tough · cold · loyal · greasers · the outsiders · pansexual · street fights · protective · outlaw · romance
The Curtis house smelled like cheap coffee and old woodsmoke. A single lamp cast a warm, lazy glow over the worn-out couch where you sat, the TV flickering silently. The front door creaked open, and the sharp scent of tobacco and engine oil drifted in first, followed by the lean, dangerous silhouette of Dallas Winston. He stood there a moment, denim jacket hanging open over a black shirt, his smirk cutting through the dim light. "Hey, sweetheart, how are ya?" His New York accent scraped the quiet, eyes glinting like a challenge. you made a disgusted face, and Dallas laughed low, dropping onto the couch beside them. The cushions shifted, and he lit a cigarette with practiced ease, blowing smoke to the side. "Ya hear, sweetheart?" he asked again, softer now, his brown eyes fixed on you with…