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diorgirl444 · 14 days

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5 times dallas winston hated you and the 1 time he didn’t

warnings: swearing, bad writing! (i haven’t written this long a fanfiction in years so i can’t promise that it’ll be any good), fem! reader, very self indulgent, i definitely made dallas too soft but like there are worst problems out there, weak ending, 2,800 words <3

the first time Dallas Winston decides he hates you is when you’re seven and he’s eight and you sit in front of him in English.

the way your bunches swing is distracting and god do you ever stop asking the teacher questions, he hates girls like you. bubbly, clever and idly he thinks about picking up the scissors which glint on his desk and snip snip sniping those pretty bunches off. why he doesn’t he isn’t sure. any other girl and he would have done but not you.

after careful deliberation, he decides it’s because you’d be a crybaby about it. yeah, that’s right. he’s seen you cry before when some girl stole your favourite cherry-scented eraser. snot and tears coating your face and he definitely doesn’t wanna have to see that again.

gross.

I mean sure he threatened the girl into giving it back to you but that was only to get you to shut up. so no he doesn’t cut your bunches, he just sits behind you and wishes you’d shut up.

the second time he decides he hates you is when you’re ten and he’s eleven and you’re trying to convince your friend not to go to the school dance with him.

I mean he asked the girl out to it on a whim really. he doesn’t like all that school spirit rubbish but he likes dances and she’s pretty. well not as pretty as you are but he heard that you’re going with that Tommy, so it’s only fair.

what isn’t fair though is the way your brows furrow and your nose scrunches up like a little bunny when he sidles up to your friend and asks her.

it’s also not fair that he overheard the two of you talking it over when you both think he’s out of earshot. “look I get that he’s cute but you really oughta think about your future. do you really wanna be known as the girl who went to the dance with Dallas Winston? we gotta think about high school, about our future boyfriends, besides what would your parents think?” he hears your sweet voice say and he feels an awful scrape in his heart.

he tries to push it off, that he’s just angry that you’re spouting out that stupid classist bullshit but if he’s honest it’s more than that. do you really think that little of him? yeah if he didn’t before he definitely hates you now.

this hatred continues on, albeit one-sided, all the way into high school.

you’re not in any of the same classes now as you’re in all that ap shit, he’s just about flunking everything and that’s only when he decides to even attend. but when he’s fourteen and you’re thirteen he gets told that you’re going to tutor him in English and Maths. the school has decided that he should at least pass the basics if nothing else.

he debates ditching, why he doesn’t he’s not sure but as he slips into the seat beside you and is hit with a waft of your heady, probably expensive perfume, he wishes he had. god, why can’t you be gross like you were when you were younger? and you have the audacity to smile at him, all softly as he rolls his eyes.

“how long is this gonna take i got places to be” he tells you, it’s a lie, he’s still trying to convince the older gang members to take him seriously.

“well we’ll just focus on getting your homework for the week done and then you’re free to go” you tell him placidly. which kinda irks him, he’d been hoping you’d get angry with him so he’d feel validated for his anger that he still hangs onto toward you.

you work through it all with him carefully. your handwriting is all long and curly beside his short, scratchy script and it makes him feel very stupid. you make him feel stupid. words that should come easy instead bundle together and choke up his throat, his palms sweat onto the darkwash of his jeans leaving embarrassing marks and the way that you can’t stop smiling sweetly at him whilst he forces on a scowl really is the icing on the cake.

that’s the first and last time he attends the pointless tutoring session. he’s a lost cause and the sooner you and the rest of the world all learn that learn that the fucking better.

he drops out of high school the folllowing year and so he doesn’t see you till he decides to hit up some dancehall.

he’s there with some gang buddies as now he no longer wastes time in lessons he’s managed to prove to them how dedicated he is to that lifestyle. the drinking, the brawls, the cars and the girls have dominated his mind so much he’s all but forgotten about you till he sees you there on some jerk's arm.

you’re in the centre of the gym, hair and skirt spinning all around you, the light glinting off your jewellery that probably costs more than his parent's rickety apartment and the widest smile on your face. god, you’re fifteen and you look like a damn film star there in the middle. he really hates you for that. can’t you have an awkward phase like the rest of the fucking world?

he asks some girl with too much makeup on to dance, mainly so that he can cut in when the partners switch and dance with you. and if he’s honest he can’t think up an excuse for why he wants to do that. the fact of which is a punch in the gut. he just wants to dance with you.

