I like to write a lot, and this is my main account where I'll write for The Outsiders! Darry is my favorite, so I write him a lot, but don't be shy to send in a request! (They motivate me to write more)
I will try to post as frequently as possible, but I have many things to maintain so no promises! Go give my side blogs a read if you're interested (@paperstreetghost and @kissesforkent) <3
I write for all the greasers, the Socs are a lot harder for me, and I prefer to write in the 60s, not for the future. I write for other S.E Hinton verse characters; just ask!
I hope you enjoy and don't be scared to give me requests!
Summary - Darry has always been quiet his whole life, but he shows love through little letters of appreciation to make up for it.
Warnings - Making out, Getting caught by Ponyboy, suggestive, poorly written | WC: 1315
AN - Hi guys, I finally did it... sorry!! I can't promise consistency, but def more fics. Idk, I feel like The Outsiders fandom is flopping, especially for fanfiction, so my motivation is low. Not proofread but enjoy!
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Darrel Curtis had never said much. He was well-loved, had lots of friends and used his head right, but he was quiet. At practice he kept his head down and listened to everything the coach had to say, his teachers left good remarks on him, hence the ‘Boy of the Year’ award at school. While his friends talked, he listened. On dates, he listened. To you, he listened.
This didn’t change when he got older, after graduation and time for him to be out in the world. His boss always gave him good recommendations. He used his head and that was all you could ask for from a worker.
Through his hard work he was reconnected with you, an old friend in high school he had the hots for since… like, forever. When helping work in your parents room you kindly brought lemonade for his crew. He ended up asking you to dinner to catch up. It ended in laughter and a good car make-out before sending you into your parents house. Your parents hadn’t seen you that giddy in a long time.
Soon it was dating, small handholds, kissing on his arm chair and reading the paper. It had become his favorite part of the day. His empty lap pained him, and when you climbed onto him, he felt at home—complete. You would talk about work, friends, and money. Darry would just listen, he never had much to say. He would give a nod of understanding and acknowledgement before giving some kind of advice.
His love really came through in writing. Maybe he couldn’t say it so well out loud but when he packed you a lunch in the morning, he’d always tuck a little note in. It would compliment your hair, or your heart, whatever one came to mind first. It was a little cheesy, but it made your heart melt nonetheless.
“Have a good day at work, I think you look gorgeous..” he wrote in his neat scrawl, the letters straying off an imaginary line. He tucked it into a bag for you and handed it to you with a grin. Kissing your forehead, the sound of the smooch filling the room.
When you open it at your work stand, reading it with a small smile. You could imagine him in the kitchen, ears red and writing quickly to not get caught by his little brothers. They knew he loved you but he was easily humiliated by their teasing. Darry wanted you to feel appreciated, since you worked so hard everyday for a future with him.
It’s what keeps your romance alive. It was hard between long shifts at work, where every minute ticked by slower when working on a roof, or when you were putting in countless hours at the grocery stores. Not to mention cleaning the house, and taking care of his little brothers. It took a toll on your time together, isolated you and Darry. The notes made it feel real, made you remember that you two were fighting for something bigger.
“I miss you, and I love you,” he wrote today, you smiled, tucking it into your pocket, saving it for your keep-sake drawer at home. A petite little box, tucked into your nightstand that you could pull out anytime you had a bad day. That night you got home late, Darry was doing the dishes. You could hear the clatter of forks and knives being dropped into the metal tub of the sink. You strolled into the kitchen, his back rippling in his dirty tank top as he scrubbed the dishes thoroughly, humming to himself.
You wrapped your arms around him from behind, he jumped quickly, caught by surprise. “Gotta warn a guy…” he grumbles, shutting off the ink, setting a soapy plate back in. He had the dim overhead light on, the deep orange produced didn’t do much but was relaxing. Darry put his hands on your hips, watching you grin at his reaction. “Sorry, just excited to see you,” you tease, extending to your tiptoes and planting a kiss on his lips. He reciprocates, a gentle kiss to your soft lips, his overgrown stubble scratching your skin. “How was work?” you asked at the same time, making you both laugh. You watched his green-blue eyes look into yours, he wanted you to go first, he always did. “It was long but I made some money, my boss offered me a full-time job of serving at the diner, so I may go to half-time on the grocery store,” you explained before looking up to him. He nodded along, listening intently.
“Good, I think you should take it. Get some extra tip money,” he comments, taking a deep inhale, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your sides through your shirt. “I got home early, got to play some football with the boys. Just been waiting for you to get home since.” You looked up at him, and could see the dirt smeared on his cheek from playing with the boys. They always fought dirty, tackling their older brother since he was so much bigger than both of them. “Oh good, I’m sure they were really happy. Ponyboy misses hanging out with you, he mentioned it. Kind of,” you conversated back, trying to ignore the tired ache that had settled into your bones. You could tell Darry was struggling to, the bags under his eyes more prominent than usual. Neither of you had been getting good sleep because the AC had broken, making it too hot for anything.
He shrugs, “I miss him too.” Darry dipped his head down, kissing your jaw now. Your hands travelled down his back, his lips mapping your body like a professional. He knew every dip and crevice of your skin like the back of his hand. A small groan left him, peppering kisses back up to your lips. “Dar…” you mumbles quietly when he pulls away, the loss of contact making you feel cold. “I need you, I miss you so much.”
Despite being right next to you, cuddled you in bed, leaned with you on the porch, or cooked side by side the kitchen. He never really had you. Never got to have his way with you. Now in the tranquility of the house, where no one was causing chaos or talking, he hoisted you up onto the counter. Darry’s hands went up your shirt, pressing open mouthed kisses to his collarbones. “I got you, sweetheart,” he reassured. Your hands quickly went to his belt, unfastening it with as much efficiency as possible considering your shaky, needy hands. Finally you had him just how you wanted him. And vice versa.
Just as you slid off the counter, falling to your knees and his belt opening, allowing you access to his body, a small noise came from the door frame. “Ahem…” Darry froze and you shot up from your knees, fumbling against Darry. He looked mortified, his ears burning red. Ponyboy was staring back, hair messed up and his eyes tired. “Sorry to interrupt. I was getting water…” he mumbles quickly shuffling by. You noticed now that his ears were also burning red; it ran in the family.
You swallow hard, scurrying you and Darry’s shared bedroom to hide away. Now you had no shot with Darry, not tonight for sure. You flop onto your bed with a groan, this living situation was gonna kill you. He climbed into bed not long after, saying nothing, you could tell Darry was just embarrassed.
The next morning he left early for work, long before you were awake. On your dresser was a small packed lunch, and upon opening it on lunch break that day, a small paper fell out.
“Tonight we’ll have it our way, nothing to stop us. Promise, sweetheart.” You choked on your sandwich, now it was your turn to be flustered.
Hi blog I’m so sorry, I’ve just really been working in my Clark Kent blog and I’ve been building a good platform there, I’ll write and get fics out shortly 🤍 I miss you all, this isn’t the end of this blog just my attention splitting to both I hope.
loving your FICS! Was hoping you would maybe a Dallas Winston and a Sodapop one (doesn’t have to be both) fluff or angst. Thank you!!!
Vampire Empire (Angst!) - DW x Reader
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Summary - Dallas Winston was mean, and you were no exception.
Warnings - Angsty and mentions of toxic/draining relationship, mentions of SH
MY PICTURES ARE BEING DUMB ON COMPUTER SORRY
AN - Sorry guys, got too focused on Superman... (@kissesforkent in case ur curious) So here is a fic! I never write for Dallas, so I am today; hopefully he doesn't get flagged. Kinda gave up sorry... Enjoy, and guys, look at my pretty new theme!
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Dally didn’t traditionally show love. He never would. He had a rough upbringing, where no warmth was welcome for him. He spent lonely nights wandering the dark alleys of New York, the ones that had overflowing garbage, blood stains on the bricks, and, scariest of all—gangs that were ready to pounce on any kid who walked by.
Dally clung to a gang in the hope of protection, as he was one of those wandering kids. He had nowhere else to go—a mother who died and a father who didn’t give a hang if he were alive or dead. So he tried to fit in elsewhere, even if you didn’t want to tangle with them.
He couldn’t get hurt if no one wanted to be around him, right?
The cold outlook on life sprouted from this gang; he learned how to smoke cigarettes, steal, block out feelings, and drink so hard you didn’t have to think. He was far too young to learn it, but he did.
After a particularly bad robbery, his gang was front and center in the New York Times. He knew he had to leave. Only 15 at the time, but he scrounged together loose change and took the subway as far as he could. After that, it was hitching rides from strangers and buses, landing him right in Tulsa. Sure, it had gangs too, but nothing like New York. He slotted himself right into the Curtis gang. They weren’t really a gang, just a greasy group of friends who stuck together.
They all took care of each other, and had known each other since they were kids. Despite being a newcomer, he had plenty of respect. Maybe it was the tense set of his jaw or the glint of evil in his eyes—or maybe the sad truth of how rough life was on him at an age far too young. Sure, these boys stole, they lied, they got hauled into the station sometimes, but never had they been wrapped up in a murder case, or carried guns on them. It just wasn’t Tulsa.
