#greaser x reader

Cuz it's 2:26 AM and I'm a stressed college student. Also there are no good pics of him💔

He never imagined himself dating a nerd. He doesn't even know how it happened really. He bumped into you a few times and... oh, right, you did fix something of his. Then you got assigned a project with him and you two began talking from then on. Now you're his.

He actually started putting effort into his studies more because of you. He figured you wouldn't want a "friend" who was dumb as hell.

He'll drop off food or something if you're holed up studying for hours.

He'll scold you in his nasally voice for skipping meals or sleep.

"You really gunna jush skip out on dinner? Mm. Nah. Eat. Then, go to shleep. And take uh shower, stinky! Or I'll hose you down!"

He tries his best to keep up with you during conversation, but it's hard. You might have to tutor him

His friends tease him a lot about you, but he doesn't care (oddly enough)

Will run to your aid at any given moment.

Please, please, do not refer to him as Peanut. Call him Larry.

He brags about you to his friends, "Mm. Yeah. And they're like... super shmart, too. Says stuff that... stuff that none of you loo-zers would get!"

He always wants to tell you when he did good on a test, please praise him.

"Yeah! An' I got uh 80 dis time! 'Cuz of mah nerdy dork teachin' me!" And then he kisses you <3

If anyone, even his Greaser friends, ever does anything to you, he'll beat them up.

Stopped getting into fights as much because he thinks that "you wouldn't want someone like that."

Depending on how you guys are with PDA, you two are either lowkey or extremely obnoxious about it.

He lends you his jacket (he started freshening it and getting leather conditioner when he can)

He lets you play with his hair and wash it.

@pokemonandflowers asked: prompts 9, 11, 18? like where the reader and Soda broke up and they run into each other at a party or something and end up talking about their relationship and decide to go home together? thx love 💕

9. “Bullshit. You fucking miss me.”

11. “This is not a love story.”

18. “You really think you’re better off alone?”

-

At the sight of his eyes burning into yours, a frigid heat began to flower in your chest.

It was optimistic of you to think that Sodapop wasn’t going to be at this party. He never worked Friday nights. Or on Saturdays. Those were strictly social days.

So when you happened to glance at him in the basement of Buck’s house late into Friday evening, you were only half surprised to see him there. Even less surprised to see him already staring at you.

Your group of friends didn’t seem to notice your lack of contribution to the conversation for the next few minutes. Every time you tried to join in, you were acutely aware of Soda’s eyes on you. Sneaking glances at him only proved to worsen the juncture.

His foot was tapping in a rhythm that didn’t match the beat of the music booming through the house. In his hands was a near-empty dark glass bottle. Lone strands of hair fell to his forehead in a boyish fashion, but the irked visage he wore was anything but puerile. He looked frustrated. There were people around him, though he didn’t exactly take them into account. He stood against the wall silently, taking a sip of his drink every so often, stealing longer glances at you.

Deciding that you’d had enough after ten minutes of awkward stillness, you told your friends that you would be back soon and started in Sodapop’s direction.

“Sodapop?” You greeted him with a slight smile as he leaned back from the wall, looking you up and down and mirroring your expression. “How are you?”

“Y/N,” he responded at first, then motioned to the drink in his hand. “I’ve been here a while.”

“No worries. I got here a little bit ago, so I have yet to calm my nerves with some liquid courage,” you chuckled.

“Nerves?”

“Being around so many people,” you explained. “Trying to forget about schoolwork, you know.”

Sodapop raised an eyebrow. For half a second it looked like he was far from believing you, but a moment later his doubt evaporated and he nodded.

Before you could respond, someone bumped into Sodapop, virtually knocking the bottle from his hands. He sidestepped in front of you, waving off the apologizing stranger before looking down in your direction.

“Wanna go upstairs? To the living room, I mean?” Pink flecked his cheeks and he scratched the back of his neck quickly, evidently antsy. Embarrassed.

“Sure. I suppose it’s a bit too crowded down here to talk.”

You saw the way Soda subtly reached out for your hand and then drew back lightning fast. Not fast enough for you to copy his movements, though. Both of you disregarded the accidental actions, knowing muscle memory was sometimes stronger than actual memories. Nonetheless, the visions of your guys’ breakup took hold of your attention as you followed Sodapop upstairs and into the sparsely populated living room.

There was a couple on the couch simply talking and laughing, sitting too close and clasping their hands together. At the sight of you and Soda approaching, they got up and disappeared into one of the bedrooms down the hall with hurried words and vibrant smiles.