“hey, do I know you?” he asks lazily when he finally gets his wish and is spinning you around.

“we were in school together!” you snap huffily and he grins all teeth. you remember him and it makes him feel all kinds of feelings that he’s not used to.

“ah yeah I remember now. you tutored me right?” he says in the same non-committal tone as the music shifts to something softer and his hands snake their way around your waist pulling you in.

“yeah once, you ditched every other session after that. still don’t know why - I don’t think I did anything wrong,” you tell him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. and suddenly he hates himself far more than he hates you.

he can’t believe that you even noticed or were remotely upset that he stopped attending those tutoring sessions.

“nah kid you were perfect, school and that shit just wasn’t for me that’s all” he says voice low, practically whispering as the two of you slow dance.

you hum in understanding and look up at his lips. it dawns on him that you want him to kiss you, the same boy who you once described as the sort that a girl like you should never be seen with.

clearly, you don’t feel that way anymore as in the crowded gym you look up at his lips with long fluttery lashes and hands that toy with the too-long at the scruff of his neck. he has every intention of giving you your wish but he also just wants you to keep looking him and that. but god Dallas Winston never can get what he wants can he? no the universe fucking hates him because just as he’s going to and he gets to feel your delicate breath hitch against his calloused hand his friend's mouth to him across the gym that a fight has broken out.

and so he pulls away and ignores the hurt sheen on your face that is devastatingly familiar to the way you looked when he asked your friend out all those years ago. he hopes this hardens your heart and you hate him too. that’d make everything so much easier.

weirdly you two become sort of friends after that.

he sees you the next morning and you get to talking. he explains why he left early, you both ignore the almost kiss that occurred and end up going out for milkshakes. he pays for yours to make up for his poor form the other night and he teases you relentlessly for your choice of vanilla.

and it’s fun and it’s easy so long as he pretends that you licking the cream off the top doesn’t make his stomach swirl with god knows what. and it’s not like hanging out with his other friends, you don’t want anything from him, you just snort at his rubbish jokes and your knee presses against his beneath the table and it’s just nice.

so he asks if you’re free for the same again next week, he wants to feel this bubbly nice feeling once more. you nod grinning, and it’s not a date but it’s also not not a date. it’s just you and Dallas getting milkshakes being friends who just don’t mention one another to other friends. you’re sixteen and he’s seventeen now. and it’s casual that’s all it is, which is why he only mentions the day of his departure that he’s leaving New York City.

he tells you that the police are on his back which is partly true but it’s mostly that these stupid little trips to the zoo, or to the diner or ice skating in Central Park are making him fool himself into thinking he could be with a girl like you. you said it best all those years ago after all “Do you really wanna be known as the girl who went to the dance with Dallas Winston?”

what he doesn’t anticipate is the tears that fill your pretty eyes.

“you’re being a coward Dall” you tell him sniffly and he mourns that you don’t look gross when you cry anymore or maybe you do and he’s just too hopelessly lovesick to notice anymore, which is exactly the reason why he has to leave.

“I know kid” he agrees, self-deprecatingly. this is for the best, he tells himself, it’s easier if you hate him.

“I wish I’d never got to know you!” you’re shouting tearfully as you stumble out of the cosy diner and it’s what he deserves he reminds himself.

the geriatric waiter smiles empathically as the doorbell chimes and you don’t look back. "don't make a mistake letting a girl like that go son"

"you don't know shit about her and I man, so just keep your damn nose out of it, hear?" Dallas snaps at him defensively before downing his coffee and high-tailing it out of there.

before getting on the train he buys himself a bottle of cheap liquor which he semi-effectively uses as a way to dull the sense of regret that he can't seem to shake. He hates you for leaving him feeling like that, all sad and sappy like some stupid kid heading off for war or something.