Dallas found this particularly relaxing. No real trouble. Just trouble he made himself. The record didn’t stop in Tulsa by any means; he created his own trouble. It gave him a sharp thrill that nothing else could give him. It was all harmless, of course—30 days in jail, a week in Juvy, another charge on his name. Nothing he wasn’t used to.
He wasn’t much interested in girls. I mean, he was, he was only a teenage boy after all. Freshly 17 and in the prime of his life, but he didn’t want to deal with the relationship part. He wasn’t good at it. He didn’t have the capacity to be what a girl wanted. Dallas had never once been taught how to be nice, how to open doors and pull out chairs for a girl, or to tell them their hair looked nice and give them sweet kisses.
Who would’ve been able to? It’s not like his older friends in New York set a good example; they were all in it for pleasure, and the girls they hung around were too. They were all loud, cussed too much, and caked on so much makeup you’d think they were hiding something horrendous. He didn’t know what a classy girl was, and he certainly didn’t know how to treat them like they were classy.
This didn’t change when he met you. You both had hit it off well, meeting at one of Buck’s dingy parties that was tinted by dim light and hazed with cigarette smoke. Dallas swore you could get contact high with how much smoke passed around that place. The windows did nothing to filter it out. Buck didn’t seem to mind, so Dallas never complained. Buck let him stay in a room upstairs; in exchange, he cleaned up the bar occasionally and worked in his stables. Just while he found something more permanent.
He saw you sitting at the bar, tapping your shoulder and giving you an easy grin. Of course, it ended in his bedroom. But the next morning, he found himself still intrigued. From his bed, Dallas watched you collect your clothes, slipping them on and smiling at him before you left. Your number sat in nice writing on his dresser. He called. Again and again. It wasn’t like he was lovey-dovey; it was questions about when he could see you next and getting to know you.
When you finally started to date, it all went downhill; the chase of being together was over. It quickly turned to stubbornness and toxicity that radiated off both of you. One day he’d be all over you, and the next he’d want nothing to do with you.
After a late night of talking, the next morning he was cold. He smoked a cigarette in bed, you lying beside him. You sat up, wafting the stink away, adding a cough. You scowled at him. “Dallas? Are you trying to smoke me out?” you asked, half-joking. You slipped out of bed, grabbing your water left on the dresser, taking soft sips of it until the glass was drained. “Maybe I am, tired of you,” he grumbled, his eyes locked onto the textures of the ceiling. Quickly, you whipped around, your hair hitting you in the face.
“You heard me,” Dallas doubled down, taking a long drag. This could be blamed on many things: he was avoidant, had no consistent figure in his life, or had no guidance. But of course, he never opened up and told you any of that, so you assumed he was just plain mean. And boy, were you tired of it. “You're such an asshole,” you grumbled, getting your socks and shoes on quickly. The light sound of your footsteps padding across the room made his nerves spike. He wanted you to leave; he needed you out. Dallas was tired of you hanging off of him, and he just didn’t know why.
When you finally left, he soured. His gut churned as realization hit. The love he felt for you was deep and very real, but he would never admit it. Never. It was embarrassing, and that solidified in New York. None of those guys told their girls that he loved them. Just kissed them—and that always seemed to be enough. Why wasn’t it enough for you? Why did you need all the stupid reassurance? It made him grit his teeth and his muscles tense. The gang was always talking about him holding onto you. Steve would say, “Count your blessings, Dallas. A girl like her will never tangle with you again. You got lucky.” That night, Dally had considered breaking his arm.
Irritably, he crushed the red hot ember of his cigarette into the skin of his arm, it littered with the rest of the small circular scars. He couldn’t help it; it was relieving sometimes, just like a fight was.
The next time he saw you, Dallas gave you a half-assed apology and a kiss. “I’m sorry, doll,” he muttered under his breath, holding your hips as he nuzzled into your neck, leaving a few kisses. You didn’t seem happy with him, but still accepted this apology, in hopes things would go smoothly again. Until they didn’t.
A few rumors spread that Dallas was sleeping with some other girl behind your back—it wasn’t true, but it had you fuming.
The rain dumped outside as you ran quickly to Buck’s. The glowing neon sign that signaled them ‘Open’ reflected off the heavy puddles on the ground. Your jacket hardly dulled the cold, biting ache of rain, A feeling that you got from Dallas too. You had to confront him, or you were going to lose your mind, and yourself. Letting a boy destroy you was something you had no tolerance for. You snuck into the back door of Buck’s, quickly slipping up the stairs, just as you had done so many times. You didn’t want to talk or see a familiar face—especially not now when rage was burning hot in the coil of your stomach, ready to let loose on Dallas.
You swung the door open with no warning, making him jump. Surprisingly, he was reading a book of some sort. Nothing popular, but on the shelves. “Dallas Winston, I am so sick of your shit! I’m so done with you, give me all my shit so I can get the hell away from you!” you yell, your heart beating in your ears. Immediately, his anger was rising; he slammed his book shut, setting it on his nightstand. Gladly. He would do this gladly.
He opened his drawers, throwing a shirt or a bra, sometimes a sock, at you as you talked, or… yelled. “Do you even get it? You turn me inside out and then walk the outside in! You ask for kisses, then you tell me to get away from you! You spin me all around, and then you ask me not to spin! It’s like you hate every little thing I do. Why are you even with me?” Dally just shook his head. “Can you be quiet? I don’t want everyone hearing your loud mouth,” he grumbled, watching your hands ball up into fists.
“I’m not gonna be quiet. I hope this whole place knows just how shitty of a person you are! You are so selfish and only want love on your own accord,” you gritted out, lowering your voice. Dallas just blinked at you, handing you a picture frame you got him. The base picture hadn’t been replaced. He didn’t care too. “Sorry I don’t fit into your picture-perfect boyfriend requirements,” he bit out, his tone more harsh than anything. You crossed your arms, your hair still dripping onto his carpet; he tossed you a towel as well.
Out of anger, you tossed it back at him. “I don’t want your stupid towel; fighting with you is like talking to a wall. It’s like trying to start a fire with matches in the snow. Useless. You sit there so smug, and I hate it!” Dallas just frowned, taking the towel back, tossing it into the messy pile of clothes already on his floor. He remembered when his mom and dad fought like this, right before she was diagnosed with a sickness that withered her away until she was gone. Taking away his only stable relationship in the world. “I just don’t care! Don’t you get it! Get out of my room, I don’t want to see you again,” Dallas demanded, ushering you out. He didn’t want you to go that bad, but your screaming made his aching head hurt. He didn’t bother to soothe the aches of it anymore, or to find the source of the problem. “I have a headache, just go,” he said, his tone softer, almost pitiful.
You sat there, mouth agape. “Right! Your head hurts, and suddenly I’m the bad guy! You’re just a kid who doesn’t know how to hold onto anything good. Right?” When he didn’t fight back, your anger started fading. Was your practically emotionless boyfriend expressing feelings?
“Dally, I’m sorry…” you said quietly, going for his arm. Flipping like a switch. Suddenly you felt bad for yelling, even if he deserved it, after making you feel like shit for a long time. He just shook his head, “I don’t care. I think… we should stay away from each other. You know how I am.” This sudden seriousness from Dally scared you. He was filled with so much thrill from his toxic ego and felt nothing all at the same time; he was numb in the quiet. You had failed to realize that since he put up a good front.
But in his eyes, you could see the lack of sparkle and the dull spirit that you could only get from experiencing the world in the meanest way possible.
Summary - Clark Kent gets too distracted with you and nearly burns your apartment down
Warnings - Suggestive content
AN - First post, who's excited?
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Clark Kent was a sweet little farm boy in the big city. You had fallen in love with him the minute he sat at his desk at the Daily Planet.
Seeing his big glasses slide down his nose when he got particularly focused, and the curls spilling over his forehead drove you crazy.
That little nervous stutter that came out or how he said “Golly!” made you giggle. He was clumsy, and he always played with his hands nervously when he talked.
He wasn’t the best with pretty girls, because he didn’t think about girls much. Clark had the city in his mind more often than not.
But he couldn’t help but indulge in the feeling you gave him, the way his heart raced every time you laughed at his jokes, or complimented his reports.
He had memorized your coffee order within a week, bringing you coffee every morning since you were always in too much of a hustle to get your own.
Thank god he worked up the nerve to ask you on a date, leading to your dating.
It was peaceful; when he wasn’t working (or saving the world), he was at your apartment on the 10th floor. He was making you dinner in his tight dress pants and his slightly undone dress shirt that showed off his back and broad shoulders just right.
Sometimes he’d even wear your apron that made him more attractive if that was possible.
You would sit and watch him while talking about work.
“How was work, Clark?” you asked quietly, flipping through a magazine at the bar.
He hums slightly before looking over at you. Tonight he wore his apron, and his glasses were fogged up. “It was good, I got my interview with Superman out on the front page today,” he said.
You gave a small nod, looking up from your magazine and at his face. “You can’t keep interviewing yourself, Clark. You know how dangerous it could be. If people find out who you are, you can’t live a normal life like you are right now…” you sigh.
“And trust me, I like having you in my kitchen.” You added quickly, standing up.