You sat down on one end of the couch and Sodapop sat on the other. He cleared his throat stiffly.

“How have you been, Soda?” you asked, breaking the enduring silence.

He looked up at you and frowned. “Didn’t you already ask that?”

“I did, yeah. I just, I want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

Something like annoyance flashed across his face. “I told you, Y/N, I’m fine. I’m nearly working full time now, actually. I’m bringing in almost as much as Darry. We ain’t living so tough anymore.”

“That’s good,” you found yourself saying, nearly wincing at how defensive Soda was acting.

“Yeah. I go drag racing with Steve on the weekends and this summer me and Darry and Ponyboy are even plannin' a little getaway.” As if he was proving himself to you, Sodapop leaned back against the armrest of the couch and grinned, obviously satisfied with his answer.

“It sounds like you’re doing really well, Sodapop,” you concluded calmly.

That must’ve woke him up, though, because then Sodapop receded back into his original state: frustrated and longing and unsure. “I’m sorry. It sounds like I’m showing off or something, don’t it?”

“No,” you started, then paused. A slight simper tweaked your lips. “Well, yes, actually, but I get it. You’re fine, Sodapop.”

He managed to smile at you, thankful that you weren’t as offputting as he was acting. “How are you doing, Y/N? Really?”

You hesitated before answering. “I’m doing good, really. I’m studying every night to keep my grades up. I joined a couple of school clubs and I even found work at the A&W down the street.”

“Ah,” Sodapop began, nearly smirking. “Distracting yourself.”

“Distracting myself?”

“That’s what I’m doing, Y/N. All those shifts I’ve picked up? Helping Pony with homework for classes I’ve never even taken before? Going out with buddies whenever the DX or my brothers don't need me around? It’s all to keep my mind busy.”

“From thinking about . . .”

“You,” Sodapop finished bluntly.

“Soda,” you murmured, unsure of what else to say.

Sodapop shook his head. “No, don’t worry about it. Do you, uh, ever think about me, though?”

Maybe he’d had more than one drink, you decided privately.

“Yeah, Soda. I do.”

“You miss me, right? Because I miss you. A lot.”

“Soda . . .” you trailed off again.

He simply stared at you, waiting in an uncomfortable, steady silence. You couldn’t get his hopes up, though. You had to lie. You had to spare his feelings before he got hurt again. Before both of you got hurt again.

“I’m moving on, Soda. You should too.”

“Bullshit,” he announced abruptly. “You fucking miss me.”

You narrowed your eyes at Soda. He wasn’t swaying in place. His pupils were blown a bit wider than they should’ve been, but it was clear that he wasn’t plastered. Tispy, at the most. This wasn’t really the alcohol talking. It was him.

“You ain’t over me, Y/N, and I ain’t over you.”

“We can’t afford to think like that, Sodapop,” you told him gently.

“I can’t stop thinkin’ like that. You’re all that’s on my mind, Y/N. No matter what time of day, no matter where I am, you’re the only thing I can focus on.”

“I understand that, I do. I’m sorry, Soda-”

“You feel the same way, Y/N, I know you do.” Sodapop edged closer to you, his voice nearly a plead.

“So what if I do?” you countered. “There’s a reason we broke up, Soda. This is not a love story. Just because we get back together doesn’t mean it’ll change anything. We still might not work out.”

“You’re scared of trying and failing?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. When he put it like that, it sounded silly. “I guess.”

“You really think you’re better off alone?”

That brought your gaze back to Sodapop’s. You parted your lips, ready to deflect his words, but failed.

“I can’t stand to go through the pain of losing you again,” you admitted quietly.

Sodapop shifted so that he was sitting right next to you. Wordlessly, purposefully this time, he reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers together. He smiled at you softly.

“Whether we work out or not, you’re not losin’ me, Y/N. I can promise you that,” he chuckled sincerely.

“And you won’t lose me,” you told him.

Sodapop looked at you with his smile beginning to fade. There was a split second where his gaze fell to your lips. He found your eyes quickly, though, and he unconsciously squeezed your hand.

“I still love you, Y/N.”

His voice was barely a whisper. You tightened your grip on his hand.

“You do?” You couldn’t stand to get hurt again. Maybe he was confused. Maybe he was lying.

But Sodapop backed away and looked you over, visibly confounded. “Do I-? Of course I do, Y/N. I never stopped, you know that. Don’t you?”

“Well I-I wasn’t sure if I could believe it.”

“Listen, Y/N, I don’t know if you want to give us another chance, but I do. Can’t we just try again?”