that's the only thing he can make himself hate about you now. now he knows how sweet the sound of your laughter is, how you wear the same lavender perfume that your grandmother used to wear in memory of her and how you were the closest to heaven he's ever gonna get.

cheers to that he thinks drunkenly as the train pulls into the station, and cheers he supposes to his new home of Tulsa. fucking hell does his head hurt.

the one time he finally accepts he doesn't hate you is after Johnny dies.

he knows he oughta stay for the rumble but all he can think about is the way you'd let him cry and hold you close. you'd be soft and warm and sweet in his arms and you wouldn't want anything from him.

and he knows suddenly that he doesn't just hate you, no it's more than that it's that he loves you. that he might have always loved you and was just too blind to notice. and that if he had let you, you might have loved him too. so he knows he's gotta go back to you.

he buys the fastest ticket to New York that he can afford and tells Ponyboy whilst shrugging nonchalantly that

"might come, back might not" He thinks that if he can fool Ponyboy into thinking that he doesn't care about how it turns out it means he doesn't care either.

Ponyboy isn't fooled though and neither is Dallas's uneasy heart though both pretend to believe.

The train drive seems to drag by, he's all nervous energy, leg bouncing and chain smoking one cigarette after the other which he ultimately decides was an awful mistake but now he's gonna try to - what's he even trying to do - well whatever it is he's now gonna be doing it reeking of cheap cigarettes.

when the train finally pulls into the station he's practically racing to your apartment, going to frantically knock before holding himself back and instead knocking once on your door. you open it dressed in an eggshell white nightdress and dressing gown and the way you look at him makes him feel like you're not seventeen and he's not almost eighteen and that instead you're seven and he's eight all over again.

god he's a real sucker for you, isn't he? that's ten years of pathetic yearning that he can only hope to remedy now.

"I thought I hated you-" he starts before you interrupt.

"if that's what you came here to say Dallas I really don't wanna hear it"

He shakes his head "No kid it's not what I came here to say. I'm just gonna talk and all you gotta do is keep that pretty mouth shut and give a man a chance to speak, alright?"

you nod and give him a look that says this your one chance don't mess it up Dallas. god, he hopes he doesn't.

"I thought I hated you. As kids I mean I was convinced! convinced that the obsession I had with you was purely cause you annoyed the living crap out of me. Then I heard you talking smack about me to one of your little friends and so then I had an actual reason to hate you. then there was that tutoring session that I had to stop attending because you were so pretty and sweet and smelt so nice so that was too much for me, especially when I was supposed to be hating you. I probably would have forgotten about you though or gotten over it had it not been for that dance. god, you were fucking angelic spinning there in the yellowish light of that grimy gym and I knew I was gonna be spending the rest of my life wishing I could bring myself to hate you. And you know I was right. because I tried getting to know you cause I thought if I got to know you I could maybe hate you but of course, you're little miss butter wouldn't melt in your mouth so I can't hate you. and so I leave thinking that if I could make you hate me and then put space between us I could make myself hate you but that doesn't work either cause you're damn unforgettable so this me trying one last time. I don't hate you, kid, never did never will and if you tell me to go I will too. but if one tiny part of you doesn't hate me either then I guess I did something real good in a past life or something"

He is so busy ranting that he fails to notice that you've been softening as he's been talking, tears been building, and bottom lip bitten to shreds. He does notice the lack of response so he snaps.

“Well?”

"I could never hate you, Dall," you say softly and the world stops spinning for him when you say that.

"Oh," he says dumbly.

"Oh" you agree, half crying and half laughing.

"Okay tell me if I read this all wrong but does that mean I can kiss you kid?" he asks scratching the back of his neck, he doesn't think he's ever had to ask a girl that before.

“Please" is all you have to say before he pulls you into him and presses his lips against yours.

and kissing Dallas Winston is nothing like what you might think it would be like. he kisses you like he'd worshipping you like you're something precious and captivating that oughta to be cradled carefully, you are a diamond to him. pure and rare. and when you pull away to catch your breath you swear he mutters "I love you kid" against your temple.

