୨ৎ you two were partners for a finals project. to him, you were just in the background, blending in with all the soc girls. to you, he was just a quiet greaser.
୨ৎ and your looks matched with his guess. manicured, pretty hair, feminine clothes. until you guys discussed the project.
୨ৎ you actually tried and had many ideas. he was flabbergasted.
୨ৎ so much he became infatuated with you.
୨ৎ but it was the worlds slowest burn because he’s a scaredy cat.
୨ৎ “julie baker had always just seemed plain to me. until now.” from flipped is so you guys!
୨ৎ and you guys def get an A+ on that project.
୨ৎ academic weapon couple!!
୨ৎ you’re the victim of hearing all his funny sarcastic remarks he mumbles under his breath.
୨ৎ and he’s the victim of all your insane hypothetical questions.
୨ৎ PINKY PROMISES.
୨ৎ ik its sappy & basic but he would write about you! he might not always show you but he definitely does it.
୨ৎ also him reading to you. he likes especially coming over to your house, cause it’s more quiet and private, and having you lay with him while he reads.
୨ৎ when darry first found out about you, especially since you were a soc, i fear he didn’t support. but in a way that he didn’t want ponyboy to get hurt.
୨ৎ you tell him about all your dreams. wanting to go to an ivy league, make your parents happy, get out of tulsa. and he always listens.
୨ৎ sometimes when your being sweet, he’ll get awkward and you have to coax him out of it.
୨ৎ he’d be really petty when you guys fight. & it’s always over something immature. and oh, it gets bad when you’re on your period and he wants to be on his deriod.
୨ৎ which also meant he wasn’t very good at communicating.
୨ৎ and when you guys fight, he’s like super irritated for a while. then he like misses you so much he’s starts tweaking.
୨ৎ in the beginning of your relationship, when you guys would hug it would give awkward middle school relationship
୨ৎ i fear he wouldn’t really know what to do if he caught you crying.
୨ৎ sodapop and two-bit like telling you embarrassing stories about ponyboy like how he shit himself at dairy queen once
୨ৎ his love language would be quality time!! he’d love watching sunsets with you and walking along train tracks while bickering harmlessly.
୨ৎ he learns how to braid your hair and he won’t give up until he perfects it and he gets that proud look on his face.
୨ৎ i feel like pony would be into introverts and he would love how you’re all giddy with him but silent with everyone else.
୨ৎ you harass him with hypothetical questions. I REPEAT. you harass him with hypothetical questions!!
୨ৎ when he has fights with darry, he always confides in you and rants. and you always just hold him.
୨ৎ he admires you a lot, your face, your mind. and he likes your lips. and he likes kissing your cheek!!
reqs are coming! i just like to go in order so dw cause papa is grinding on them 😈.
you know what, fuck it be free, keep reading that bad fan fiction, keep writing that bad fanfiction, keep using y/n, keep staying up to 4 a.m reading x reader, to be cringe is too be free
ꫂ ၴႅၴ should this be a series? and anyway more princesses to come! like perhaps aurora..
𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍 .
i fear dally would be your gaston at first. he’d think you were a little ridiculous. but with a lethal face card.
all those books hugged against your chest. pretty dresses. soft voice. the way you talk about happy endings like they’ll come true.
and you, think he’s awful.
he whistles at you the first time you walk past the DX and you turn around with the nastiest glare he’s ever seen.
“you always talk to girls like that?” you snap.
dally grins lazily. “only the pretty ones.”
“gross.”
and somehow that’s the moment he becomes obsessed with bothering you.
he constantly tries to get reactions out of you.
calls you “princess” in the most annoying tone imaginable.
steals your books just so you’ll chase after him yelling.
you lecture him ALL the time.
“you can’t solve every problem with fighting.”
“watch me.” he replies, taking a drag out his cigarette.
the gang thinks it’s hilarious watching you two argue because you never back down from him.
the switch happens slowly.
because one night you see him sitting outside alone with bruised knuckles and this empty look in his eyes.
and for once he doesn’t make a joke when you sit beside him.
“doesn’t it get tiring?” you ask softly.
“what?”
“acting like you don’t care about anything.”
he looks at you sharply then. like nobody’s ever said that before. “…you don’t know me.”
“i think i do.”
and dally hates how badly he wants that to be true.
after that, things change.
he starts walking you home without mentioning it.
he gets aggressive when people upset you.
you’re sitting in his lap at Buck’s, reading while he smokes lazily beside you.
“y’know,” he mutters, “if somebody told me a year ago i’d be sittin’ here listenin’ to some girl read fairy tales…”
you smile. “what?”
he watches you for a long second. “…woulda punched ‘em in the mouth.”
𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 .
darry wouldn’t quite understand in the beginning.
but on your first date, when he saw the love and passion in your eyes while you talked about novels and reading. he fell in love.
but then he realized your stubbornness and how you didn’t back down. he fell even more in love.
darry acts annoyed when you stay up late reading but always leaves a light for you on.
when you guys visit the library, he always carries your books.
he would definitely build you a book shelf.
darry would trust you with his brothers. and you get along with ponyboy a lot.
it’s late and the curtis house is finally quiet.
you’re sitting at the kitchen table reading while darry leans against the counter.
“you oughta sleep,” he says.
“you first.”
he huffs a laugh. then walks over calmly and holds a hand out for you to take. “cmon, we’ll go together.”
𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 .
to soda, everything you do is so pretty.
vintage items all over your room. ribbons tied around your favorite books. your mind. gold details. that even the curtis house starts changing after sodapop starts dating you.
like there’s a vase of flowers on the kitchen table.
he likes when you read him to sleep. it’s like his version of a lullaby.
soda hypes you up every time you rant to him about something new you learned. so like probably every other day.
unlike steve and dally, i feel like your intelligence would catch his attention first. you were different and he liked that. and your beauty is just a bonus.
although he doesn’t understand much of what you know, he’ll always ask about your most current hyper fixation.
and randomly he’d pull out the most specific and important detail out his ass and surprise you like wow, you really do pay attention!
𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒 .
ponyboy is utterly in love with you.
you guys read to eachother all the time, share books, annotate together, even write to eachother!
you’re both sitting on your bedroom floor, against the end of your bed, your shoulders touching lightly.
ponyboy’s reading out loud while you draw across a notebook page.
“you listening?” he asks.
“mhm.”
“what’d i just say?”
you smile without looking up. “something beautiful.”
he goes quiet after that. because you weren’t wrong.
he loves your room because it’s where all those memories happened, and because it’s quiet and smells like roses.
you make him feel so understood in a way he never thought he could be.
he gets very flustered when you compliment him on his knowledge or writing.
makes sure his poetry about you is the most beautiful thing ever to be written. shakespeare got nothing on ponyboy.
𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄 .
at first, steve thinks your too fancy for him.
all those books and polished words and those pale yellow dresses you wore, and how pretty you were. he didn’t think he stood a chance. which is lowkey crazy considering steve.
then he realizes you’re funnier and more hard-headed than half the gang combined.
and suddenly he’s obsessed with you.
he teases you constantly but in an affectionate way.
steve calls you “princess” sarcastically until one day it accidentally becomes genuine.
he acts dramatic when you read poetry out loud.
“oh brother, here she goes.”
you help him study sometimes and he complains the entire time.
he thinks it’s cute how excited you get over tiny things.
you’re reading out loud outside the DX while steve works on a car nearby.
“read that line again,” he says suddenly.
you blink. “i thought you weren’t listening.”
“i wasn’t,” he defends immediately, huffing and turning back to the car. but he glances over his shoulder, “well, come on.” he says, waiting for you to start reading again.
𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖𝐒 .
two-bit treats your dramatic little fairytale tendencies like the greatest thing ever.
you gasp over sunsets? he gasps louder.
you ramble about romance in novels? suddenly he’s fake fainting against walls.
everything with you becomes a bit. but somehow also sincere.
he reads over your shoulder badly and mispronounces half the words on purpose.
and he definitely interrupts your reading just to annoy you and then smiles when you get mad.
he tells everybody you’re “the smartest broad in Tulsa.”
you once read him a sad ending and he got genuinely upset about it for DAYS.
“this dude dies at the end?” two-bit says in horror.
you nod slowly.
and his face crumbles.“well that’s stupid. why would the author do that?”
“for symbolism.”
“symbolism my ass,”
𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 .
you’re the kind of girl johnny notices before he ever speaks to you.
the girl in the library with stacks of books and ribbons in your hair.
to him, you look like you stepped out of another world. and johnny— all nervous eyes and bruised knuckles— feels like he’s not enough to stand near you.
you’re always the one starting conversations first because he gets shy.
he loves listening to you talk even when he barely answers.
sometimes you catch him staring when you read aloud. then he gets embarrassed immediately.
if he’s not staring, he’s falling asleep. and he also gets so embarrassed when he wakes up.
when you guys read together, sometimes he has to read the same page three times because he’s too distracted by you sitting so close to him.
you fall asleep halfway through reading one night. book open across your chest.
johnny carefully takes it from your hands, marks the page, and pulls the blanket over you.
then he just sits there for a minute staring at you softly.
like he still can’t believe someone like you exists.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 📖 i got a little carried away with dally haha. anyways i would love to know if you guys still want to see these or something different! my reqs are always open. aurora next??
I need a fic for johnny cade x reader like the rapunzel headcanons🤞
maybe more of the Johnny talking to her from her window but her parents hear talking and find out? it can end either happy with them (begrudgingly) letting him stay, or him getting some some sort or trouble with her parents
𝗙𝗟𝗢𝗪𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗠 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗚𝗟𝗢𝗪
❝ . johnny cade dating his rapunzel . ❞ 𝓰𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 fluff જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader imagine ( the . . . 🦎 library . ) 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 !
The evening air drifted warm through your open window, carrying the smell of cut grass and cigarette smoke from somewhere down the block.
Johnny Cade stood below your window with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, face tilted toward you.
And, like always, his neck was probably killing him.
You rested your cheek against your palm as you leaned over the windowsill, your pajama sleeve slipping off your shoulder. "Johnny Cade," you sighed dramatically, "where is your jacket?"
He blinked up at you. "Forgot it."
"Are you lying?" you narrowed your eyes playfully.
A tiny shrug. "Maybe."
"You are gonna freeze."
"Ain't cold."
You could tell he was lying by the way his shoulders kept tensing every few seconds from the breeze. His dark hair shifted softly in the wind, eyes tired.
"You're shivering."
"I ain't."
“You absolutely are."
Johnny looked down the street for a second like he was trying to hide a smile. "You always fuss this much?"
"Yes," you answered immediately. "And I'll continue to."
That earned you one of those small Johnny smiles. Barely there, but warm enough to make your chest ache.
But down the street, headlights turned the corner.
A white vintage car rolled slowly toward the house, shiny beneath the sunset glow.
Your mother drove with perfect posture, one hand on the wheel, curls pinned neatly beneath a silk scarf. Grocery bags sat in the passenger seat beside her while soft music crackled through the radio. She was supposed to be home at eight.
It was barely six-thirty.
Meanwhile, upstairs, you sat on the windowsill running your fingers through your hair while Johnny stared up at you like he'd forgotten how blinking worked.
"You know," you said thoughtfully, "if I escaped this house someday, I'd go somewhere with flowers everywhere."
"You wouldn't last two days outside."
Your mouth dropped open. "Johnny!"
He laughed quietly under his breath.
Then, softer, "I'd take care'a you though."