He turned from stirring his sauce to look down at you. His hand went to your chin as you got close enough. “You don’t have to worry about me, sweetheart. I have a pretty good disguise,” he gave a dorky grin that made you laugh.
“Glasses aren’t the best disguise, especially since they’re so easy to take off,” you pointed out. You reached up and took his glasses, then wiped them on your shirt. Slowly you slid them back onto his face.
He dips down and gives you a kiss, his hands resting on your hips. “Well, no one will be close enough to take them off now, will they? Only you,” his stubble scratched the delicate skin of your neck, and he started to nibble at the soft patch of skin that made you fold for him.
Your bones nearly ignite, and that familiar pit grows in your stomach. Why did he have to be such a big, geeky teddy bear? His kiss was rarely filled with hunger, even at the most intimate times.
Your hand went down to his ass; it was strong and built with purely muscle from his Kryptonian genes, you figured. “What the hey! Keep your hands off my… rear!”
Laughter erupted from you when he said rear; Clark always avoided bad words. It was silly but endearing. “What’s so funny?” he asked, cluelessly. He tilted his head side to side as Krypto did.
“Just you, Clark. You are too sweet for your own good,” you replied, a hand going up to tangle in the curls of his hair. He leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Ma and pa always said I have to be gentle with my lady,” he said matter-of-factly, pushing his glasses up with his finger. You giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
The giggle was like music to his super-hearing; just the sound alone blocks out all the chaos of the city below you.
The noise grew too much sometimes, despite dealing with it his whole life.
His arms were fully around you now; he hoisted you up onto the counter, your rear resting on the cool wood of your panels. “I would say they did a pretty good job,” you said, your eyes locking into the deep blue of his.
His eyes were an unimaginable blue, hence his alien DNA, but it was like getting lost in the ocean. So calming and gentle, there wasn’t a single evil bone in his body.
His lips tentatively found yours, your lips tangling quickly. He held you steady on the counter, opening his mouth enough to let you in.
The making out was slowly getting heated as his hands explored your body and he started to make little sounds that drove you crazy. Each one whinier than the last.
He groaned your name into the kiss before the smell of smoke hit his heightened senses before your own. “Golly!” he yelped, letting go and rushing to his saucepan and the oven. He opened the oven, grabbing the charred bread with his hands.
Flames roared from it, and he cooled the roll with his freeze breath. Before casting you a nervous glance over his shoulder. Clarks glasses crooked, and his hair all mussed up.
Only Clark could jump back into action after a kiss like that. That smile made you melt more as you fixed your shirt and skirt, still in work attire. Then moving to fluff up your hair after his traveling hands messed it up.
“Maybe I should focus on dinner so I don’t have to save this whole building tonight…” he said, wiping his brow and undoing the top buttons of his shirt that felt suffocating. He started to stir the sauce with care.
He used his x-ray vision to look for the spices he needed.
You looked at him wide-eyed. “You are an evil, evil man, Kent,” you mumbled under your breath as you hopped off the counter to go change.
He still heard you, of course, a proud smile spreading across his face. “Later! I promise! I'll take good care of you!'
Sea Tramp Jamie Sommers meets Vampire Bite Jamie Sommers and the former is like "so did we go broke or" and the latter is like "No :) worse :))"
(i'm sorry I know hawkes harbor sucks)
LMAOO YES (and NEVER apologize for Hawkes Harbor. We love it.)
For my 1 Hawkes Harbor fan
Jamie dreamed often in Hawkes Harbor, he couldn’t keep them away. Sometimes it was dreams of Grenvilles teeth sinking into the flesh of his neck and sucking all of the blood out of him.
Tonight he was in the sea, his body submerged up to his hips. He waded in deeper. He wore a t-shirt and shorts that Grenville would never let him wear.
A big wooden ship began to slowly drift towards h im, he knew all too well. Jamie was dreaming of himself; he saw his smiling face up on the boat. That young version of himself was beaming as he soaked in every ray of sun like a full-time job. He heard Kellen Quinn's voice, telling a story dramatically.
The Sea Tramp Jamie peeks his head overboard, giving a small grin. Vampire Bite Jamie looks nearly dead inside, his eyes sunken in. He remembered when he had looked that handsome. "You look like shit!" he yelled over the edge.
Jamie just looked up, the young blonde boy on the boat felt like lifetimes ago. "Any advice?" he yells down at the tired, tired Jamie.
"Stay far away from Delaware!" He shouts before being shaken from his dream. The night tremors had coaxed him out of it, leaving him to sit in the cold bedroom of his in Hawkes Hall, where Grenville could read his every thought.
Warnings: Mentions of bad home life, struggle and sadness!
AN: thank you so much for ONE HUNDRED followers (Shoutout to my first follower @carolines-cat-420 <3, ur an og fr)!! Enjoy this little angsty piece based off the song "Avoidant" by Melanie Martinez! (2.4k words)
Steve had followed an imaginary set of rules his whole life. You don’t let anyone in, and you don’t get hurt. If you keep letting the world in, it will just chew you up nd spit you again and again. He had learned this from his rocky relationship with his parents.
He never knew his mom; she had left early in his life, while his dad and him butt heads all the time. It was always about his school, his job, his friends, money, his attitude. Steve couldn’t stand it. So he avoided home as much as he could.
Steve learned to stitch his lips until nothing personal slipped. That push and pull of stupid arguments wasn’t worth it. He came off as angry when he was just trying to protect himself. Sodapop had noticed it; sometimes he thought maybe Two-Bit had too.
That every time it got too late and the conversations got deeper—Steve was gone. He would shut down, or tell a stupid joke to avoid the real stuff. He thought that Sodapop was too emotional, and that’s why he always got hurt.
Today he sat behind the counter at the DX; Sodapop was restocking the freezer while whistling to himself. Steve had come to terms with it, it stopped him from thinking too hard. “You know that girl that came in was giving you ‘the eyes’, you know her?” Sodapop said casually, shooting him a big grin.
Steve grunted as he started to wipe down behind the desk. Girls always paid attention to Soda. Rarely to him. “Still recovering from Evie? What even happened between you guys anyway? You never bothered telling me…” Soda mumbled under his breath, his grin fading.
Silence fell between them both, Steve’s ears burning red. Evie had broken up with him, told him he was too mean. Too angry. Too private. He never opened up to her and suppressed everything, even silly arguments that later blew up in her face. Steve hadn’t mentioned it; he was embarrassed. “I got bored with her,” Steve lied, his hands gripping the rag in his hand.
Sodapop cocked an eyebrow. “I really thought you liked her, is all,” he said, before heading out to help pump gas. Steve took a deep inhale. Girls were a rough topic; of course, he liked them, he was only a teenage boy after all. But he couldn’t open up like they wanted him to. He couldn’t connect.
Soon, of course, his hormones gave way, and he found a girlfriend. You. You were bubbly and sweet, very open. How you ended up with him was confusing, but you soothed him when you could.
As months passed, you found yourself knowing less about him and him knowing everything about you. You were an open book when it came to Steve. He listened well, especially when he was cuddled up to you, but you felt his lack of emotion. When you asked him, “What about you?” he’d give you a shrug or say, “Haven’t thought about it much.”
You both were hand in hand on an ice cream date. He was wiping traces of chocolate off your face with a small grin. A new, pristine Mustang drove by, the windows rolled down with the Socs hanging out of it, yelling. “Well, would you look at the greaser and his girlfriend! You can find someone hotter, baby!” a handsome Soc yelled. You felt Steve bristle beside you.
Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. “Why do you guys just take it? I hate it! You ain’t any less than them,” you rambled before softening. “Are you okay?” you asked quietly. Steve just gave a grunt of indifference, willing away his feelings. “Doesn’t bug me…” he mumbled to reassure you.
After that, it was quiet, and he saw how hurt you looked. Hurt that he wouldn’t tell you anything. It made you feel little, untrustworthy.
It continued, of course.
When you both lay in your bed after a rough fight with his dad, you ran your hands down his arms. “Baby, tell me what your dad's so mad about. It’s bugging you,” you asked, propping your head up to look at him. You saw his face falter before he gently guided your head back down to his bare chest.
“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, deflecting it. Avoiding everything was easier than hashing it out. He learned that quickly, especially with girls. What if he said too much and you didn’t want him anymore?
You give a grumble of anger, sitting up again. “I’m tired of this, Stevie. You keep pushing me away like I’m gonna rip you open if you let me in!” When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut him off, “I’m starting to think you don’t even like me and that this is purely physical.”
Steve froze; it was never physical. His eyes went wide as he sat up, his hands landing on your hips, trying to keep you close. He needed the physical closeness. It was the best he got while keeping everything locked up. “No, never. You know me, and you know it’s never just physical,” he said, panicked. He watched your pretty face take him in.
“Do I know you? You never tell me how you really feel, and you just deflect everything with stupid jokes!” Despite the anger, he noticed how steady your voice stayed, like it was coming out of a place of worry.
He shook his head, rubbing up and down your sides. You pushed his hands away, getting off him. Steve made a small noise of defeat at the loss of contact. “Come on, don’t be like this. You know I love you, I tell you it all the time!” Steve insisted, sitting up and tugging his shirt on.