You broke away from him, shaking your head and closing your eyes. “No. No. We can’t be one of those couples that are always breaking up and getting back together.”

When your eyelids lifted, you were startled to see Soda smirking gently at you.

“But we can be a couple,” he pointed out.

That roused a chuckle from you, though you continued to shake your head. “Soda, please. You know what I’m trying to say.”

Once he saw that you had grown serious, Sodapop nodded solemnly. He clenched his jaw, cracking his knuckles. “Well I still have feelings for you. If you wanted to give us another shot, I’d agree on the dime.”

He tilted his head, inching just a bit closer to you. It was hard for you not to do the same. “You know I still love you, Y/N," he mumbled.

“I know, Soda.”

Downstairs, the music blared and shook the foundation of the house. People were shouting. Your friends were making memories that they wouldn’t be able to recall in the morning. Lights flashed on and off at dangerous rates. But all you could think about was Sodapop.

“Can I come over?” you asked him. “Can we talk about this back at your place?”

Sodapop tried to cover the dazed elation that altered his expression. “Of course, Y/N.” He made a move to get up, but you remained on the couch, staring towards basement steps.

“Y/N?”

“I still love you too, Soda.”

You looked up at him helplessly.

Sodapop extended a hand and you took it gratefully, frowning as he pulled you to your feet. Both of you were close enough to feel each other’s breaths against your skin. His smile was sincere and his motions were familiar.

Anonymous asked: 2. “Destroy yourself and see who gives a fuck.” (preferably reader saying it) Steve X Male!Reader?

2. “Destroy yourself and see who gives a fuck.”

-

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your words were half whispered, but you felt like you ought to say them out loud. You had to at least try to stop yourself. Right?

“That’s a cliché,” Steve insisted, casting you an amused smile.

You shot him a stubborn smirk. “This whole thing is a cliché.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Steve said. His arm around you tightened unconsciously. “I’m a Greaser, you’re a Soc-”

“I’m not a Soc,” you snapped.

“Your Socs pals would beg to differ.”

You backed up just enough to look at Steve clearly. Oil stained his white tank top. His hair gleamed due to how much grease he had doused it with. As he intertwined one of his hands with yours, you saw that he’d bitten his nails down to stubs.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you loved him even more for those things.

It was true, you had Soc friends, but you didn’t consider yourself a Soc. Compared to Steve though, you weren’t close to being a Greaser. Half the time you didn’t know what you were.

“Don’t think about them right now,” Steve chuckled. He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Think about me.”

“I’m worried they’ll find out about us,” you thought aloud.

This time it was Steve’s turn to back up. Something like worry flickered in his gaze, although his smile continued to endure. “Do they know you’re . . .”

“Gay?”

Steve ran his thumb over the top of your hand as he spoke. “Yeah. That. Do they know?”

“No. Do your Greaser pals know you’re gay?”

“I’m sure they suspect it. I ain’t that big about ‘coming out’ anyways, though. We have an unwritten rule to accept each other as we are.”

“My pals aren’t like that,” you said slowly.

Steve ran his free hand beneath your chin, raising your gaze to his. “Then let me introduce you to the Greasers. They’ll accept you, especially if they know you’re my boyfriend.”

You tilted your head, trying not to grin too much at the thought of that. “What about my parents? They’d think I was destroying my future. Destroying myself.”

Steve shook his head, leaning close. His lips met yours in a sudden, deep kiss, and when he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Destroy yourself and see who gives a fuck,” you laughed sourly. “Am I right?”

“What?”

“I’m tired of hiding, Steve. I want us to just be open about who we are. I want us to be open about who we love.”

You leaned against his chest, resting your head on his shoulder and smiling wistfully. Your boyfriend looked surprised, as if he hadn’t gauged you saying any of this any time soon. There was a new spark in his eyes and a new tenderness to his movements.

“Let me meet your Greaser pals first. How about we start there?” you offered.

Steve nodded in response, and you didn’t have to look up at him to see that he was now mirroring your smile.

“Does that insinuate that you love me?” he asked abruptly. Unable to help himself, Steve peered down at you just in time to see a blush darkening the color in your cheeks.

“I mean, I didn’t think you’d catch that, but yeah, Steve. I love you.”

He beamed down at you. A touch of shyness altered your expression, but the subtle tone of confidence in your words reassured him.

Steve leaned down, tightening his grip on your hand and pressing his lips to yours.

“Just be careful, okay?”