The words settled warm in your chest. Until your playfulness sparked back up.
Whilst the white car pulled into the driveway.
"Oh? So if you were a prince trying to rescue me from this tower, how would you do it."
Johnny snorted quietly. "I ain't no prince."
"Hypothetically." you rolled your eyes.
He thought for a second. "I'd probably just steal a ladder."
"That," you informed him, "was the least romantic answer anyone has ever said to me."
"Worked, didn't it?"
You covered your smile with your manicured hand.
And before you could answer—
"Who are you talking to?!"
You nearly screamed. Your entire body jerked backward from the window so fast you almost fell onto the floor.
Johnny froze below like a startled cat.
Your mother stood in your doorway holding bags, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
"..Uh..nobody," you squeaked.
She stared. "You are hanging halfway out your bedroom window talking to nobody."
"I was talking to myself."
"Oh, really." your mother scoffed.
"Yes."
"You stumbled away from that window like you were doing something illegal."
"Oh cmon, that's a bit dramatic."
"Oh, I have not even begun being dramatic."
She dropped the bags down terrifyingly and stopped toward the window in her jimmy choo heels.
Your soul left your body. "Mother-"
She reached the curtains and Johnny looked up directly at her.
There was a long silence.
Then Johnny, polite as ever despite looking horrified "...Evenin', ma'am."
Your mother blinked. Johnny blinked back.
Your mother pointed at him. "This boy is flattering my hydrangeas!"
"They were already flattened, ma'am." Johnny muttered.
"Johnny!" you hissed.
Your mother put a hand over her heart. "Oh, wonderful. He talks back."
"M'sorry, ma'am." He sounded genuinely terrified now.
She looked between the two of you in disbelief.
"So let me understand this correctly. Every evening while I think my daughter is reading peacefully upstairs, there is a teenage boy lurking beneath her bedroom window like some sort of Romeo?"
Johnny looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
"He ain't lurking," you defended weakly, the protest going straight over your mother's head.
"And another thing," your mother continued, now fully committed to the rant, "young man, if you break your neck staring upward every night, 1 am not paying no hospital bills."
Johnny stared at the sidewalk.
Your mother sighed dramatically. "Lord help me. You both look ridiculous."
Then she noticed the lack of jacket. "...And where is your coat?"
Johnny blinked.
"I forgot it, ma'am."
"Of course you did." She rubbed her temples. "You look skinny as a stray cat. Now....get inside before the neighbors start a rumor."
Both you and Johnny looked at her.
..Really?" you asked.
She pointed a warning finger immediately. "Your father must not find out."
"I am serious. If my husband comes home and finds a boy in this house-"
Johnny looked panicked again. "I can go-"
"No, I will not have my daughter hanging out the window, flirting with a boy for the whole neighborhood to see!"
Your face burned. "We were not flirting."
Your mother gave you a look. Then Johnny. Then back at you. "..Right."
A few minutes later, Johnny stood awkwardly inside your bedroom.
Soft golden fairy lights filled the room. Paintings leaned against the walls beside hanging flowers and shelves overflowing with books. Your curtains moved gently in the evening breeze while music played quietly from the record player in the corner.
"You can sit down," you told him.
He sat on the very edge stiff as a board. You laughed. "Why are you acting like that?"
"Your room's real nice."
"And?""
"I feel like if I touch somethin' I gotta pay for it."
You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, grinning. "Isn’t it better inside instead of standing in the bushes like some Victorian ghost."
"I do not stand in bushes."
"You absolutely do." you said bursting into giggles and laughing so hard you nearly fell sideways.
And slowly, finally, Johnny relaxed.
The sky outside darkened into deep blue while the two of you talked about everything and nothing.
About movies. About Dallas getting into another fight. About the books piled beside your bed.
Johnny listened more than he spoke, but he always did.
At some point he leaned back against your headboard carefully, like he still couldn't fully believe he was allowed there.
"You tired?" you asked softly.
"Nah." He yawned immediately after saying it.
You smiled knowingly. The room grew quieter and the warm breeze drifted through the open window.
Johnny rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. You noticed instantly. "I told-"
"It's fine."
"It is not." Before he could argue, you moved behind him on the bed and gently pushed his shoulders forward.
"What're you doin'?"
"Fixing your terrible decisions."
"I don't make terrible decisions."
You leaned your face real close to his, giving him a knowing look which made him roll his eyes and grudgingly accept it.
Your fingers pressed gently into the tense muscles along the back of his neck. You could actually feel how knotted his shoulders were beneath your hands.
"Johnny," you whispered, horrified, "your neck feels awful."
"S'not that bad."
"It feels like concrete."
He laughed quietly at that, eyes slipping closed despite himself. The tension slowly eased from his shoulders beneath your touch.
Johnny wasn't used to this care. "You don't gotta do all that,' he murmured sleepily.
"Yes I do." you murmured. Your fingers moved carefully through his hair near the nape of his neck.
He melted almost instantly after that. Shoulders loosening. Breathing slowing. Head leaning back slightly toward you without him even realizing it.
You smiled softly to yourself. "Told you you'd get knots.”
A pause. Then quietly he said, "Worth it."
Your heart squeezed so hard it hurt. Eventually the conversation faded completely.
Johnny ended up half laying beside you beneath the warm blankets, exhaustion finally catching up to him. His head rested near your shoulder while your hair spilled across the pillows beside him.
Outside, crickets hummed softly in the dark.
For once, Johnny looked peaceful. Not nervous or flinching at every sound. Just warm and safe.
Later that night, your mother cracked the bedroom door open carefully. She stopped immediately.
The two of you were asleep tangled in blankets beneath the golden glow of the lights and candles, Johnny still wearing the exhausted expression of someone who hadn't meant to fall asleep at all.