You scoff. “I don’t feel it, Steve. Don’t you understand? Part of this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing is that we trust each other with our problems!” Your voice cracked, and you looked away. “And I love you, and it’s killing me that I can’t feel it back!”
He reached out, grabbing your hand, stopping you in your tracks. Gently, he tugged you forward until you were between his legs. “I just show it differently; is that so bad?” he asked, tucking hair behind your ears. He felt the familiar feeling in his gut that you were gonna leave him soon. He had felt it with every girl before, Steve had to try to fix this.
“Whatever, Steve,” you mumbled, pulling your hands away from his. You climbed into bed, scooting to the end. That night you guys didn’t talk or joke—you didn’t even cuddle. He felt the shambles of the relationship start to fall, and he was panicking. Steve didn’t sleep a wink that night, he kept looking over at your soft breathing, wondering if it was such a good idea to let you in.
The next morning you woke up earlier than him, per usual. He woke to your half of the bed empty, Steve reached out for the space before sitting up. The sunlight came through your window, the curtains blowing in the breeze. You rarely had your window shut, especially in the summer. He remembered last night, how angry you had been.
His head shot up quickly when you slipped back into the room, a small smile on your face. In your hand was a bowl of cut-up fruit. He had nearly forgotten how easily you let everything go, how arguments didn’t stick for longer than 20 minutes after they happened. Steve was thankful for that. “How’d you sleep?” you ask, slipping under the covers and setting the bowl on your lap.
Steve sat up, his arm going around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your cheek. A quiet ask of forgiveness. “I slept fine,” he lied, opening his mouth as you offered him a piece of fruit. Steve pretended to bite your fingers gently, anything to make you laugh.
“You gonna stick with me today?” you followed up, biting into a strawberry. He had never seen anybody look so pretty doing that. He gave a slight nod. “If you insist…” he teased, nuzzling into you, making up for lost contact from the night before. You patted his head, nibbling on the fresh fruit, occasionally giving him some.
He followed you around that day, a pattern from your fights. After every one, he’d spend the next few days clinging to you, slowly fading away again. Anything to keep you at arm's length, just close enough that he doesn’t let you in.
6 months together had snuck up on you quickly; you had remembered, but Steve had not. He never considered dates, not even birthdays. There was no point—they caused conflict and depth that he couldn’t quite comprehend.
You showed up at his house, opening his bedroom door. His bedroom was messy and small, the mattress on the floor with clothes scrambled everywhere. He had never let you come to his place, only outside, while he ran in and got something. You scratched his back to pull him from his sleep. “Happy 6 months, baby…” you whisper, watching him come to.
Steve perked up, slowly realizing where he was. This was his house; why were you here? He watched you give him a small smile as you spoke, “I figured we could go to breakfast and go to the lake or some—” Steve cut you off, “What are you doing here?” he asked flatly, smothering his panic.
What if you thought differently of him, or his dad came in and ruined your perception of him? You blinked in surprise. “Pardon?” you asked, surprised by his reaction. He sat up. “Why are you in my place? This is my room!” he said quickly, standing up and quickly throwing on his jeans and a casual t-shirt. You followed him as he brushed his teeth.
“I let you in mine all the time! What the hell is up your ass? Did you even know it was our anniversary?” Steve just paused, then started to brush again—that was all you needed, he had forgotten. “I cannot believe you,” you grumbled, as he ushered you out the front door.
You stopped on the sidewalk, and he stopped too. “I’m sorry I forgot; I’m not good with dates. I was just out of it. I’m sorry for how I acted, okay?” Steve tried to soothe you immediately, anger bubbling up in his gut.
“I told you last week, and you never act like that when you're out of it! What don’t you want me to see so bad, Steve?” you pestered, making his sharp blue eyes meet your own. Steve gritted his teeth before nearly exploding.
He crossed his arms and shook his head, “I’m so tired of this! You're up my ass all the time; you don’t need to know everything about me. You getting in my space is suffocating, okay? You being in my room is an invasion of my space!” He yelled, and you shrunk. You had been in lots of fights, but he had never quite yelled like that.
Steve bit his lower lip to stop it from trembling; he didn’t understand what was wrong with him. He hated seeing people in his space. His room was the only place nobody could hurt him, and now you’d let yourself in. He didn’t want you to tear it down or look down on it. It was the only way Steve felt safe.
“Then you can kiss me goodbye because I’m tired! I’ve put myself out there and been really vulnerable for you, and it keeps biting me in the ass. You keep playing a detrimental game and—” your voice cracked, and the tears started to spill. Steve tensed, he felt like his head would explode if you didn’t stop crying. “I want to know your secrets! Let your guard down for once, because I’m tired of this of the game of tug-of-war,” you ended.
As you turned to walk away, he quickly ran after you, grabbing at you. He didn’t care if he looked like a fool as he grabbed your hips and got to his knees, digging his face in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time he had been on his knees for a girl, begging them for similar reasons. And each one had left.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I’m just so scared to let you in; I don’t want to get hurt. I’ve always been hurt. I’m not charming like Soda, or strong like Darry, I’m hardly funny like Two-Bit. Hell, I’m not even soft spoken like Johnny Cade, and being jealous of him is the last place you want to be!” He sputters out, kissing your stomach as he begs for you to stay. “I’ve never learned how to let people in… I love you so much it hurts. I’m just scared you don’t love me as much as I love you,” His voice cracked on the last words. Steve Randle had spent so long convincing himself he didn’t need anybody, that admitting he needed you felt like ripping his own ribs apart.
You looked down at him, considering for a moment. You debated how emotionally stubborn he was, how sad he made you sometimes. You thought about how there was always another boy out there for you. But you saw the desperation in his eyes that showed a sincerity you couldn’t beat. It wasn’t like you had a good streak with guys either. Steve was hurt. So hurt.
You put a hand on his hair. “Steve, I’ve been trying to tell you. Whoever hurt you doesn’t love like I do. It hurts watching you fall on your face every time you hold back,” you whisper. Steve perks up, kissing your hand.
“I can’t help it. I’m trying to be better for you,” he pleads, his eyes big. You had never seen him so vulnerable. “Can you just promise me you won’t keep me out anymore?” you ask, sniffling and wiping away your tears.
Steve hesitated—it was against everything he’d ever followed. But maybe, just maybe you’d be worth it. He gave you a small nod, standing up slowly and pressing a kiss to your lips.
And for once, he didn’t feel so alone; he didn’t feel you leaving anymore.
Anyway, I was thinking maybe Darry or Soda, or really anyone you want, raising their kid (s) and how they would do it. I just thought that would be a cute concept
Kids! - DC x Reader! (Married)
Warnings: PregnantReader!, Marriage, and just fluff, and also Darry wearing glasses (may not be accurate)
AN: School is out! This req is so cute because he'd be such a good dad! Also, I love all the requests. Thank you, everyone!
Darry had always wanted to be a father. Even though he was forced to raise his brothers far too young, Darry knew a family was where he belonged. He was naturally a provider; he took care of you since your first date. Darry was always first to open your doors, pull out your chairs, and pay no matter what. He was a gentleman.
Even more so when coddling your first little girl. Then again with your little boy. Every night, he was attentive as you recovered from postpartum exhaustion; always there to lean on when you needed him.
Darry worked long days at work but was happy to do it to maintain a pretty life for you and your kids. He didn’t mind the long, grimey days in the sticky sun when he got to come home to you, and his kids, who were a perfect mix of you both. Your little boy had your hair and Darry’s eyes. Your little girl had curls and soft skin like yours, and Darry’s pale blue-green eyes again. He loved it.
Tonight he spent an hour playing with the kids in the yard. You could hear the roars of Darry’s fake roars, making them both squeal, float in through the kitchen window. You were round with the third, making dinner for you all. You didn’t mind. Darry worked himself to the bone, and making dinner felt like the least you could do.
You smiled, watching them; he swung them around in circles, or he’d chase them. Today he was chasing them, pretending to be a dinosaur for them. Your son was in love with them. You giggled to yourself. Darry caught your eye through the window, giving you a grin that made his eyes crinkle in the corner. He was right where he wanted to be.
“Okay, we’ll play tag. Papa’s it first!” he started to chase them, moving as slowly as he could to make it fair. You watched your son dirty up his overalls, slipping and giggling, before getting up and starting to run again. Darry scooped both the littles up, tickling them and making them both laugh as hard as they could.
He carried them under his arms like a football, his boots heavy on the porch steps. The door swings open and he puts the kids down. “Go wash up, okay? Use soap and get your hands real foamy,” he explains, watching them race to the bathroom.
Darry smiles, striding into the kitchen, resting his hands on your hips. He puts his hands under your bump, taking some pressure off. “How are my ladies?”, he asked. Darry was very convinced this baby brewing was another girl.
You give him a small shrug, chopping up vegetables with efficiency. “Sore…” you replied quietly. He planted a small kiss on your neck, his thumbs stroking your belly through a sundress he had bought you last pregnancy. He always wanted you to be comfortable. “I’ll rub your back and shoulders after the kids are asleep, okay?” he reassures.
