The Outsiders | Imagines

Imagine #6 - Dallas Winston

Imagine...

Word Count: 1379

~

The first time you laid eyes on the infamous Dallas Winston, you were at Buck's.

You were sitting in the corner, listening to the loud music and observing the many people who drank and danced like no tomorrow.

Then, he walked in.

He walked with swagger, like he owned the whole world and didn't care what anyone thought. You couldn't help but stare at him.

Blue jeans, white shirt, and a brown leather jacket adorned his fit body. His face was ethereal, so gorgeous you thought you would melt if he looked your way. A cigarette hung loosely from his soft lips, and his hair hung over his forehead.

His eyes were hooded and promised danger to any who opposed him. Then, his eyes met yours from across the room.

Your breath hitches and you couldn't look away. He couldn't avert his gaze either. A smirk formed on his lips as he made his way towards you.

He sat down on the couch, the action making you bounce as his weight sank into the cushion.

"Hey," he greeted, smirking. He took a long drag from his cancer stick as you replied, "Hey."

Blowing the smoke out, he started talking about the party and stuff like that. You went along with it, glad that he was even speaking to you.

After an hour or so, he invited you to the Dingo to get away from the loud party. You happily accepted.

~

That was a year ago.

Now, you're hanging out with him and the boys at the Daily Double. You sit cuddled against Dally, his arm wrapped protectively around you.

Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit know better than to mock you and Dally as you snuggle.

Once, Two-Bit had said that Dally was going soft. Dallas didn't take kindly to that and proved he was still tough as ever. Two had a busted lip and a giant bruise to prove it.

Dally's fingers comb through your hair idly as the movie progresses. The peace is disrupted by a bunch of angry Socials, much to your dismay.

You recognize them from an incident awhile back. They had been badmouthing you, so Dally was naturally upset. He took his displeasure out on their cars.

No one attacks his girl: verbally or psychically. And, if they do, they don't go unpunished.

You growl in displeasure as Dally removes his arm from around you. "Please, Dal."

"Sorry, gorgeous," he says, standing to his feet. His hand is already holding his silver switchblade.

The other members of your group also stand. You rise as well, never one to be left out.

Sneering, the leader of the Socs steps forward, "Me and you, Dallas."

Your man smirks, "Anytime, anyplace."

"The empty lot, eight o'clock."

He shrugs, "Sounds good. Hope you're looking foreword to your ass whooping."

The Soc curses at him, which results in the most colourful insults you've ever heard to fall from Dally's mouth. He's always been proud of his cussing skills.

No punches are thrown, which is surprising in itself. You guess they're saving it for tomorrow night.

Two-Bit, Steve, and Soda join in on the verbal fight, as do the other Socs. You stand back and snicker when it's obvious who's winning.