Your arm rested loosely around him. His hand tangled in your head, cradling your head.
Your mother stared for a long moment. Then sighed toward the ceiling. "Oh lord."
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 🌞 hello.. it’s been a while. i’m sorry for my disappearance! i’ve been very busy but now that summer 2026 is coming, expect me so much more! i will get to every single one of your guys’ request i promise! i’ve missed writing and you guys. the queen is back 🥰.
guys i’m so sorry for disappearing like that 😭! honestly it was many things. it started in summer and low-key that’s my prime so i was at functions every other day..
then school started and with all ap classes, hosa, cheer captain and dance captain it’s been a little hard! and if you guys know southern cheer coaches you’ll know it’s STRICT round here
but nonetheless, i think my writing motivation has come back yay! if you guys sent any request promise i’ll try to get to them as quick ! dw i always see them and they will get done 🤍.
‘ i will write fem! reader for the outsiders. i also write for the karate kid and most au’s requested. i will write suggestive fics. any requests will be posted in order which they were submitted.
i will not —
‘ i will not write sa, incest, self harm, etc.
‘ at this point of my blog i will not write nsfw, but as i grow and get more comfortable i will !
❝ let’s just go back to the way it was, when we were on honeymoon avenue .❞ 𝓯! reader . fluff hurt kissing
you and dallas were never really a thing. there were no labels, no promises or no sappy declarations.
just him. showing up on a random wednesday ready to steal you away from cozy afternoons and your fairy lights. he’d lean on your front gate with a cigarette and a lazy smirk you knew too well.
you’d come out with a cardigan sliding off your shoulder, lip gloss smudged from huried application. and he’d look at you. like he was about to say something rude, or kiss you just to mess with your head. he’d wrap his arm around your waist and start tugging you to his world.
and this all started the day he saw you leaving the library.
you were walking down the steps with a book tucked to your chest, it’s spine wrapped in worn leather. wearing your favorite ribbon in your hair, your cheeks covered in blush.
you were the girl who smelled of sugar cookies and made romantic wishes at angel numbers. and dallas winston loved that.
he was standing across the street with his hands in his pockets, not even planning to talk to you— to anyone for that matter. until he saw your sweet face and it just made him move.
he crossed the road without looking. didn’t think. didn’t care.
“hey sweetheart,” he called out, and you turned, kind of suprised.
then he smirked. “you always walk around lookin’ all sweet like that, huh?”
you blinked at him. your presence filling his nose with a smell of sugar as he neared.
you scoffed, but you smiled. just a little. and somehow, that was all it took.
that was all it took for him to start noticing the way you curled your hair on sundays, how your mascara would be a little too clumpy sometimes. he’d call you “doll” and rarely your real name.
and you— you let him pull you into his mess. wearing his leather jacket over your lace dresses, letting him kiss you with ash on his breath and his fingers cold from the night on your jaw.
you thought maybe you could soften him, thought that you were. and maybe you were. which is exactly when he started pulling away.
he’d stop calling. then stopped showing up.
you’d sit on your porch in your little pajama shorts and frilly socks, pretending to read something, just in case. but he never came.
no creak of the gate. no smirk. no cigarette smoke in the air. just crickets and the dim light of your house.
and one day— outside a bakery— you were standing there with a french barrette clip, holding a brown paper bag with lemon cookies inside.
he walked right past you. didn’t even flinch or glance. like you weren’t there.
you almost called out his name, but it never came out. you knew he’d never stop.
now, if you ever dared to wave, he’d probably look the other way. if you tried saying hi, he’d scoff like you were a joke.
you had even heard what he’d said once, behind a gas station, when he didn’t know you wear near. “she was just boring. just boring. liked playin’ pretend with her.”
it almost made you cry. almost.
you thought you were something else to him. you’d heard of all the stories girls had to say about him, but you never truly believed them. but now you knew, he treated and played everyone the same. including you.
so you tucked your hair behind your hair, pressed your lips together, and walked away. because if he wanted to pretend it was nothing, that you were just nothing—
the late night chuckles and cuddling, the “soft” kisses you thought he only gave you.
fine. you could too.
one day, he saw you again.
you were walking down the sidewalk with a bag— there were strawberries inside, the kind you liked to eat with melted chocolate.
he could see the shape of a lip gloss tube through the side, which he loved when you guys would kiss.
you were wearing pearl earrings, appearing only when your hair fluttered with the wind. you were humming something soft. like nothing in the world could hurt you. like he hadn’t.
and what did dallas winston do?
he hid.
full-on backed into an alley and flattened himself against the brick wall like he was avoiding the cops.
because what if you came over and looked at him the way you used to? what if you asked why? what if your lips started shaking and your lashes got wet?
he couldn’t handle that.
yeah, he was a jerk. maybe he’d been worse than that. but really— he was scared. not of you. but scared of feeling something. because he’d been trying real hard not to. and it wasn’t working.
so he stayed there. heart beating out his chest, watching from the shadows while you passed by totally unaware.
and for a second, he almost called out your name. but he didn’t. because he was still him. and he didn’t know how to stop being that.
dallas hadn’t planned on coming. really.
he’d told himself over and over it was done. finished. she was over it. move on.
but somehow, when the sun started to set and the sky was warm and pink, his boots just.. led him there. to your house.
he stood across the street for a second, thumbs hooked into his pockets, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt. then, reluctantly, he crossed.
you were sitting on the porch swing of your porch, your legs swinging a little above the white wood. your hair wasn’t done, you had an ugly sweater on and you were actually reading the book in your lap.
you weren’t smiling, you weren’t frowning either. just perhaps waiting.
he couldn’t tell what your mood was, and that freaked him out a little. “you gonna act like you don’t see me now?”
his voice was loud, scratchy like it always was no matter who he was talking to.
you raised an eyebrow, slow. “you did it first.”
he rolled his tongue against his cheek, looking off toward the sidewalk like it had answers. then back at you. “yeah, well. i messed up.”
a second passed, “you mad?” he asked.
you shrugged, “shouldn’t i be?”
he took a step closer, kicking at the gravel by his boot. “ya’ didn’t look mad with your strawberries and lip gloss.”
and maybe that was the part that undid you a little. that he noticed, and remembered something. even after all that.
you sighed, soft, like you didn’t want to— but you did. you now looked at him like he wasn’t making any sense, but your heart was already caving in. you could feel it.