The stomps of both kids come shooting into the kitchen. They both tug at your dress, wanting to be picked up. “I can’t pick up both of you anymore!” you said with a smile, squatting down slowly so they could both grasp on. “Papa taught us how to play tag!” your rosey cheeked little boy explained, his arms wrapped around your neck tightly.
“Yeah? You have fun?” you asked, kissing the top of both their heads. They let go after giving nods. “So much fun, mama,” they both sang in unison. You pat them on the backs, sending them off to play with toys until dinner. Darry helped despite your protests about his hard day.
Dinner was full of talking and ideas, jokes from the kids. Darry helped with bath time and reading books so you could relax. You heard the laughter of the kids as Darry made dramatic voices for all the characters, the flipping of pages.
When silence fell over the room and there was no sign of Darry you got up, padding off to check on them. Both kids were asleep, each clinging to either of his sides. Darry had fallen asleep too, sitting up and holding onto both his kids.
One of the books had slipped from his hand, his reading glasses crooked on his nose. Your daughter had one fist tangled in his shirt while your son drooled on his shoulder. Darry’s soft snores were audible, exhausted from another long day, but even in his sleep his arms stayed wrapped protectively around them/
You smile to yourself, flicking the light off and cracking the door before shuffling back to bed.
Bob lovesss cologne! He always smells really nice even after football practice.
He always buys you new perfume whenever your is low
He likes affection, but due to a lack at home, he's not good at giving it. Bob will only cuddle or hold hands really in private; everything else is for his image or to be 'cool'.
Bob sucks at apologizing, but he will shower you with gifts when he messed up. Last month he gave you a petite watch, last week he got you a pretty necklace for all the drinking he was doing.
His dad always told him he had to play football and to be the best, and Bob saw the disappointment in his father's eyes every time he made a bad play.
He keeps up all his trophies in his bedroom, and his bigger ones stay in his dads office, which makes Bob feel a little proud.
Bob stays out late because nobody notices when he comes home. He stopped tiptoeing around and avoiding every squeaky tile. In fact, he started being loud on his way in.... just to see if his parents would notice. They never did.
When he's having a bad day, he [picks fights with everybody. His friends, his coaches, even you until somebody snaps at him to fix his attitude.
He doesn't know how to treat a lady right, only from what his friends did since his parents were rarely in the same room. So sometimes he came off like he was on a high horse and a prick towards you.
When he gets wasted, he talks about marrying you. He'll start kissing your neck and talking about your future together. The next morning, he will deny it all and his ears will turn red
You had to teach him how to kiss AND how to leave hickeys (He's still pretty bad at those)
Would jump anybody who's giving you a hard time without a second thought, nobody picks on his other half.
You helped him learn how to work through his feelings, and slowly you helped make him a better person.
He likes when you fuss over him after a rumble, sometimes he'll milk to extra
"Aw, baby. You missed a spot," he said, holding up his bruised arm with a shit-eating grin. You would kiss the bruise spot. "Feels better," he'd joke, rolling his sleeve down and then holding you close.
Bob doesn't study much for tests; he's just naturally very smart (He helps you study, and probably gets frustrated when you don't get it right away like he can
After Johnny stabbed him he worried about who was gonna take care of you.
"Sing Me Back to Sleep" Dying!Johnny Cade x Reader
Warnings: Death and Angst!
AN: Hi everyone! Here's this shorter one! I make no promises as to what comes next, but I will be active again soon! Love u all, thank you for the support, this is in honor of my uncle passing this weekend ❤️
Johnny remembered it all too clearly. The church's roof caved in on him as the flames engulfed him. Ponyboy had gotten out safely, and he could live with that. But the pain rippled through his skin, scorching him. As the final scream for help left his lips, he fell unconscious.
His cheek pressed against the ashy floorboard as he took what he thought were his last breaths. His back was numb on impact, and he felt the world slow down. Johnny’s eyes fluttered shut, accepting this as the end of his short-lived life.
16 years wasn’t long enough, no matter how many times he told himself it was. Through his shattered perspective on what life was, he mended slowly. He had found his friends, the tranquillity of smoking cigarettes and stargazing in the lot, and most importantly—you.
Johnny spent a few nights fading in and out of consciousness; he occasionally saw Ponyboy’s face, a nurse’s, someone from the gang. The beeping of his monitors was a constant, white noise that had become so familiar he was beginning to forget what life sounded like without it.
Johnny felt himself getting weaker and weaker every day. His energy drained just from flipping over. Johnny didn’t know how he’d live through this one.
Today you visited him. He was sitting up in his bed, head back in the pillows. The burns on his neck were hard to look at, and his weak, stuttering breathing made your heart clench.
“Hi, Johnny…” you said quietly, putting your hand on his. Johnny twitched, his eyes fluttering open at the familiar voice. “Hi…” he struggled. You squeezed his hand tight. “Don’t talk too much, save that energy,” you said.
He was looking at you now; his black eyes still had the familiar sweetness to them, something only earned after years of hardship. “You’re still in the paper, and the gang is awfully worried. The Socs have started jumping kids on the street more than ever; they're real mad about Bob. Gonna rumble soon,” you rambled, knowing Johnny probably didn’t care about rumbles or editorials in the newspapers anymore.
Society had shunned him his whole life; getting appreciation this way didn’t make it feel like a real reconciliation.
“Fighting doesn’t do no good…” he croaked out. His thumb moved slowly up and down the skin of your hand. The only soft thing in this hospital. “You staying with me?” he added, after you fell silent. When you didn’t say anything, he mumbled, “Pretty bad off ain’t I?”
You shook your head quickly. “No, Johnny Cade. You’ll do just fine, don’t say that!” you shut him down quick. You moved to stroke his hair, the black shaggy bangs falling in his eyes. “No hair grease in here, huh?” you teased, adding a small smile. His hair was clean and ungreased, a bit charred from where the fire got to it.
He made a small noise that was supposed to be a laugh. “No… The boys said they’ll bring me some soon,” he mumbled, offering you a smile that was filled with pain.
“It’s cute… ungreased, I mean,” you giggle a little, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Johnny now managed a smile, his cheeks even getting a little red. “Maybe I should wear it like that more often then,” he replied, his voice cracking at the end.
“You hungry?” you asked quietly, seeing him wince from a breath too sharp. You noticed a shift in his energy. His breathing was heavier and his face more pained. It felt like the light was leaving his eyes.
When he didn’t reply, you felt tears prick your eyes. “‘m real tired…” he whispered. You moved to call the nurses, and he pawed weakly at your arm. “It’s okay… stay. Sing me something… as you used to,” he pleaded, his eyes getting heavier.
You nod slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair. Slowly you sang some nursery rhyme that felt like magic when Johnny had first heard it.
You sang him back to sleep, listening to his heart monitor get slower and slower with every shaky verse.
Your voice cracked as tears spilt down your cheeks; despite the voice cracks, you kept singing. He always slept better when you sang. Back in the lot, he’d nuzzle close, his soft snores lulling you to sleep beside him beneath the stars.
It wasn’t long before the nurses rushed in, more doctors following behind, yelling code words. You were crying and yelling as they pulled you away.
And you couldn’t understand why. He needed you. Only you knew how to tuck his shaggy bangs away just right, how to hug him good enough to make him shudder.
Johnny had fallen asleep to your voice a hundred times before. But nothing compared to this.
That still body lying in the hospital bed wasn’t Johnny’s. It couldn’t be.
could you write anything with smut for motorcycle boy from rumble fish, tyyy!!
Born to Be Free - Motorcycle Boy x Reader (18+!)
AN: Hi, everyone... I'm back!! My first Rumble Fish req, and it's not like totally smut... just very suggestive because I'm too embarrassed to write smut; I feel like I'd write it very badly. Also, I don't want to get reported as a mature blog. ANYWAYS. Sorry if this is bad. Thank you for the reqs, and more coming soon!
Warnings: Suggestive and kinda bad!
Motorcycle Boy was aloof; he disappeared on that old bike, sailing off into the sunset while leaving everything behind. Rusty-James thought fondly of you, but he disliked how you took his brother's attention off him, so you just had to guess at when Motorcycle Boy returned. Not that he told Rusty-James anything either.
You and him went way back to high school. He was the quiet boy who never did his work, but boy was he smart. That’s why everyone followed him, you reckoned—everyone liked him. Sometimes it seemed like he could tell you everything, like the world was his and everyone else was just living in it. You had been quiet too, but not quiet like him.
When you got together, it was nearly heaven. He was with you a lot, always feeling you up, making out gently. But it all changed; he got into fights because he kept stealing people’s bikes. Guess that’s where he got the name, he loved motorcycles almost as much as people. Maybe more.
He saw the world grim; his colorblindness made the world harsh, and his hearing loss from motorcycle accidents tore him apart, the shell of a rebellion, where he was disconnected from everything.
One thing that stayed constant was you. He knew that he could come home and have his way, pinning you down with gruff kisses and gentle sex. Motorcycle Boy liked to take sex gently, unlike some kids in his neighborhood. He wanted to enjoy it all, though sometimes you got irritated when he took too much time going slow. He’d drop some insightful line that made you groan in complaint.