-

This was your first rumble. The Greasers had adopted you into their gang some months before, and lately the Socs had been bemused with other things, leaving you all not to fret.

Up until now, at least. 

Tensions had been soaring in the past week. David, a boy (who you later found out was claimed by the Socs) who was apt to get his adrenaline pumping but ready to flee when things got bad, had gotten into a scrap with Two-Bit towards the beginning of the week. In the end it almost landed Two-Bit in jail. In your opinion though, it wasn’t all David’s fault. 

Two-Bit was always looking for some excuse to break the law. He shouldn’t have trusted David to be his equal in his latest stealing spree. Because of course that damn Soc had fled the moment the store owner started questioning him. Some Socs were so used to people artlessly being on their sides that they didn’t know how to lie. Especially David. The Soc did something quick-witted instead. He pinned it all on Two-Bit. So when the store owner had reason to dig through Two-Bit’s pockets thanks to David, a rumble was imminent. 

David got away scot-free and Two-Bit narrowly managed to evade with the clothes on his back. How he hadn’t been arrested, you had no idea. David later claimed that it was Two-Bit’s own fault for getting caught, and refused to share the goods he’d lifted. 

Since then the air had grown curdled with hostility, and tonight was the night the Socs and Greasers would settle this issue the only way they knew how.

There was a pit in the middle of the terrain, scorching and smoldering. One of the Greasers had started the fire and you tried not to stare at the lapping flames. Your people were around you, cracking their knuckles and tensing their muscles. Most wore smirks, but a couple like Darry and Ponyboy looked solemn. 

Fights were different than rumbles, you knew this. In rumbles there were rules but things were still perilous. People were steadily fueled by fury rather than spurred by enmity. Their actions had been planned in advance and they knew they had people relying on them to win. Nothing less would be accepted.

The Socs ended up invading your thoughts. They poured in past the tree lines, branches snapping beneath their feet while their snickering kneeled in your ears. After two lines had formed and enough threats were spewed, Darry and another Soc stepped into the middle of the clearing. They were talking in a refined manner, but so many emotions were lingering beneath their voices. Their words flew past you. 

You must’ve looked as dazed as you felt, because Dally’s hand was suddenly on your shoulder and he was peering down at you with a soft expression. You didn’t know he was capable of looking like that. Pity was flaring in his eyes and you felt like a child compared to him. You two were the same age, but vastly different. 

You’d heard rumors about him for years. When you became a Greaser, part of you was supine that most of the rumors were true. With the gang he was threatening. Always showing off was what he did best, whether it was in front of Greasers, Socs, or strangers.

But at times like this, when both of you were fenced in by people but felt as though you were the only two for miles to come, he regarded you in a different light. Almost like Johnny. Yet Dallas Winston was more cautious with you. You two hadn’t grown up together like him and Johnny had. Dally didn’t know everything about you, but he knew enough to want to protect you, it seemed.

“We’re going to win,” you told him. At the sight of your smirk, he smiled.

“Damn right, Y/N.” He cleared his throat, shifting his gaze away from you, scouring the Socs. “I’ve got my eye on you. Holler if you need me.”

“I ain’t weak, Dally.” You glared up at him but the smirk didn’t fade from your lips. “I can hold my own.”

“I know,” Dally said fortuitously. “But you just give me a chance to pummel a Soc and I’ll take it.” His eyes fell back to yours. “You know how much I like fighting, don’t you?”

“I don’t know you that well, but that’s one thing I did pick up pretty quickly.”

Dally’s hand on your shoulder tightened affectionately. “Come time, I want you to learn everything about me.” 

He spoke in a threatening way, his tone low and his words rough around the edges, yet the way he looked at you mirrored none of this. There was a gleam in his eyes and you weren’t sure if it was sparked by the rumble or by you. A frivolous, almost teasing grin flickered in your direction. He winked at you, shaking your shoulder playfully.

“Just be careful, okay?”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing any of the stunts you’re about to pull, Dallas Winston,” you laughed.

“Then you might just make it, Y/N,” Dally insisted. He let go of your shoulder with one final squeeze, then set his gaze ahead of him. His jaw tightened and his arm brushed against yours unconsciously.

When Darry landed the first punch to the Soc he’d been talking to, Dallas let out a whoop and barreled forwards. He dived into the brawl hollering with glee, winking at you one last time before taking on a Soc nearly twice his size.

“When you’re looking at those strangers, I hope to God you see my face.”

(It’s about time I pick this blog back up. This lyric was too good to not use. I hope you all enjoy.)