“what do you want, dallas?”
he looked at you for a second. really looked. then he shrugged, lazy, but not as harsh this time.
“i dunno. you.”
and that was it. not romantic or even fair. but it was him.
and even though your heart still ached a little, you didn’t stop him when the gravel crunched and he stepped closer. because you knew no matter how much it hurts. it still felt like home when he came back.
why is this lowkey me. but only my fellow stupid bitches would understand 🥺.
pick a song starting with each letter of your username ♡
j → jesse's girl by rick springfield.
a → army dreamers by kate bush.
m → más duele by andrés calamaro.
e → elevator man by oingo boingo.
s → spanish eyes by elvis presley.
d → doll parts by hole.
e → everybody loves somebody by dean martin.
a → all shook up by elvis presley.
n → nope your too late i already died by wifiskeleton.
b → boarding school by lana del rey.
b → beautiful boy (darling boy) by john lennon.
y → yes sir, i can boogie by baccara.
۪ ֹ ᮫ warnings . . . none? strict household maybe. and fluff જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader x the outsiders !
🌞 idk why i randomly thought of a rapunzel coded reader but i did lmao. should i do like a belle or aurora one ??
now playing . . . something that i want - grace potter
𝗣𝗢𝗡𝗬𝗕𝗢𝗬 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦 .
you’re not really allowed to go out, so he comes over after school with you with his book and lays on the floor reading them outloud to you. so cute!
you’re obsessed with reading and poetry like him, so you always ask what pony thinks a line means. and then he starts yapping while you listen ☺️.
you guys draw stars on the ceiling of your room together.
eventually, after proving he’s a “good kid,” your parents start getting looser and start letting you go out— only with him.
but he never— ever. minds being stuck inside with you.
the curtains flutter. you’re lying on your bed, fingers dangling off the edge. and he’s looking through your book shelf, flipping through a paperback.
“hey. doesn’t it get boring? being stuck here with me?”
he glanced at you. then smiles softly.
“nah, not if i’m stuck here with you.”
𝗦𝗢𝗗𝗔𝗣𝗢𝗣 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦 .
you’re always painting— the room is covered in canvases and you paint on non-traditional things too. you even have one of him which is totally not giving creep but okay!
whenever he visits you, he brings little things for you to paint. like flowers, matchboxes or shiny wrappers😭.
“i saw this and thought of you,” he says, holding up a wrapper proudly.
you raise a brow. “that’s from a grape candy.”
“yeah but,” he grins, “look at the color, it’s you. you could make it pretty.”
you roll your eyes with a smile, but take it anyway.
you kiss him with paint on your hands, smudging it on his cheeks and jaw.
he always makes sure everytime he visits— its memorable. like he’ll slow dance with you in the middle of your room, literally cry when he saw the portrait you made of him. crash all of your canvases tryna show of his aerobatics.
and then you’re stuck putting a bandaid on his temple and still inside 😒.
𝗝𝗢𝗛𝗡𝗡𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗗𝗘 .
you guys definitely fill pots and leave them on your porch, watching little plants grow.
you always keep a tiny light on, maybe a candle, in your room— “just in case you pass by.”
he carves yalls initial into a tree you can see from your window with his blade, for sure. like I KNOW he would.
whenever you’re not allowed to go outside, he’s nearby the window and talking to you from below. like a literal fairytale.
“you’re not suppose to be here,” you whisper. johnny grins up at you, hands in his pocket. “yeah. but i missed you.”
“you’re gonna get a knot in your neck if you keep showing up like this,” you call softly, leaning your elbows on the sill.
“worth it.”
“you say that now,” you hum, “but when you can’t look side to side, don’t blame me.”
“i’ll just look up, then. that’s where you are, ain’t it?”
you’re guys’s love is so quiet and cute it almost feels made up. i need that.
𝗗𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗦 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗡 .
you’ve never kissed anyone before him and it’s all he can think about.
he pulls back just barely, breath still warm against your lips, his hand resting at your jaw like he’s keeping you steady.
“sweet little lips,” he mutters out.
he grins, crooked and slow, mouth brushing against yours again—
“you keep kissin’ me like that, i’m gonna think you like me or somethin’.” he teases.
he teases you a lot for being a “sweet little thing,” but he always shows up when the lights go out.
you write his name over and over in the margins of your journal, book, recipe books, etc.
he steals you a red lipstick and tells you to wear it for some reason😭.
for sure teaches you how to sneak out.
but you teach him how to care.
𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗦 .
you iron his shirts in the living room and sway to old music on the radio.
i could totally see him building you a bookshelf with his own hands.
but you always do small hobbies that he loves. like when you embroider pillowcases with his and yours initials. always brushing and braiding your hair. or strumming a guitar.
“twenty minutes,” you murmur, stepping back from the dough and reaching for your brush.
you sit by the window, sunlight warm on your cheek as you work through tangles, braiding over your shoulder. you glance at the door like— maybe this time he’ll get off work early today.
the smell of fresh bread soon fills the room.