"I love you " you tell him and he grins like he's been given the moon on a string. if all this hatred ends with you saying things like that softly to him then it may have all been worth it.

yeah he'd do it all again in a heartbeat…

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

#diorgirl444 #flo answers #dallas winston x y/n #dallas winston x reader #the outsiders dally #dallas winston #dally winston #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders #dallas winston x fem! reader #matt dillon x reader #matt dillon

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 7 months

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I'm gonna ask for something I don't normally ask cuz I read them prompts and the idea struck me!

"the panic beforehand trying to decide if theyre leaning in to kiss or not" with Wrecker 👀

Idk man, sounded adorable and wanted to float it your way!

hello hello friend! apologies for taking so long on this; inspiration finally hit today while I was out shopping, so here ya go! <3 thanks for the lovely ask

Drinks and Decor

Summary: Wrecker finds a unique way to thank you.

Warnings: mostly fluff but this is an 18+ blog; bartender!reader trope, gn!reader, more fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Bartending for Cid has its ups and downs, for sure, but one of the most consistent ups lately has been the group of mercs she hired earlier this year. Though the group of men and their little sister is often in and out of the bar without much time to really chat with them, on occasion they hang around. Maybe it’s Cid’s way of saying ‘thank you,’ or maybe they just get tired of wherever else it is that they go when they’re not on a mission and not at the bar, but either way, you’re not going to complain.

Especially not today. Life Day.

Cid had insisted that you help her decorate the bar for the holiday season (read: you decorated while she snarked out comments about things hanging crookedly). And you have to admit, you did a pretty karkin’ good job of it. Neatly cut paper snowflakes rotate lazily on their strings where they hang from the ceiling; garland of imported greenery and Mantell Mix arches in pretty curves under the front of the bar; and the usual neon currently suffuses the space with a gentle mix of red and green lights. Heady pine scents the air. Over the speakers, instead of the usual club music, gently holiday music croons.

You’re feeling pretty proud of yourself, and that feeling swells in your chest when the merc group has arrived. The girl, Omega, looks around at the decorations with a bright, beaming smile, her eyes dazzling in the twinkle lights you’ve strung around the edges of the tables. Around her, her brothers gaze around with varying levels of awe. Though you’re glad that they seem to enjoy your efforts, Wrecker is the only one whose reaction you truly care about.

Face flushing with a pleasant warmth, you watch on in silent admiration as Wrecker turns a full circle taking in the new festive atmosphere. His jaw hangs open, a grin spreading over his scarred face. It’s only when he meets your gaze across the room that a similar jolt of joy sparks through you.

Instead of his usual armor, Wrecker, like the rest, has donned civilian clothing. Black-and-red plaid stretches over his broad, muscular form, the buttons straining at the front. Under the collar, plain white tee peeks out. Darkwash jeans encircle his thick thighs. In a word, he looks delectable.

And he’s walking toward you.

Embarrassment at being caught staring claws up your insides, but Wrecker’s grin hasn’t faded. In fact, it’s only gotten bigger. And is that a blush you spy creeping over his face?

“Did you do all this!?” he asks, voice entirely too loud for the space in his excitement.

“More or less,” you say, shuffling your feet. “You like it?”

“Cyar’ika, I love it!” He settles onto one of the barstools. “Got any festive drinks?”

So he either didn’t notice you openly gawking, or he doesn’t mind. You’re not sure which option is worse. With a small shake of your head, you smile—not the falsely saccharine smile you usually reserve for customers, but a genuine, cheek-splitting beam that crinkles your eyes.

“Sure do!” you say. “Any flavor preferences?”

“Naw,” Wrecker says with a wave of his hand. “Surprise me!”

“Alright, big guy.” You gather the liquor and a few new syrups and frozen fruits you’d convinced Cid to get for this holiday, and craft a drink for Wrecker that you’re sure he’ll love. In the months you’ve gotten to know the gentle giant, you’ve discovered that he, unsurprisingly, likes bold food: bright, citrusy colors with deep, rich notes. The drink you pour has all of it.

Garnishing the drink with a sprig of mint, you slide the glass across the counter on a napkin. “Here ya go.”

