hiiii could i request sfw sleeping w/ dallas or just relaxing w him in bed 😛
“can you, like, crank your body temperature lower? you’re like a fuckin’ furnace.” a thick new york accent hit your ears, an accent that could belong to someone no other than dallas winston. despite his snarky comments and jabs, he had you snug against his side with an arm wrapped around you and his head turned to the side, his one act of compliance. he knew you hated when he blew smoke in your face.
“i’m not a robot, dal.” you stated calmly, your eyes still closed as you didn’t feel him stiffen under you. if he really had a problem with it, he would’ve shoved you off a while ago.
he simply huffed. you hummed as it got quiet for a bit, the only noise radiating off of the small television in the front of your room as it played an old recording of ‘the andy griffith show’, which dallas only sat through because you liked it so much.
even though he had claimed to hate the show, it never failed to have him sat in front of the tv with his eyes glued to the screen. he claimed it was because, “there’s nothin’ to do ‘round here” but you knew dally. that was just a ruse, another way of accepting a part of you into his life slowly but surely, breaking down the walls he had so carefully placed after sylvia had penetrated them with her unfaithful behavior.
dallas always had an itch, an itch he could never scratch. he wasn’t sure what for or how this itch developed. all he knew was that he needed to scratch it. one way to look at it is; just like someone who couldn’t put sunscreen on their back, dallas could never reach this itch. no matter how much he smoked or stole or got thrown in the cooler, he could never scratch it.
dally could also never shut up.
“at least change this thing? i can’t stand watching—“
you groaned and flipped over out of his grasp, covering your ears and returning back to your fetal position as he chuckled. dallas liked making you tick. it was like a dog cocking its head at a strange noise, he watched you with intense eyes as he studied your facial expressions. dal always took mental notes, even if you didn’t think he did.
dallas leaned back against the assortment of pillows you had displayed on your bed, eyes still glued to you and a smile still evident on his face. maybe you could scratch this itch that dallas always craves to scratch, maybe you can complete the empty space that remained in him. maybe he’d actually give you a chance, he thought.
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ stip because why do i always add these metaphors that don’t maje sense in my writng
kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱
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