𝗧𝗪𝗢-𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗪𝗦 .
you write your dreams in a lilac pen and let him read them sometimes. he usually ends up poking fun at them but it’s fine😣.
he always climbs the side of your house instead of the front door to deliver snacks and a singular rose he stole from a yard. IM A FIRM BELIEVER ALMOST ALL THE GANG WOULD STEAL FLOWERS TO GIVE TO YOU.
he always puts on his favorite songs to show you, and the first time he did it was elvis rock-n-roll. you were flabbergasted.
he lets you put ribbons and bows on his hair, sometimes even braids. “as long as you promise to laugh.” he always says.
𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗩𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗟𝗘 .
watching him work on his car through the window and waves with a smirk when he catches you.
he lowk teaches you how to steal stuff to “feel alive.” 😭
he also would fix you up a bike so you could go visit him too when you were allowed.
he leaves his jacket for you, either in your room or on the porch railing whenever it rains. idk why but he does!
you print out tiny photos of him and tape them to your mirror, or even just having a page in your scrapbook about him..
“didn’t know i looked good enough for a scrapbook.”
“you look good enough for a hundred,” you murmur back, and he goes quiet.
eyes scanning the page, this time he’s got nothing cocky to say— just stands with a crooked smile and pretending like his heart isn’t doing backflips.
he also keeps something of yours in his glove compartment, like a nail polish or a ring. which is special considering he only has a random wrench and old cigarette boxes in there!
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.
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, he got very defensive.
he shrugged you off, your spot tucked under his arm and your head laid on his chest was 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 ballet flats on, and 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 “come on, dallas. what if she hates you. what if she actually already got a new bitch?!”
he DEF 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.
when he finally sees you again, after two days of stalking, he doesn’t really say anything. just flicks a 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, instead taking 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 said 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 them.”
then a second later, his voice sharp and short—
“did you use steam on my coat? it’s wrinkled as hell.”
“christ— cant you do anything right?”
your heart immediately ached .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…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 that he could barely afford.
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 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 couple hours😭. he was crashing out realizing he messed up and IMMEDIATELY ran to your place.
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 on the couch and recite quotes from that same book while spacing out.
then, steve caught him infront of the bathroom mirror, hollering apologies but throwing hands.
“i shouldn’t have said that,” right hook. “i really—truly didn’t mean it.” jab to the jaw.
“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 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.”
. . . four times you’ve tried catching Soda’s attention, and the one time you did.
imagine ! જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader warnings . . . none
🪽 tysm for the recent likes! i love you all and i hope you guys enjoy thiss, guys i love writing a silly reader. listen to the song while reading! now playing . . . i can see you - taylor swift
you’re not exactly sure when your crush on sodapop curtis started.
maybe eighth grade, the year he got taller and when you started noticing little things— like the way his voice changed when he laughed or the way his pretty eyes sparkled when he did something he wasn’t suppose to.
despite that, you guys never really talked. it was always just mere you dropped this, or do you have a pencil? nothing that would mean he noticed you or thought of you in another way other than just his classmate.
then sandy happened— and you told yourself you were fine with it, ignoring seeing them hold hands and make out in the hallways. and you were respectful, you stopped writing his initial and yours with a heart, you hummed songs instead of romanticizing every word he said, and you waited. waited till it went away.
and it almost did. until it didn’t.
when a few months ago, a spur of events came and they were no longer together anymore. and you— sweet and slightly delusional— felt the tiniest of hope and decided it was the right moment. felt that maybe this would be it.
this year would be it, is what you told yourself. except you were a soc. and he’s a greaser. and your friends— charlotte may and blaire kavinsky weren’t exactly cheering for this relationship.
blaire had even frowned when you brought up, “i’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” she reasoned, “i’m saying greasers can be trouble.”
charlotte just pursued her lips and told her, “when you do this, wear the white ribbon in your hair— the one that makes your eyes look soft.”
people tell you you’re pretty, you wear dainty clothes, people smile at you in the halls and boys even offer to carry your books just so they could smell your perfume. but none of them are him.
and this time you’re gonna try, really try.
and now, while you’re halfway through history and your pencil snaps. the tip sliding into the corner of your desk.
you stare at it for a second, when an idea pops in your pretty mind. then glancing sideways.
he’s right there. one row over, one seat back.
you glance once again. he’s leaning forward on the desk, the curve of his sharp jaw resting on the palm of his hand. he’s not even pretending to take notes, just watching the window like he’s not sat in history class, just somewhere else entirely.
your heart picks up a little, you’re not wearing the white ribbon today. but your hair is blown out, and your sweater is a soft pastel, you feel okay— brave enough.
you turn in your seat slightly, and in a mere whisper, you whisper, “hey.. do you have a pencil?”
he blinks out of his day dream, looks at you. his eyes are warm, and a little sleepy. but without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls the pencil out.
bitten, stubby and no eraser. the wood at the end splintered like someone got bored and took their frustration out on the poor pencil.
he passes it over without looking twice. you take it, and just as your fingers coated with a milky pink polish brush his, you hear a sound— a pfft from in front of you. charlotte.
you bite the inside of your cheek, offer a quiet, quick “thanks,” and try to act normal. you immediately glance up, her shoulders are shaking.
of course she’s laughing.
it was charlotte’s idea.
“you should absolutely write him a note,” she said, standing in your room the night before with her arms crossed.
blaire, half-asleep on your bed in a lilac silk robe, muttered “this is a bad idea.”
but you did it anyways.
pink stationary and little gold hearts in the corners. you wrote it curled on your fluffy rug at midnight, with vanilla cashmere lotion on your legs and the ronnettes playing softly.
and because you’re you, you lightly sprayed the paper with your perfume.
just a little, so if he opened it, he’d know. and it would smell like sweetness and daydreams.
you, charlotte, and blaire showed up early to “help” your english teacher organize the class library. which really meant the two of them distracted her while you tiptoed over to the shelf, find the copy which you thought was his and slip the note inside.
and when third period came, you sat with the two girls in the front left corner, pretending not to look over at sodapop, who’d sat with his friends in the way back.
he looked tired, you noticed. but your heart was pounding.
while you were in a conversation with the girls, a boy you didn’t even know— skinny, glasses and fluffy hair walked up to the front of the room.
handing her something— something pink. it caught your eyes for a second.
the teacher squinted at it, “oh?”
the boy smiled, “i think someone lost this, i found it in my copy.”
then, without any remorse, she read it aloud.
