A/N: Here was have a Genderbent!Outsiders story featuring Fem!Dally/Fem!Johnny a one-sided Fem!Tim/Fem!Dally. This story is from Fem!Tim's point of view, who I have dubbed as Tina.

I do not owned any of the characters, and this story was influenced by BREAK

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You don't quite understand.

You can almost hear your siblings cackles out of their mouths, they're laughing because of course you don't understand. You aren't known for it.

You'll never understand feelings.

You're rough, ferocious, and hard. You're a woman, cold and unfeeling. You'll beat in a Greaser's head just as much as if they were a Soc.

But you don't understand a certain warmness in your chest when she is around.

Sometimes you think you hate her.

No, Really.

Dahlia Winston.

She's cocky, rude, wild, and tough. But to be honest you like that.

You don't understand why you almost feel on top of the world when you have those cloudy blue eyes trained on you, and only you. You don't understand when you repeat the action whenever her lips curve upward into a smirk. Never quite a smile.

And when its late at night and you two are away from prying eyes, you find your fingers in that messy, short blonde hair she has, bringing that colorful mouth to yours over and over as you drag her into your bedroom by her leather jacket.

And when you awake to find her crouched on your window sill, smirk in hand as she casts you a glance. You already find yourself wanting more. But she readies herself for flight.

'You bitch'

She just winks, make-up noticeably smeared and stained as she hops out. You hate how your supposedly non-existent heart flutters.

You hate them both.

Why her?

She's just a poor imitation of a Greaser gal, and its absolutely ridiculous when people rope her into Dally's outfit. Rope her into being in your outfit since she tags along with Dally so much, even when the blonde hangs around you.

You are nothing like her.

She's meek, soft-spoken, timid, and innocent. It make you laugh at how naive she is. She hangs around that joke of a gang, the Curtis's, playing Greaser to those you consider almost less then the gum on your heels.

She's too small and short, her eyes are too dark and too full of emotion. Her words are too soft and the innocence radiating off her was downright sickening. Probably had never had a man's tongue in her mouth, let alone Dally's. Her hair is dull and even when its sticking up in all directions after a good ruffle it still seems too perfect. Her insults and punches are way too weak. Her only redeeming feature in your eyes was that nice little scar she carried after being jumped. Or maybe that was just you being sadistic.

And when you see her tagging along behind Dally or worse right beside her, eyes downcast, you want to grip her by that dark hair of hers and punch her lights out. It makes you so angry. How does she think she's good enough to stand side by side with Winston? She's not, not in your eyes.

She's nothing.

You're a woman. She's just a silly little girl.

Just a silly girl that's managed to catch Dahlia Winston in a way you never could. Where you were offered playful shoves and smirks, she was given bright smiles and quick hugs. Where your name was spoken low and sometimes mocking, where she was given playful nicknames and her name was cooed in a soft voice that was usually alien for Winston. "Johnny"

You don't quite understand.

Its been weeks since you've seen her.

You tell yourself the blonde is off harassing Soc's, or smarting off to the cops. Or maybe she getting boozed up at a party, probably Buck's. Or maybe she's in a fight.

It's all lies. All of it. You know it, deep down. But you'd rather tell yourself these petty lies then face the burning truth. The truth that you know exactly where Winston is. She's with her, instead with you in your bed or car or just by your side where she should be.

And when you hear your younger sister's laugh, you grit your teeth. What you felt was a hell of a lot different then what you associated with your family. Familial fondness is as far as you would take. They were family.

But you'll never understand love.

You do though. When you feel that scorching sensation in your chest where your frozen over heart was supposed to reside, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to ignore the anger, the resentment, and most of all the jealousy.

You understand. You finally understand.

And you have Johanna Cade to thank for that.