Now he was leaving again. You had rushed over to see him after a day in community college. He hated you going there, always said, “Waste your time on the real stuff that’ll turn you into something respectable.” You would shake your head. “I can’t afford the ‘real stuff’; you know it,” you’d reply with a frown.
As he put on his riding jacket, you followed him from room to room like a puppy. “Motorcycle Boy, why do you gotta leave? I can’t be alone, I need you!” You insist, trying to get his attention. He doesn’t reply, it’s like he can’t see you, like you're talking to a wall. “Please, what about Rusty-James? Think about it, we both need you! What would possibly be so important in California that we don’t have?” you spit out quickly, grabbing his jacket, making him stop in his tracks.
Motorcycle boy looks at you, running a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t stay in one place. The only reason I keep coming back is because of you and Rusty-James,” he replied, his tone cool and light. You scowl at him. “You know what I mean. Someone needs to guide Rusty-James, and I need you too. Need someone to be here when things are hard, or when I need something…” Dirty talk was a long shot, but you tried.
“Look, I love you both, but I…” he fell short of an excuse, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. He pulled you in by the hips and hugged you. “I feel like I’m just a hook-up and not your girlfriend,” you said, making him tense. He hated to hear that—he wasn’t the type to sleep around. He was loyal despite his aloof behaviors.
He shook his head, pressing a small kiss on your forehead. “You know that’s not true,” Motorcycle Boy replied, his voice calm per usual. You looked up at him, eyes big and needy. “Just let me convince you to stay!” you begged, sinking to your knees and starting to undo his belt rapidly. You tugged his jeans down to his mid-thigh, but he stopped you.
He looked down at you, stroking your hair while he shook his head. “That’s never worked before, as good at that as you are,” he mumbled. You groaned, burying your face into his leg, his underwear leaving a thin layer between you both. He was straining in them, but he refused to leave like that.
Have sex and then disappear. Left a bad taste in his mouth. He shook his head, tugging his jeans back up, redoing the belt. No sex would change his mind; he was leaving for a while. “Get up, you shouldn’t be on your knees for anyone,” Motorcycle Boy said, his tone flat and unreadable, letting the vulnerability slip away, putting up that familiar mask again. You knew he was unswayable.
He gave you a kiss, sorrow in the way he pressed his lips to yours—allowing a little slip of the tongue. When Motorcycle Boy pulled away, he gave a small smile. It said, ‘I’ll be back,’ and you just sighed.
You stood on the porch as you watched him ride off on that old, battered motorcycle. Taming Motorcycle Boy was nearly impossible; he was born to be free and drive up the coasts of America.
When the sputter of his motor faded in the distance, you went inside, arms crossed as you thought about how close you’d been to getting your mouth around him.
It was gonna be a long break without the Motorcycle Boy around.
I apologize for my absence, I have lots and lots to do. School ends on the 16th for me, and so after all my finals I’ll be consistent again! I just have been struggling and very down lately, also I am dwindling ideas. I’ll try to write tomorrow but no promises as I am busy.
Thank you for all the love on my recent fics, it means a lot, really!
I have a small plan for my next fics just so you guys can anticipate something:
Bob Sheldon (REQ), Dally, Darry (Roadhouse AU), and Johnny!! Kinda in order.
So thank you for the love, I see it all! Thank you for understanding and I’ll be back soon 💋 bye!
AN: Baby's first 3.8k word fanfic... everyone clap. Guys, I grinded this, and I'm kind of proud, so please enjoy. Bob is coming soon... just not now, sorry...
Warnings: Angst a little, really long, and like yeah
When you were younger, daydreaming in the passenger seat of your boyfriend's truck had been the life. There was nothing more to look forward to, just living in the very moment of peaceful bliss. The windows would be rolled down, your feet on the dash as the wind blew through your hair. When you looked over, Darrel Curtis was grinning back happily.
Darrel Curtis; the football player, boy of the year, the boy who would make it out despite the odds. You were both free. College was on the way for you too, both of you getting accepted into the same place.
You couldn’t help but soak it in. He turned up the radio; ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ played now, making you giggle. Both of you vouched that you hated it, but every time it came on, you both sang to each other dramatically. And when he’d park the car near the familiar spot on a nearby lake that overlooked the water, he’d scoop you into his arms and kiss all over your neck, his stubble tickling your neck.
You’d arrange the blankets in the truck bed where both of you lay, asking each other stupid questions. He always remembered when you would ramble on about random things, and he’d just listen.
“Would you still love me if I was a… worm?” you asked, looking up at him with a grin. He just shook his head with a laugh, “Of course I would.” You’d take a moment to pause, your nose scrunching as you thought of a new idea. “What if I was a muddy pig that just rubbed all over you?” you continued, wondering where he tapped out. Darry answered it like it was the simplest question in the world. “Still love you, but I’d probably give you a warm bubble bath before we cuddled,” he had replied, making you laugh.
He did anything to make you laugh.
Whether it meant putting himself down to do it. One time you had a bad day, tension in your shoulders and nearly every conversation was an argument. “You were talking with some girl, and she was giving you those eyes and…” you raved on and on. “Baby, you know you’re the only one for me,” he replied. You just crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, that wasn’t nearly enough convincing.
“I’d do anything to prove it to you!” he begged, pulling you into a hug. You cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Anything?” you asked. He gave a nod with those gentle eyes.
That afternoon, he spent the evening at your house. In that little apartment, 505. The numbers were engraved in his brain until the day he died.
You sat in his lap while intensely doing his makeup, blotting foundation and blush onto his cheeks, giving him dramatic eyelashes and eye shadow. When your first giggles of the day came out, he gave a smile. He had succeeded. He’d do anything for his girl.
The end of senior year slowly ticked by. Each day, anticipation- the end so close that everyone could taste it. You and Darry were spending nearly every day together—it had been driving both of your parents nuts. Your mother would say, “Don’t you two get sick of each other? I mean even I get sick of your father.” You just shrugged.
Darry was similar; when he came home, handing the keys over to his dad, Mrs. Curtis commented, “Sure are spending a lot of time together…” He shrugged, “Why wouldn’t I? She’s my girlfriend,” he mumbled, taking a roll of bread off her plate. She gave him a motherly stare before giving in to a smile. She ruffled his hair. “Just sad you’re growing away from me. My oldest boy,” Mrs. Curtis started to sniffle. Darry gave her a firm hug. “I won’t be far, you know I’ll only be a two-hour drive away. I’ll be here all the time,” he reassured.
And so, after months of parties, throwing graduation caps and giving speeches. The beginning of further studying began. Darry was on scholarship for football; there he played. A real star. Every chance he got, he was back home, and you always went with him, the long two-hour car ride full of silly songs and topics.
“Feels so weird…” You mumbled, looking out the window at the rising sun. Darry had insisted on leaving early to enjoy more of the day with family. “What is?” he asked, looking over at you, then back at the road. He was 10 and 2, his fingers tapping at the steering wheel, a steady, comforting rhythm. “Just visiting home, being in the same place I’ve lived my whole life and treating it like a vacation,” you say, turning the radio down a little. You had a blanket wrapped around you, still in pajamas for the drive. Darry always drove, so you could be a princess on the passenger side. “Yeah, just a part of growing up,” Darry said it quietly, so sure, like he had all the answers.
You just nodded, reaching across and patting his leg gently. He reached a hand out and held yours across the seats. The old truck was worn, the seats starting to split in some spots, but Darry didn’t care. On his way out, his parents had scraped together every penny they’d saved to get a new, used car for cheap so Darry could keep the truck at college. So visits would be easier.
Now, it was like both of yours. You were in it the same amount as him. Sure, you both had made many friends in classes and dorm rooms, but nothing compared to the familiarity of each other. You loved each other. A lot.
As the exit sign on the old highway approached, his blinkering ticking a dull sound, he spoke up. “You think you’d marry me one day? When there’s no school, and we’re all settled down?” he asked, looking over at you nervously. He had no ring, Darry had no money for it, but he sure did have a dream. You gave him a small smile. “I think I’d marry you in any life, handsome,” you teased, watching his ears get a little red. “You’re so unserious…” he complained, except he loved it about you. His hand went out, squeezing your leg, making you burst out in laughter. “And you love it,” you replied, bringing his hand to your mouth and giving it a small kiss. “Damn right I do.”
Those were the good times, but nothing gold can stay.
Everything went downhill, there was no fallout, no disconnect of love; everything felt tense suddenly—like something bad would happen and Darry wouldn’t be able to combat it with academics. Hitting him like a freight train that wrecked every good thing going for him in life.
As you cooked dinner in the kitchen, Darry had been playing football in the front yard with his brothers, all of their friends gathered up. The scrawnier ones on his team. You could hear the laughter and yelling of plays whisking in through the window.
A knock on the door took you from your thoughts. You set down the knife, slipping the apron over your head and leaving it as a ball on the counter. You opened the front door, a warm smile accompanying your face. On the front step were two officers, each with grim looks on their faces. “Hello. Are you a resident of the Curtis house or family?” the older man asked. The younger man text to him looked timid. You hesitated before speaking, “My boyfriend is the oldest brother; I can go get him. He’s out back. May I ask what this is regarding?” You were nervous. You looked between the two officers, who gave no answers.