“you probably won’t notice this, but i notice you. everytime you smile i fall in love all over again. i’m not brave, but maybe this is enough.” “—p.s if you ever want to walk me home, just say the word.”
you felt your entire soul drop to your stomach, you froze.
someone let out a howl, others clapped and sodapop? soda laughed. all bright and boyish just like you said in the note and definitely not in love with you.
blaire was wheezing, charlotte looked like she was biting the corner of her lip to keep it from making it worse. you sat there, hand half over your mouth and with the nastiest side eye ever known.
“atleast you made him laugh?” charlotte said with no help.
the smell of your perfume lingered above everyone like a cloud of sweet and feminine. the worst part was he never even looked at you. or did he recognize that perfume?
a pleated white tennis skirt that fluttered with every breeze, a matching sweater draped over your collarbone and your hair loosely pulled back in a soft low ponytail that brushed against the middle of your back.
you were playing doubles at the country club after school, a friendly match between you and spencer— a tall, preppy friend that was definitely not your type, but easy to be around— and blaire and charlotte on the other side.
things were going well and you were about to serve again when you heard a voice— faint, familiar.
you turned and there he was.
sodapop curtis in a black t-shirt and dirty jeans. walking with steve and laughing at something with his head tilted back. he wasn’t looking at you, not yet atleast.
your stomach dropped so fast you almost dropped your racket, but your grip tightened, now or never.
you stepped into position, and tossed the ball up. your form was great, elegant even. you swung—
smack.
a shriek.
blaire dropped her racket and doubled over, hands flying to her face.
you stood frozen for a full second, eyes wide, mouth open.
charlotte burst into laughter. and spencer let out the loudest “OHHHH!” you’d ever heard. followed by a wheezy “what was that?”
your hand slapped over your mouth, “ohmygod— blaire— im— im so sorry!” you cried out, abandoning your racket and running to the net. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean— i swear i didn’t mean to!”
“you almost sent me into another dimension.” she groaned out from behind her hand.
“do you want ice? a milkshake? i’ll buy you a million. name anything. anything.”
charlotte finally calmed her laughter down and crouched down beside her, gently nudging her shoulder “atleast you’re not knocked out.”
you were kneeling now, right infront of her, frantically brushing hair from her cheek, full of worry and guilt. and sodapop— he was the last thing on your mind now.
until blaire said it, muffled and slightly incoherent.
“he saw.”
you blinked, “what?”
blaire raised a brow. “sodapop. he looked over and laughed. so did steve.”
charlotte nodded, trying to suppress the sudden giggle that threaten to slip. “he definitely saw. probably thinks were insane.”
you sat back on your heels, cheeks flushed.
“great,” you deadpanned, “my reputation is violence now.”
blaire grumbled, “he better fall in love with you. my cheeks already swelling.”
you groaned into your palms, “i’m never showing my face on this court again.”
you had started the day cute, you wore your cable-knit ralph lauren top, your hair soft and loose again, catching sunlight like honey. the iced coffee you sipped on had extra vanilla, just how you liked it.
you, charlotte and blaire had wandered into the boutique on fifth that always smelled like sugared cookies and tulips. fashion magazines sat by the register, racks were stocked with cute and comfy sleep wear sets, frilly tops and baby pink silks.
“ooh, this,” blaire gasped, holding something sheer and ridiculous. “put this on. immediately.”
“you’re kidding,” you replied, already laughing.
but you did— and the next one. and the next.
soon, your dressing room was filled with chiffon and pastel. you did twirls in every outfit, the curtain whipped open dramatically each time and the sounds of charlotte and blaire hollering and laughing filled the time.
you were mid-spin in a soft pink tulle dress that made you practically float, layers of ruffles around your knees and the back only half-zipped because you’d given up trying. when blaire said—
“wait, wait, hair up. you really need to let the neckline breathe.”
“i don’t have a tie.” you whined, staring into the mirror.
blaire immediately spotted a silver clip— meant for closing snack bags but nonetheless grabbed it.
in one messy swoop, your hair was pulled into the worst bun of your life and clipped up with the plastic chip bag clip. loose pieces framed your face at odd angles. “oh yeah, this is totally it.” charlotte declared, legs kicked up on the plush bench and macaron from the sample plate halfway in her mouth.
“pose. right now. give me…” blaire thought for a moment, “bridal ballerina.”
so you did. standing on tiptoe infront of the dressing room mirror, arms raised. laughing and ridiculous, your cheeks were warm from all the twirling.
and just then— the bell above the door chimed.
you didn’t think anything of it, until charlotte froze mid-laugh.
“um,” blaire said, sharply. “..don’t freak out.” her eyes wide.
you blinked, “what?”
you turned around. and there he was. sodapop curtis.
standing by the front desk with a perfectly neutral expression as he talked to the sweet old lady receptionist, glancing around as if he didn’t just walk into your personal crash scene, until they paused. on you.
you didn’t even think before you dove behind the nearest cardigan rack like your life depended on it.
you crouched there, heart in your throat and frozen among the sweater vests and moist rose air from the humidifier.
you could hear everything— the soft music, the buzz outside, his sweet voice and the girls whispering near the dressing room.
you barely breathed until the bell chimed again and the door closed.
“okay,” blaire said, appearing above. “you can come out now.”
you peeked before standing up slowly, dazed.
charlotte leaned back on the couch, sipping your coffee. “he didn’t laugh.” she said, eyeing you. “didn’t look twice, or look amused.”
you stared at her, “..what do you mean?”
