— REAL SWEET (but i wish you were sober!)
…IN WHICH—reader tells the greasers the things they want to hear. if only they were sober. (Greasers: J.C, D.W, PB.C, SP.C, D.C.)
tags/warnings: gn!reader, reader is depicted either high or drunk, reader is toxic, greaser(s) miss reader/miss the familiarity of reader, angsty, story-focused, rather long.
ೃauthor notes⁀➷ red flag!reader, oh how you will always mean so much to me! this was supposed to be posted in august LMFAO
dallas winston
he should’ve never picked up that call.
if he knew that it was you calling him from a payphone, so drunk that you didn’t even know your own name, he would’ve let that phone ring.
“dally? oh, dally. i-i’m scared, i dunno where i am. it’s dark an-and i miss you.”
you slurred your words accidentally, trying to act sober in hopes that it would incline him to come and pick you up more.
“y/n, i’m busy. take this shit up with someone else.”
“dally-“
“dallas.”
he corrected you with a stern tone. he wasn’t your dally and he hadn’t been for a long time. not since your break-up. you hadn’t been his baby and he hadn’t been your dally.
“dallas, please. come and get me. i-i’m by the old gas station. please,”
you pleaded some more, no longer hiding the desperation in your voice.
the screeching from the other line was deafening. dally—dallas, had hung up on you.
wearing thin pants at a night like this, during the cold oklahoma fall, was stupid of you. it only hit you when you sat on the curb, the cold concrete hitting you like a truck.
it sobered you up; only for a second. then, just as before, it was back to every wind that rustled past, every slight movement you made was met with a familiar dizziness.
dallas kept on muttering to himself as he drove to the gas station. “can’t believe i’m doing this, man,” “they’re drunk outta their mind,” “they’re using me. it’s clear as day.”
he saw you sitting on the curb, the gas station lights illuminating your figure in the dark night. you were tightly hugging your knees to your chest, covering your face from the wind.
dally chuckled as you jumped from him honking the horn of the curtis’ ford. he leaned out the open window, not hiding the sheer annoyance he felt.
“hurry up! i got shit to do!”
watching you stumble to the truck made him feel bad for you. it’s been awhile since you’ve been this drunk. and you smelled disgusting when you got into the truck.
he rolled all the windows down.
“god, dallas. you’re so good to me—i dunno why i left you. i miss you, y’know?”
you rambled, tears already forming as you spoke. never were an emotional drunk until now.
dallas’ knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel harder, holding back from snapping at you.
‘if you missed me so goddamn bad, why is this the first fucking phone call i’m getting?!’ he thought, wishing he had the guts to shout it at you.
“you were s-so nice to me. so handsome, so funny. i’m such a fucking idiot..”
“where you goin’?”
dallas cut off your sobbing with a question, trying to stop himself from either yelling or crying.
he didn’t know why he was like this when it came to you. he hated it, almost as much as he hated you.
“home.”
you mustered between hyperventilating, tears streaming down your cheeks. you didn’t know where home was anymore since you drank yourself silly.
you two drove in silence for the rest of the ride. it was only until he pulled into the driveway did you speak again,*
“i still love you.”
god, dally wished his baby was sober.
johnny cade
“y/n, i thought you quit smokin’ mary jane.”
“i dunno where you heard that from.”
you giggled, too high to realize the seriousness of the situation.
crossing paths with you after the break up you had was unfortunate. smoking by yourself in the lot where you two hung out before was even more unfortunate.
johnny getting caught trying to go to your guy’s spot was the most unfortunate. he smelled the weed on your clothes, he seen the stub of the joint on the ground, and he seen your eyes that were red and tired.
he wished he could’ve said no when you patted the spot beside you, telling him to sit down.
“isn’t it funny that-that we meet here? i mean, accidentally, of course. unless..?”
johnny hated that you were joking with him. he knew that it could never go back to the normal bickering you two had.
“i just wanted to clear my mind.”
“yeah, me too.”
you mumbled, finding yourself in a trance with how your hair felt between your finger tips. you missed this feeling.
