So I read your fic "dog days are over" (the outsiders one), and I was wondering if you could make a part 2 to that? I love that fic with all my heart and i love ur fics in general !!
Thank you 💖💖💖💖💚💚💚
────۶ৎ stray mutts
or your favourite greasers coming to you after a rumble gone wrong
warnings : canon typical classism & violence, the boys are pretty banged up, dallas being a nasty dog.
ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: oml i didn't expect dog days are over to blow up so fast! here yall go!
The rumble had left them crawling like beaten dogs. Blood on their knuckles, shirts torn open, bruises blooming like wild violets across skin too soft to take any more hits.
Ponyboy and Dallas limped down the dim street, shoulder to shoulder. Pony was swaying slightly like he might pass out. Dally was grinning like he won the lottery, though one of his eyes was swelling shut and his lip looked like it got caught in a blender.
“She’s gonna freak,” Pony mumbled, hand pressed to his ribs.
Dally scoffed, bloodied teeth flashing. “Good. I like it when she gets all breathless and soft-voiced. Makes my pants tight, man.”
“You’re gross,” Pony groaned, but he didn’t really mean it.
And then —there it was. Your porch light on like a beacon, glowing golden in the night. You must’ve heard them stumbling up the steps because you flung open the door before they could even knock.
Your little dolly silhouette stood framed in soft pink light, eyes going huge the second you laid eyes on them.
“Oh my God.”
You were on them immediately, all rose perfume and worried hands. You reached for Pony first, ever the baby, ever the puppy your hands holding his cheeks like porcelain.
“Pony! What did they do to you?”
He blinked up at you, lip split, one eye already puffing. “I won,” he slurred like it was the proudest moment of his life.
You made a little cooing sound that shot straight through his chest and made his knees go wobbly. You pulled him inside, one arm wrapped around his waist as you guided him to the couch like he was your baby brother and not a greaser who’d just been in a street war.
And then you turned on Dallas.
“You!” you scolded, eyes blazing as you poked a manicured finger into his chest. “You’re the one who let him go! You’re supposed to be the older one!”
He just grinned, leaning on the doorframe, blood still dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Hey, don’t scold me, baby. I fought for your little puppy boy, didn’t I? Took out two Socs juust for ya.”
You shoved his shoulder, making him stumble inside, and he laughed. “You love it when I’m all beat to hell.”
“I do not!” you huffed and then softened, sighing as you took his hand and dragged him over to the couch. “...Well, maybe just a little.”
They collapsed side by side like two overgrown children, and you went into nurse-mode like you’d been born for it. You straddled Pony’s knees, gently dabbing his busted lip with cotton, and he was blushing hard, eyes wide and dumb.
“You’re real pretty, y’know that?” he mumbled.
You smiled sweetly, brushing his hair back. “Baby,” you whispered, cupping Ponyboy’s cheek so gently it made him whimper. “You’re a mess.”
“I feel okay,” he said, lying through his teeth.
“Sure you do,” you cooed, dabbing at his bloody lip, “just like a puppy after a car ride.”
Pony melted. Full-on puddle. He nuzzled into your palm like you were the sun, a little dazed smile on his face.
Dallas, not to be outdone, growled playfully and leaned in close, his breath hot and heavy. “What about me, darlin’? No sugar for the junkyard dog?”
You glanced at him sideways and let out the smallest sigh before stroking his jaw with your other hand, nails soft on his skin. “You look like someone tried to barbecue you, Dally.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, voice rough, “let’s say you’re the only girl I’d crawl through hell for.”
Dallas was sprawled out like a smug mutt, legs spread wide, bruises on full display, blood drying on his neck. He was watching you like a dog begging for scraps, his voice all gravel and heat.
“Think you missed a spot,” he drawled, lifting his shirt up to reveal a very dramatic-looking bruise on his ribs. “Right here. Hurts bad.”
You rolled your eyes but complied, leaning over him, your soft hands slipping under the hem of his shirt, smoothing over the wound with cool pressure. He hissed through his teeth, eyes fluttering.
“Jesus, man” he muttered. “Your hands are like magic.”
“Maybe if you didn’t pick fights, you wouldn’t need ‘em,” you said sweetly, fingers now stroking along his lower back.
“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?” he grinned up at you, all teeth and bruises. “’Cause I’ll take it.”
You smacked his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh. “You’re disgusting.”
“You love it.”
You tried to ignore him, but your hands were already back on Pony, who had slumped against your chest like a tired kitten, eyes half-closed as you carded your fingers through his curls.
“C’mere, baby,” you whispered, pulling him closer, letting him lay his head in your lap while you stroked his scalp and whispered soft, silly comforts. “You were so brave tonight. I’m real proud of you.”
You brushed his, now blond, hair back from his forehead, gently massaging his scalp, and he let out a soft sigh that sounded a lot like a purr.
“I think I died,” he mumbled. “Am I in heaven?”
“No, sugar,” you chuckled, smiling down at him, “but I promise you’re safe.”
And Dally —oh, Dally was practically drooling, watching your soft hands drift over Pony’s hair, your fingers under his collar now to check the bruising on his neck, your voice so gentle it could’ve rocked him to sleep.
So, of course, he had to ruin it.
“You gonna touch me like that too, sweetheart? I bite, but I swear I’ll wag my tail.”
You looked him dead in the eye and cooed, “You’d bite, huh?”
“Might even bark.”
You leaned in real close, fingers skimming the edge of his bruised ribcage, making him suck in a breath. “Then be a good boy, Dally. Sit. Stay.”
He groaned, flopped back, head tilted, grin wide. “I love when you talk mean.”
He scooted closer too, resting his head on your thigh right beside Ponyboy’s. You gasped, trying to pretend you weren’t enjoying every second of this ridiculous mess.
“I ain’t movin’,” Dally mumbled, eyes closing. “You smell like heaven and taste better.”
“You’re not licking me again, Dallas Winston,” you warned, flicking his forehead.
you guys are at a party and your handing him a drink, smiling at him like it’s just in your nature. he frowns, suspicious. “why are you like this?” rafe says. “like what?” you ask, confused of what he’s talking about. “so nice to me.” he says bluntly. “too fuck’n nice to..me” he mumbles, barley audible. it makes you sad that he feels so low about himself sometimes. you tilt your head, “because… i like you?”. he just stares at you for a second too long and his eyes soften with a hint of guilt. “you shouldn’t.”