“he just looked,” blaire shrugged, “picked up a skirt. paid. then left.”
you were quiet, staring down at your feet.
“maybe he thinks i’m weird.”
charlotte blinked, “you are weird, you literally froze then threw yourself into the sweaters.”
“not helping,” you groaned.
you layed down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, layers of tulle surrounding you like cotton candy. blaire brought you your chip clip and a macaron, placing it on your stomach solemnly, like a lost possession.
you didn’t even laugh.
the event had finally calmed down. something with fundraising for the clubhouse garden, but when the chocolate fountain came out— no one really remembered.
your once- perfect makeup didnt survive the chocolate, even with charlotte warning you not to lean in so close. but you laughed it off.
it didn’t matter, anyway. you’d stopped caring since the boutique embarrassment. you had spent so long trying— years! not just four times. and not once had he ever seen you, not the way you wanted him to.
and now you found yourself here— barefoot in patchy grass and under a dusky lavender sky. your fingers were sore from picking up tiny foil stars and tissue paper confetti— spencer was suppose to help you while the rest of the club mingled inside.
but he ditched.
at this point, you gave up and collapsed into a patio chair, one leg tucked beneath you, sipping lemonade from a small, flimsy styrofoam cup.
your long white sundress, feminine and romantic blew with the small breeze with delicate straps and a neckline just shy of sweet. your kitten heels sat forgotten a few feet away from the porch steps. and your previous blowout fell flat from the humidity, clinging to the sides of your face.
the porch was quiet now, the crickets sang in the bushes and your eyes unfocused. even when there was a small thud from nearby, your rosy lip caught between your lip blissfully unaware.
“s’nice out,” came a voice from the slight shadows.
you blinked. sodapop.
your guess was he jumped the fence, sneaking in.
he walked up to the porch, hands in his pocket. you had barely seen him since the boutique but yet— you didn’t find yourself sitting straighter, tucking your hair behind your ear or licking your lips. you simply looked at him.
“didn’t know anybody was out here,” he added, glancing sideways at you. “figured everyone was inside playing bingo with the mystery meat.”
you let out a small snort before you could help it.
his smile ticked up, just a little. a subtle one, like as if you blinked you’d miss it. “are you good?”
you helped up your cup, “barely.”
“messy hair. no shoes.” he nodded with mock-seriousness. “brave woman.”
you laughed quietly. there was no butterflies, no trembling fingers. you weren’t trying and it all felt so normal, and maybe that’s why for once— it worked.
he didn’t sit beside you, but leaned against the porch railing a few feet away.
he looked at you again, a little longer this time. then, like it just came to him— “i like your dress.”
you blinked. “oh. thanks.”
a pause came over, you were tired. frizzy. and messy. you glanced at your light pink nails wrapped around the cup.
“i thought you thought i was weird,” you said softly.
soda blinked, taken off guard. “what?”
“never mind.” you shook your head, already regretting it.
but he tilted his head, continuing to just.. look at you. then said, “i don’t.”
you looked up, startled by how his voice genuinely sounded so gentle and sincere. but before you could say anything else, charlotte’s voice came from inside, muffled from the walls and hollering your name.
you exhaled, almost disappointed.
“guess i should—”
“see you tomorrow?” he asked.
you looked up at him again, he didn’t smile. not fully. but there was something in his eyes— and it was the look that you’ve been dreaming of since middle school.
you nodded, “yeah. see you.”
and he simply stepped back into the shadows, on his way to cause some trouble. but what you didn’t see— was the quiet, soft smile you got out of him when he turned away.
and then blaire popped out of nowhere, “charlotte’s been looking everywhere for you!”
there was a quiet, lazy smile on your face with flushed cheeks. did you finally do it?
let pinterest describe you to its best abilitys and share how accurate you believe it is!! use the first picture that pops up!!
first search “aesthetic”, then “character”, and lastly “me”
i think mine is pretty accurate!!😭
no pressure tags ⋆˙⟡ @mattybsgroupie @bernardsbendystraws @mattsweethrt @mattscoquette @whore4mattandchris @whor3ing @stvrniolostan @chrisbratt333 + anyone else who would like to join in!!
fem! reader . ꪆ୧ . drabble fluff . just made this meanwhile i finish up proofreading the fics !
it was the late evening, the soft glow in your room and the polished wooden floors accompanying only you two.
the air smelled faintly of cinnamon and like the vanilla lotion you always used, familiar and sweet.
sodapop was leaned against your headboard, his legs lazily stretched out over the flower-detailed sheets. sitting on his lap, your hair a bit messy from him running his fingers through it prior.
you were flushed— your lips especially, strawberry stained and a little swollen.
the make out ending in giggles, when your nose smooshed against his too hard.
“you kiss like ima run away,” you said teasingly, fingernails coated a milky pink and all, gently fiddling with his grease-free hair.
he chuckled, his hands ghosting over the lace detailing on her shorts. finally resting and lightly gripping the soft flesh beneath. his touch was light, boyish and reverent.
“can’t help it when the prettiest girl in all of tulsa is sittin’ in my lap.”
you met his eyes, lashes full and curled, eyes soft and searching. “oh yeah?”
soda smiled, gentle and dopey. “yeah,”
then you both laughed after a moment of silence— not because it was awkward, but because it was romantic, and that kinda thing still made you shy.
“c’mere.” he murmured, lifting you up by your waist and adjusting you in his lap, so you were chest to chest. you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, and you could feel his warm breath on your face.
although you probably knocked over a couple of stuffed animals, or “your kids” as y’all liked to call them—at this time you didn’t care.
you were just two young lovers, leaning in. taking advantage of the empty house like it belonged to you two.
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