-

“I’ll have a popcorn and pop, please.”

Your friend Bailey nudged you and raised an eyebrow. “Pop? We’re in Oklahoma, Y/N, not the midwest. Call it soda like the rest of us.”

Despite you two being in the same grade since elementary school, you hadn’t exactly noticed Bailey until you both wound up taking an anatomy class in your senior year. Therefore you couldn’t chide your friend for not knowing how arduous your breakup with Sodapop Curtis had been.

“Alright, alright. Just a popcorn and soda, please,” you chuckled.

The concession booth at the movie theater wasn’t too busy. It was a Tuesday night, bleak and snowy outside, but warm and cozy inside the building. There was a line of people filing into the auditorium your movie was showing in, so you and Bailey stepped into the path.

You had finished all the homework you were capable of completing that afternoon, so when Bailey called and asked if you were down for seeing a movie, you agreed on a dime. For the past couple of weeks you had been shrouded from the world, immersing yourself in academic studies and hobbies that required your full attention. Thinking proved to be too painful lately. Your thoughts always trailed back to Sodapop.

Rather than escaping to the movies to evade what you had been avoiding, your inability to properly function was suddenly staring you dead in the eyes. A heartbeat of realization struck, and you couldn’t seem to find your breath. You tapped Bailey’s shoulder, still staring in Sodapop’s direction. He was already making his way over to you.

“Here, take this.” You handed Bailey your soda and popcorn, willing yourself to force a smile. “I’ll be right back.” Bailey frowned, but ultimately the line shuffled forwards and everyone, including Bailey, receded into the theatre.

“Y/N,” Soda called as he approached you. Feverishness didn’t seem to be striking him the way it was striking you. Red had begun staining your cheeks, you could tell by the warmth that radiated from your face.

“Hey,” you said as you met him. The two of you were posed beside the doorway to the auditorium that your movie was playing in. “You got work off today?”

Soda scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah. Me and some of the guys wanted to catch a film.” There was a pause as he diverted his gaze back to yours. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Likewise,” you responded softly.

A barrier was evident between you and Soda. That was the case after any breakup a couple suffered, but it had never been so painful for you. The two of you could barely look at each other.

“How have you been?” Soda asked, trying to clear his voice of the awkwardness that glinted in it.

“I’ve been fine. How are you, Soda?”

Hearing his name made Sodapop peer at you again. His expression softened. It flickered to the affectionate visage he used to regard you with, but then it was gone.

“I’m . . . fine, too.”

The auditorium began to boom with sound. Your movie was beginning to play, but both you and Soda ignored this.

“I, uh, I miss you, Y/N,” Soda vented.

You didn’t say anything. Making the choice not to speak was just. Fervid words were not worth breaking down and telling him the things that had been echoing on a loop inside your mind since you’d said goodbye.

“I know you probably don’t feel the same. You were the one who broke up with me.” There was a sharp inhale and Soda looked at you with wide, apologetic eyes. “I don’t mean to blame you, I’m just saying - I hope you’re doing well, Y/N. I really do.”

“I miss you too, Soda,” you whispered.

He had to lean in closer to hear you. When he pinpointed what you’d said, a smile started framing his lips. But he didn’t know what else to say. Limitless silence stretched between you two for countless seconds. Soon he crammed his hands in his pockets and let his head bow.

“It’s not the same without you. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I can’t help it. We weren’t even an item for that long.” He looked at you and laughed sadly. At this point he was merely thinking aloud, but he couldn’t stop now. “This ain’t a love story, I know that.” He pointed to the building array of people purchasing movie stubs at the ticket booth. “But when you’re looking at those strangers, I hope to God you see my face.”

“Soda . . .” you murmured. He avoided your gaze. You reached up to touch his cheek.

Stubble was stemming along his jawline. The light in his eyes had been waning for the past few weeks and his lips were chapped. He wasn’t doing good. Was that your fault?

You shook your head, letting your fingers trail over his cheek. He seemed to stiffen and unwind all at the same time under your touch. His eyelids fell and a reticent breath left him. Though he didn’t move any closer.

“I miss you, that’s all I know.”

You nodded your head. You couldn’t tell him that you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t tell him what you wanted to do. It would break him even more. So you stayed silent. And eventually let your hand fall.

Through unyielding stillness, you knew enough time had lapsed. Wordlessly, you two gazed at each other one last time. Soda offered a regretful smile, which you returned.

“I’d better get back to the guys,” he said, stepping backward.

“I should get to the movie,” you agreed.