Wrecker eagerly scoops the glass up and takes an exploratory sip. You watch, chewing your lip, as his eyes slide shut, face twisting in an expression of bliss. Your heart skips a beat.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, eyes fluttering open. “That was the best drink you’ve ever made.”

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. “Why do I get the sense you’d say that no matter what I put in front of you?”

“Because it’d always be true!” he says. “You’re a pro.”

“Well,” you say, leaning your forearms on the bar, “in that case, I’m glad to put my expertise to good use.”

He takes another sip of the drink, an appreciative hum sliding out of him and sending delightful shiver up your spine. “How much do I owe ya?”

You’re grateful Cid disappeared to her office a while ago, because it means she’s not around to hear you say what you’re about to. “On the house.”

Mismatched eyes widening, Wrecker gapes at you. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “It’s my Life Day gift to you.”

“Aw,” Wrecker says. “Well, I can’t be the only one gettin’ a gift tonight. How can I thank you?”

His voice has dropped a little in volume; his siblings sit across the room, well out of earshot (save Hunter), but when you catch the look in Wrecker’s eye, your mouth dries. He cocks his head at you, curious, testing. Stars, is he—?

“I might have an idea,” you say, voice coming out hoarse.

“Great!” Wrecker leans over the bar toward you.

Almost of its own volition, your body responds in kind. You have to stand on your tiptoes, but you think you’ll be able to comfortably reach across to hug Wrecker.

Except, Wrecker’s eyes are trained on your lips. Breath catching, you can’t stop what’s been put into motion—not that you want it to stop. It’s just—kriff, what if you’re misreading this entire situation and he really does intend to just hug you? You know he tends to be a little looser with his physical affection than his brothers, so maybe this is just an extension of that. He doesn’t feel the same way about you that you do about him.

Does he?

You’re about to protest, and then his large, scarred hand slips across your cheek and tugs you the final few inches across the bar. His lips are warm and smooth against yours, moving gently, like he’s as nervous as you are. In your chest, your heart threatens to burst with affection. He’s so warm, and his hand is so big against your face; heat flickers to life in your core.

All too soon, though, he pulls back. His eyes remain closed for a beat longer than yours, and a pleased, dopey smile curls over his face.

“Is that ‘thank you’ enough?” he asks, breath fanning your face, smelling faintly of cranberry and mint.

Eyes fluttering, you search his face for a moment before biting your lip. “I dunno. I did make the drink custom...”

Wrecker beams and pulls you back in for a second kiss.

Ragu List: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl

#wrecker x reader #tbb wrecker x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies #tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader

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world-of-wales · 6 months

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WHAT LOTTIE WORE - 2023

11 DECEMBER 2023 || Kensington Palace released a video featuring Princess Charlotte volunteering at a local Baby Bank as part of the Centre For Early Childhood's initiative to support families with young children in the lead up to Christmas.

Lottie was in -

↬ Girls Cotton and Cashmere Sweater in 'Red' by Cyrillus

↬ Girls Darkwash Denim Skirt by Cyrillus

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takami-takami · 5 months

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HELP I'VE HAD A THOUGHT

This post, right, where we discussed how babygirl needs to please obtain even the slightest bit of fashion sense Keigo please.

Imagine if you will. Keigo gets into a relationship with you, and you agree to keep it on the down low for the sake of both of your privacy. He knows how to be subtle, of course, so this is all well and good.

Except.

Except for the fact that someone eventually notices that hey, Hawks' outfits have been... decent lately??

And that's how your relationship goes public. Because you put him in a respectably appealing outfit.

- magpie anon ✦

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

People will see this man color coordinating and wearing a pair of nice darkwash jeans with a cut that actually flatters his body type and they start squinting. "This isn't right......" LMAOOOO

The day the press sees him wearing a scarf over a slim-fit, black, thigh-length coat, they start genuinely asking him if he's okay in press interviews.

#💌 asks #magpie anon #ugh keigo would look so good in something sleek and slimcut. a nice grey turtleneck and slacks? chefs kiss #can you imagine? with his itty bitty waist???