You stepped out onto the back porch. “Darry? Can you come inside for a second? Maybe Pony and Soda too. The police are here,” you said, eyes wide like you’d seen a ghost. Darry nods, his younger brothers both confused. The other boys took it upon themselves to go home as the brothers all padded in, eyes as wide as dinner plates. They may be greasers, but they hadn’t done anything for police to get involved.
Darry faced the cops, looking big and strong like his father. “Hello? Officers,” he tipped his head to them before speaking again, “What’s going on?” The younger one exhaled. “Is Mr. Darrel Curtis your father?” he asked. Darry gave a small nod.
“We regret to inform you of the passing of both your mother and father. They got into a car accident and did not survive the impact.”
Darry blinked, once. Twice. The room was loud and quiet all at once. The ringing in Darry’s ears was hard to ignore. It couldn’t be real.
“What?” Sodapop said first, in shock. How could this happen to them? His eyes were big as he looked at the officers at the door, then you and Darry. Sodapop latched onto you first, you were closer.
You put a hand on Darry’s shoulder. Darry hardly reacted, just stood in disbelief. What else could you do when your whole world came down at once?
The whole house went still, the room beginning to spin. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were supposed to grow old, see their grandkids, and help plan his wedding. He wasn’t supposed to pick caskets and arrange floral decorations for their funeral. A funeral that didn’t make them any less dead. Ponyboy and Sodapop were wrecked, both sobbing and inconsolable. Darry stood straight-faced, stoic and unmoving. But since you knew him so well, you could see the tremor in his hands, and the quiver of his lower lip.
You tried your best to comfort them all, making them food, stroking Ponyboy’s back through the nightmares, holding Darry when he needed it.
Darry had to put on new shoes. Give away the grades and athletics, replacing pencils and papers with toolbelts and roof shingles. He had to take care of his brothers, feed his family. That he did, even if it killed him. He took on roofing, and another job, record-keeping for the construction company.
A waste of a future on one unfortunate accident. The weight of the world was on his shoulders at 20. How was he supposed to take care of a 14 and 16-year-old when he had just spent 2 years living off microwavable dinners and his mom cleaning his laundry at every visit?
During that time, you begged to stay and help. You lay in bed, massaging his sore shoulders as summer neared its end. “Darry, I shouldn’t go back to finish. It wouldn’t be right without you. Plus, you need some help paying bills. I can help, I promise!” you insisted, releasing his shoulders. He pulled you to his chest. He wasn’t so gentle anymore, his affection was rough, like he had forgotten how after working straight every day for 3 months. “No, I can’t let you throw that away. You got a nice scholarship and smart brain that shouldn’t be used on taking orders at the local dive bar. You’re more than that,” his words were confident, so sure. Like he had thought about this millions of times before. Tears built up in your eyes, and you buried your face in his shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you, Dar. I just can’t!” you begged, your body racking with uncontrollable sobs that made his heart clench.
He hated to do this; he loves you too, and he knew you’d never be happy trying to make ends meet when you could’ve had more. He stroked your hair, whispering the final word, “If it’s really meant to be, then we’ll find our way back to each other, sweetheart.”
And so, the end of summer came. You packed up and went back to school. Darry drove you, helping you settle. The car ride was silent, no jokes were spread, not even the radio was on. Just the sound of the wind blowing through the small cabin of the car. Not even the fresh air from the window could clear the thick air between you now. It was like a goodbye, despite you promising to write each other.
On your visits back for the weekend, you didn’t see Darry. Both of you stopped calling, stopped writing each other. Each of you moved on to new beginnings in life.
You remembered the last call between you both. Darry had nothing to say, and he couldn’t keep up with the college drama. That night when you had said goodnight, you knew it was the last one. The last one for a long, long time.
He kept working, picking up plumbing jobs, handy jobs, anything for extra cash.
Darry came home late one night, everything had gone wrong, it felt. His head throbbed, his heart ached, and all he could do was lie on the couch and endure the pain. His body had aged itself by decades in the span of a few pitiful years. His eyes drifted to a photo on the wall, a picture of you and him that he never bothered to take down. Too busy to pay attention to the minor details around the house. He felt the familiar pain in his stomach form just thinking about you. It made his heart nearly come to a halt.
He had lost you, and now there was no getting you back. Every time he had to fix a stupid pipe in your old apartment building, he could nearly explode from all the difficult feelings that pressed down on him. He’d pass 505, and wish that the numbers didn’t bring back so many memories. And he wished that he wouldn’t consider dropping everything just for a chance to see your pretty face again.
He found himself looking at old photos he could never bring himself to throw away. Darry would smile at your smile, then self-pity would swallow him whole at how pathetic it was. You were supposed to be his forever. The girl who lived at 505. The girl he was supposed to spoil until the day he died.
One photo was you and him standing in front of the christmas tree. He remembered the night like it was yesterday.
His mom had made you both ugly Christmas sweaters that matched. You were so insistent on wearing it. “Darry, please! She made it just for us, don’t take it for granted,” you lectured, slipping it over your head. It was the color of your eyes, his matched. That night his dad had dangled mistletoe over you both after the gift exchange, giving each other a sweet peck on the lips over eggnog, cookies, and storytelling.
When Darry found out that a young man had taken over that room, he wanted to grab the man's shoulders. How could this stranger live in a place that was once a monument to his life? That was yours… yours, and nobody else could have it. Knowing that someone else would answer if he knocked made him upset. Upset that he had lost the privilege of knocking on your door.
When college graduation came, a degree under your arm, it didn’t feel as good as it should. Now you could teach, but did teaching feel as rewarding without the spark in your eye that only Darry could give you?
You wish he hadn’t insisted on you leaving, that you had been strong enough to say no. You quietly moved back into Tulsa, keeping your head down. Your parents had moved to their forever home, nothing fancy, but nothing like home. Once 505 went vacant, you rented that apartment, your home. You got it back. At least something could be constant.
Your parents helped you decorate it as your own, and of course you gave it your own flair. It felt empty without the laughter of your siblings and the warmth of a family living in it.
As you sat alone in the apartment, you listened to the songs on your old radio. ‘Can't Help Falling in Love’ started to play; you didn’t frown, you didn’t poke fun. You silently listened to it, letting the memories of Darry accompany you in it. Moving back to Tulsa dug up the deepest of dirt. Once you were there, you were stuck for life—mentally and physically.
You cried as the song came to an end, plummeting you into a silence. The drip of the faucet drove you up the wall. The next morning you made a point to call the plumber to do something about it.
You tangled your fingers in the cord on the phone, writing down a list of things to do as the phone rang in your ear. “Hello? Yes, I was wondering if I could get a plumber for my leaky faucet?” you asked, setting the plans in stone. You weren’t paying attention to the minor details of what the procedures would be, just nodded and hummed along.
They sent a plumber the next day; little did either of you know that you’d be greeted with the past upon opening the door to room 505. 505 is where your first kiss happened right on the doorstep. Where Darry faced an intimidating dinner with your father, where you spent nights babysitting your younger siblings with him. Every first had happened right in this very apartment or at his own house. Each creeping with the ghost of the other.
Darry inhaled as he brought his fist to the door, his knuckles tapping the door firmly. As it swung open he began his speech, “Hi, this is the plumbing company here to fix your leaking faux—” Darry stopped talking. He awaited the man living there before, but when you opened the door, he wished he could dig a hole and bury himself. He didn’t need all these feelings being rehashed after it had barely sealed.
“Darrel…” you said first, breaking the ice. Your heart was beating too fast and too slow all at once. His face was like a splash of ice water to the face. Darry had an icy look to his once soft eyes, and he looked older. More mature and like he had seen everything. You still had the youthful sparkle in your eyes that had gotten squandered out of him.
“Hi… Uh, you called for a leaky faucet?” he said, his ears burned red, and he kept his eyes down. Darry couldn’t quite look you in the eye yet. His toolbelt was in hand, his work shirt buttoned up, and his hair still styled just as he had in college.
You nod, stepping out of the way to let him in. he already knew what faucet; it had been leaking since the beginning of time. He walked into the kitchen as he owned it, squatting down and opening the cabinet doors to the pipes of the sink. “It’s been leaking for years; what’s making you fix it now?” he asked. Darry asked like there was no history between them, like the years of their life they had spent together never happened.
He started wrenching and adjusting, the muscles in his back jumping as he worked. You shrugged even though he couldn’t see you. “I don’t know, the drip was driving me nuts so I figured I’d just fix it,” you paused, trying to find the right words to say. “When you’d start being a handyman? I thought you just roofed houses?” you added, shying into yourself.
What else were you supposed to say?
“A lot changes, I guess. I like to get some extra money when I can,” he said, the sound muffled from under the sink. You nodded, arms crossed as you watched him. He came out from under the sink, slipping the tools back into his belt. “Should be fixed,” he said gruffly, testing the sink. You watched the dripping come to an end, the sound finally silent. “Thank you, you’re a hero…” you said, reaching for your wallet.
