 🤨you leave too. you didn’t answer his calls for about six days, and somehow managed to avoid seeing him too.

“i was wrong.” he spoke on your front porch suddenly, “i was..i took it out on you. and you didn’t deserve that.”

I KNOW THATS RIGHTTTTTT

darry had spiraled. he reorganized the kitchen cabinets. snapped at soda. started lifting at midnight. told himself you’d come back— trying to get his mind off you.

but on day seven, he showed up on your porch. hands shaking with flowers from the store, pink peonies.

𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗣 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦

he would forget your guys date i’m sorry😭. but ofc not on purpose!!

your ballet pumps dug into the sidewalk, the small cardigan you wore barely clung shut in the cold— because you thought he’d come and warm you up. like always.

but he didn’t. he stood you up.

you stood there till your curls fell and your perfume started to fade. then you walked home in silence. you were so hurt.

you didn’t answer his calls, didn’t open the door when he came knocking. so he opened the window 🤗 like a literal criminal breaking in.

“i’m so stupid,” he blurted, standing outside with slightly flattened tulips he’d rip out of his neighbors front yard. “like actually. i swear i was just talking to steve and then it was dark out and i remembered and i—”

bro didn’t even last a day😭. at most a couple hours before he was crashing out realizing he messed up and IMMEDIATELY ran to your place after calling.

he cut himself off. you looked into his eyes and they were so glossy. “you got all dressed up for me,” he whispered staring at your makeup. “i’m so sorry.”

then he held out the flowers, palms trembling and sweaty.

“can you atleast be mad at me with the tulips in your hand? please? they’re stolen and..crushed. but they’re for you.”

FORGIVE THE POOR MAN PLEASE.😔🙏🏻

𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗬𝗕𝗢𝗬 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦

you told him you finished the book he recommended you, unfortunately it wasn’t your taste. you said it was okay—just not your style.

but ofc you caught him on a bad day, ever since you guys left the school grounds he’d been moody. deriods.😒

he scoffed, “yeah well people like you never really get it anways.”

EXCUSE MEE??!?! he still walked you home, but it was quiet— and awkward.

you kicked a stone down the sidewalk while your chest burned. and when you got to your porch— no kiss, no goodbye. just a mumble under his breath and the soft crunch of his sneakers walking away.

you didn’t call. he didn’t either.

but he went crazy in that quiet, weird way.

would stay for at least 10 minutes just scrubbing at his hands, darry would have to PEEL him away from the sink. would also sit upside down on the couch and recite quotes from that same book. he spilt chocolate milk on his essay. and still turned it in.

then, steve caught him infront of the bathroom mirror, hollering apologies but throwing hands. hello?? 😭

“i shouldn’t have said that,” right hook. “i really—truly didn’t mean it.” jab to the jaw.

steve lost it.

“man are you apologizing or knocking her out??”

ponys face was red. he left mid-apology-roundhouse

but the next day, fallen out your locker— was a little folded note.

“i rewrote this three times. i’m sorry, i said something stupid and mean. and its not true at all.”

𝗝𝗢𝗛𝗡𝗡𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗗𝗘

you called. once. twice. five times. you even left voicemails after each one. but maybe the last one came off a bit aggressive.

“its fine. really. maybe you’re just too busy ignoring me.”

it was not fine. 😐

you knew his parents weren’t home. his mom was off at her family’s. his dad hadn’t been seen since wednesday. he was home and you were sure of it. but still— nothing.

you went to sleep dramatically, but mostly with your pride hurt cause why did you leave so many voicemails jeez.😓

turns out he wasn’t ignoring you! haha. he’d actually gotten a migraine so bad it made even the light in the room unbearable

johnny curled up with a damp cloth over his forehead, your voicemails playing faintly in his room while he drifted in and out.

and the next early morning, you heard your window click open. you slightly panicked for a second cause whattt before he climbed in with crushed wild flowers he ALSO stole from someone’s yard. cough. soda.

“i didn’t mean to ignore you. swear. i couldn’t look at anything. my head was pounding. but i kept your voicemails on loop. it helped me fall asleep. that last one kind of hurt my feelings though.”

you smiled in spite of yourself.

𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗘

you were sitting on the curb while he fixed his truck for the millionth time. squinting your eyes from the sun and trying to keep your linen skirt from lifting with the breeze.

you giggled and teased,

“if you spent half as much time on fixing my bike as you do on that greaser hair, i might actually be able to come see you.”

DAMN GIRL.

he laughed— but short.

“yeah well, maybe if you focused on your chain instead of my hair, you wouldn’t be walking it everywhere.”

oh!

you didn’t say much after that—like at all. just walked your bike home when it came time. quiet, wheel clicking out of rhythm.

you didn’t hear from him after that. no calls at all. but two days later, you heard metal clicking in your driveway.

steve.

with his toolbox and a cigarette tucked behind his ear, already halfway through fixing your chain.

“can’t have you riding around on a broken chain. might not like my hair, but at least let me keep you safe.”

you smiled—soft. fixing the cigarette that threaten to fall.

𝗧𝗪𝗢-𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗪𝗦

he always joked— but this time it wasn’t funny. 😔

you didn’t even remember what he said exactly, just that it hurt. and when your eyes started to gloss, he laughed.

what you didn’t know was that it wasn’t because it was funny— but he didn’t know what else to do. and so you left— face wet and rose-glossed lips pressed shut. and for once in forever, you ignored him.

the next day, you were mid-bite in a chocolate-covered strawberry, legs curled up on the linen couch in your lace pajama shorts. you heard the front door creak.

then two-bit suddenly sat beside you, like he hadn’t made you cry the night before.

“i’m sorry,” he said, holding up a plastic bag from the corner store. “i hate when you’re upset with me. even more when you don’t laugh at me.”

you stared, until he nudged your elbow to take the bag—and you did. “okay, ..now blink twice if you still love me.”

you didn’t blink.

228 notes · View notes