“is that why you started smoking again?”
the dark haired boy asked, only now realizing that he was asking too many question, getting too comfortable with you again.
god, what the hell was wrong with him?
“no.”
“then why?”
johnny couldn’t help himself from asking.
“i missed you too much. my..my mind was jus’ racing n’ racing with you. i needed to smoke.”
you admitted, dragging out the sentence for longer than it had to be.
that’s how johnny knew it wasn’t you talking anymore. the weed took over your brain, it took over your senses, it took over your mouth—it took over you.
he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to hear those words, though.
johnny just wished you were sober when you said it.
ponyboy curtis
“why’re you here, y/n?”
“why are you here, ponyboy?”
the alcohol on your breath reeked. the way you slurred your words made him cringe.
he hated you when you were drunk. pony hated it so much to the point where you stopped drinking all together.
you were clearly back into the habit now. he scoffed, wishing he hadn’t come out of the house party to sit outside. if he knew you were on the steps too, he’d have done a u-turn.
too late, though. you seen him and ponyboy couldn’t hold back a sarcastic comment.
“my friends are here.”
“you got friends?”
“yes.”
you chuckled at his answer. despite the alcohol in your system, you laugh reminded him of the good times; when you were sober.
“i thought you quit.”
ponyboy kicked the red solo cup beside you, watching it roll down the steps.
“nope.”
you replied, popping the ‘p’ in the word. he scoffed, walking to sit beside you. the steps creaked as he sat down.
your movements were slowed as you turned your head to face him, your chin in the palm of your hands as the other gripped a half-full cup tightly.
it was an awkward several minutes of you borderline admiring him while he looked up at the stars in the sky.
after awhile, he finally snapped and asked you in an agitated tone,
“why are you looking at me?”
“i miss you, y’know. i’m sorry.”
ponyboy paused, feeling like a little kid again. only for a second, however. then the irritation came back.
why can’t you say this sober? pony would’ve done anything to hear you say that sober.
sodapop curtis
“you’re gonna get yourself killed if you keep wandering off,”
he warned as he held your wrist tightly, pulling you away from the road. even when you were tipsy, you stumbled over your feet.
being blackout drunk, however, made it hard for you to even process that you had legs attached to your body. you walked like a rag doll.
“sorry..”
“i don’t want ‘sorry’s, y/n.”
“i’m sorry.”
sodapop doesn’t even know why he bothered. you wouldn’t take in anything he told you.
he was walking you home. you were so drunk at the party steve dragged him to, he had to make sure you were good.
even if it meant walking your ex home at midnight.
“you smell nice, soda.”
“thank you,”
he mumbled in response, keeping his head straight forward. if he looked back at you, he didn’t trust himself to not cry or engulf you in a hug.
sodapop hated the way you two ended things, but he hated the relationship more.
as you two neared your house, he seen your porch light on and audible sighed. at least someone was home to care for you in this state.
“i’m so, so sorry, soda. i’m such a fucking idiot-”
“no, you aren’t.”
“yes, i am. i lost you.”
tears brimmed in your eyes as you thought back to your mistakes, the vodka making your emotions 10x stronger. the alcohol made you say stuff you didn’t mean or believe.
and soda knew that.
an apology was all he wanted. but, he wished you were sober to tell him that.
darry curtis
“you should know better by now.”
“i’m a grown woman, darry.”
he knew that. he seen the joint between your fingers as you sat out on your steps. he was scolding you like he was your boyfriend again.
“that doesn’t mean your lungs won’t be effected.”
it felt nice to be taken care of again. you missed darry.
“i miss you, dare.”
“no, you don’t.”
he replied sternly. he was, also, a grown man. he knew damn well that it wasn’t your actual feelings.
darry was the first person to call you out on your bullshit; always.
“i’m sorry,”
“be better, y/n.”
darry had to walk off before he did something stupid. he had to before he started to console you, before he started to treat you like a girlfriend again.
hearing you apologize, hearing you say you miss him wasn’t what he needed.
but god, he wanted you to be sober when you said those words so bad.