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queenofhawkins · 2 years

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Just You

main pairing: Robin Buckley X Reader

summary: After you notice that Robin seems upset that morning, you decide to buy her lunch and visit her. There you find out what has been bothering her.

warnings: sad Robin, nightmares

reader notes: plus size reader (like i always do)

You parked your car in the Family Video parking lot, excited as you reached over the passenger seat to grab the hot brown paper bag containing your food. It had only been a few hours since you saw Robin, but you knew from this morning at your girlfriend's mood that you bringing her a burger and some fries and a drink from the local diner would help her out. You opened your door, and your boots made a hollow sound against the concrete. You were wearing the outfit that Robin loved on you. You were wearing a yellow T-shirt tucked into your black jeans with black combat boots and a red and black flannel thrown over top. Your hair was styled in two Dutch braids with little flyways hitting you in the eyes. You closed your car door as you approached the door.

You could see from Steve’s expression that Robin’s mood had not shifted since she arrived at work. Steve was frowning, which was not very often when him and Robin were together. Steve’s head lifted from what he was looking at when the bell above the door rang.

“Thank God you’re here.” Steve said as you walked up to the counter.

“She’s not doing any better?” Steve scoffed.

“She’s gotten worse.” Steve kept his voice down, probably so that Robin wouldn’t hear you two talking. “She hasn’t said one joke, hasn’t called me an idiot or a dingus at all today, and she's quiet. She hasn’t even said anything about you. What is going on with her?” You sighed as you placed the cup and paper bag on the counter.

“I’m not sure. She was up when I woke up, and she’s been quiet all morning. She said I love you and that was it. Something’s wrong. I just don’t know what.” It was bothering you how little you knew at this moment. Your first guess was that she had a nightmare, but usually when she had a nightmare she would wake you up, cuddle you, and tell you what the nightmare was about.

Something shifting in the corner of your eye had you turning your head. Your beautiful girlfriend was standing at the end of an aisle, holding a stack of video tapes and was putting them up. You nodded at Steve and you walked over there.

“Hey, honey.” You said softly. Robin turned her head and her face brightened at the sight of you. She set the tapes on a cart next to her and embraced you tightly, burying her face in your neck. Her grip was tight and you were sure that something was going on.

“Hey, I brought you lunch.” She nodded against your neck but made no intention to move from the hug. You inhaled her perfume, which was really a vanilla one you had on your dresser that Robin kidnapped because she loved it. You couldn’t lie, it smelt better on her.

You pulled away from the hug, and you cupped her cheeks, noticing the dark circles underneath her eyes and the redness. She had been crying. You wiped her eyes and looked around the store. There were a few people loitering around, probably looking for their weekend movie to watch on the couch. You grabbed her hand and took her to the backroom, grabbing the paper bag and cup from Steve on the way.

Robin sat in a metal chair as you set the food in front of her and kissed her head tenderly. Immediately, her arms went around your waist, burying her face into your stomach. Your heart deflated at the sounds of her sobs.

“Oh, honey. What happened?” You brushed her hair from her face as she continued to cry. Robin never cried, she was always composed and preferred to get angry when she’s overwhelmed. But to see your pretty girlfriend sobbing her heart out.

“I can’t stop thinking about last summer.” Her voice was wavering. You sat down on the chair next to her, holding her hands in your lap. She was looking down at her lap, her tears falling onto her darkwash denim jeans.

“I have nightmares. Horrible nightmares. Of those Russian bastards, beating you and Steve up, killing us. I keep on thinking that they may get to Dustin and Erica, may kill them too. I can’t get rid of them, [N/N]. They won't go away.” Her voice was incredibly shaky, and you reached over and hugged her tightly. You pressed kisses to her hair and temple. Your beautiful girl was struggling.

“What can I do?” She shook her head and pulled from the hug. She pressed her forehead to yours, both of you looking down at your joined hands.

“Nothing, I just want you.” You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. She chuckled softly.

“You have me.”

#robin buckley #robin buckley x plus size reader #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin buckley x you #stranger things 4 #stranger things x reader

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