As you rummaged through for cash you rambled, “How much do I owe you?” you asked. He shook his head. “It was simple really, I don’t need any money for it,” he said, his eyes going to your face finally, tracing the familiar lines he had memorized at one point. His chest tightened at the thought of walking out that door alone.
“Darry, I can’t. You said you need extra money and I have it,” you say pressing money into the palm of his hand, wrapping his fingers around it. Darry sighs, pressing it into his back pocket. He wouldn’t win, you would make him take the money. His heart was beating in his ears. “Thank you…” he didn’t answer immediately. “See you around,” he said, moving for the front door.
You give him a nod, walking him out. There was no rush, everything felt in slow motion, like this awkward moment would never end. As he stepped out of the door, he turned quickly. “Did you get a teaching job?” Darry asks, his eyes full of concern, like they were searching for something inside you.
You gave him a soft smile—one that made his heart flutter. “Yeah, Dar. They have me teaching 8th grade English,” you replied. His heart fluttered at the smile, happy to have made you smile. “Good,” he whispers, before turning to walk down the hallway. The light thud of his boots were echoing through your mind.
Slowly he walked away. Past room 505. Past 504. Until you yelled, tears building up in your eyes. “Darry!”
Quickly he turned around, looking at you. You ran—-ran as fast as you could into his arms, pressing wet kisses all over his face as your cried. “Darry, please don’t walk out on me again. I can’t take it,” you sobbed, wetting the front of his shirt.
He hesitated, unsure if this was okay. It had been years since he had seen you last—since he had allowed himself to hold someone, get close to them. His arms hovered awkwardly before gently wrapped around you
He held you close. Darry always crumbled completely when you cried. Even back in high school when your only tears were about a sad movie or a friend being too mean. “I won’t…” he whispers, burying his face in your hair. “Never again,” his voice broke, and he allowed himself to melt for the first time in what felt like years.
He pressed kisses to the soft skin of your face he thought he’d never kiss again, his stubble brushing it carefully.
You could hear his heart stuttering against your ear, the warmth of his arms making you feel safe.
Both of you could stand there forever, and you could both tell neither of you were going to give up for a long time.
AN: I have sm finals work, so I'm unsure of what I'll get posted. Sorry everyone! I will try to do as much as I can. Little sweet fic, and I will die on the hill that Darry gives his fiancée his moms ring!
Darry wasn’t gentle with how he loved, but he showed it through his intense work ethic. He worked hard day and night for you, his wife, to have a perfect life and hands that aren’t rough like his own.
The best part of his long work days was when the clock finally ticked to one—and there you would stand. You’d lean against the fence grinning at him, or you’d sit on his truck and wait patiently. A brown paper bag resting on your lap as you swung your legs, waiting.
Today, the hot sun was beating down on all his co-workers. Each extra task was a groan of misery; Most of them had stripped down by then, shirtless in the heat. Everything about the job felt heavier today; he had dropped shingles and hurt his back carrying the bundles of roofing. When one hit, he climbed down the ladder, grabbing his shirt and wiping the sweat from his forehead with it.
These were big clients, ones his boss had been stressing about for weeks. He went to his truck, and you weren’t there like usual. A wave of disappointment washed over him; he grabbed a sip of water from his bottle, leaning up against the side of his beat-up truck. His other co-workers were sitting under some shade to talk; chatter about their wives, kids, or just the news.
Darry didn’t talk to them much—a joke here or there, but he was a little shy—surprising for someone so burly. He just liked to listen and watch sometimes, plus he was one of the younger guys on the crew.
He looked around, and he heard the frantic footsteps of you clambering up the sidewalk, lunch in hand. “Darry! I didn’t forget about you!” you giggle out, stopping in front of him. You look up at his tall frame, drenched in sweat. He answers with a soft smile before pressing a peck to your lips. His co-workers sometimes teased about the honeymoon phase, but he always waved it off with burning, red ears.
“What have you been doing all day, pretty lady?” he asks, hoisting you up onto the hood of his truck, standing between your legs. Nothing too affectionate, as he hated to smother you in front of a bunch of people. His hands run over yours, he lingers on the ring on your finger. He had proposed with his mom's wedding ring; it was all he had left. You had taken it with honor, making him shed a few tears. He looked back up at you.
“Well, I went to the grocery store, then I ran into a friend and her new baby. So I got to visit, then I realized I had to come see you soon, so I hustled home and made you a lunch,” you paused, putting the bag in your lap. He grabbed it and peered inside, before sitting on the hood next to you. “I made a sandwich, cut some vegetables since you’re so against fruit, and some applesauce I made the other day. I got you a little cookie too,” you explained.
He gave a small smile, unwrapping his sandwich. “Thank you, love. You know you don’t have to come see me every day; if you wanted to keep visiting, you should have,” he said quietly, looking over at you. You were busy swinging your feet, watching that instead of him. “I know, but I want to,” you reassured.
Darry stayed quiet, chewing thoughtfully. After he swallowed, he cleared his throat. “I got a call before work this morning. You know that house out in the country you wanted? The one with the little farm, with the big yard. Had a nice porch too,” he paused, watching you nod. “They said they're considering our offer, since nobody seems to want it there; they're about to take our low offer, said we should go out and see it again tomorrow.”
Your eyes light up, and he cracks a rare smile. Seeing you like that made the long days feel worth it. He wanted to give you the life you deserved, a life with a family, with love, and a house with big windows. That had been your main request. “Really? Are you sure you want it, Dar? I’d feel bad selling your childhood house,” you asked, eyes big. Darry gave a small shrug. “I love it a lot, but I want us to have something of our own. Plus it doesn’t have a place for kids to run around,” he added, breaking into the cookie next; he broke off half for you, handing it to you.
“So considerate,” you say, leaning into his arm before sitting back up. Your face soured. “I forgot how sweaty you are,” you mumble. He laughs, shaking his head, leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. “I know, I know. Don’t you worry, I’ll be squeaky clean before I get in bed tonight. Don’t want to have to change the sheets at 10 PM again.”
You give a grin of satisfaction. “I’ve trained you so well…” you joke. You grab his jaw, making him do a pouty face before giving him a big kiss. “You better get back to work so you can come home and see me quick!” you insist. You watch his ears flush as you kiss him, as if you haven’t kissed him a million times. He helps you off his truck like a true gentleman, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I got anything on my face?” he asks. You shake your head.
“I’ll be home on time tonight, don’t worry,” he said, watching you dust off your shorts. You give him a nod. “Okay, I’ll make something good then,” you said. He couldn’t help it when he called after you one more time. “Don’t wait up for me!” he calls. You wave him off, knowing you’ll wait until he gets home no matter what he says.
He watched you walk away with the biggest grin on his face. “Curtis! Snap out of la la land, the roof isn’t gonna finish itself!!” his boss calls.
Darry’s smile faded; his stomach still warm with little butterflies. He stood up straighter, wiping his hands on his jeans. He then padded off to his work again, sighing as he climbed back up the ladder.
AN: Cute lil Soda fic cause I can't neglect him... The Bob Sheldon ones coming soon, trust (I'm struggling to write him sorry). Enjoy!
The fan buzzing in your room had lulled you to sleep after a long day of work, and the crickets chirping outside were like a familiar tune. Curled up under your covers, just as sleep had finally rolled over, your door creaked open, and the soft footsteps of someone getting closer made you jump.
Just as you sat up, Sodapop Curtis swooped in, grabbing you and spinning you around. You started to giggle as he put kisses all over you, grinning like a madman. “You scared me, Soda…” you sighed in relief.
He slowly set you back in bed, kicking his shoes off and crawling in next to you. “Sorry, just wanted to say hi,” he said, nuzzling into you, his face pressing right into your neck. You ran a hand up and down his arm, shifting. “Ew, why are you wearing jeans in my bed?” you protest, making him laugh. He props himself up, looking down at you, knowing you hated his dirty jeans in your bed. “Because I didn’t plan on staying long. We should go out,” he grins, nuzzling his nose to yours before giving you more kisses.
“What? Soda, are you crazy? My parents—” he cuts you off quickly. “Come on, baby. It’ll be fun, and you’ll be back before your parents even know. Look at how nice it is outside, and it's summer!” he tacks on plenty of reasons. Trying to bribe you with small neck kisses.
You push him off, sitting up slowly, stretching your arms above your head. “Please…” He begs, taking your hands, peppering them with swaying kisses. “Slobering all over me!” You say, pulling your hands away and flopping back down, pulling the blanket over your head. Sodapop was relentless, and you knew he wouldn’t give up here.
He pulls the blankets down, tugging you by your ankles to the edge of your bed. “You are so needy, y’know that?” He just grins and shakes his head with a shrug. “No, I’m not. Will you please just come with me? I got you your favorite soda and a candy bar. We can go watch the moon or the lake… The stars! Come on! Darry even let me have the truck!” he explains, energy vibrating in his tone. You raise an eyebrow, wondering if he was bluffing. You decided he wasn’t with those pleading blue eyes.
“Fine, you win. Just let me get dressed, okay?” you say, getting up and rifling through your drawers. “I think you look real pretty just like that,” he slathers all the love on thick, sitting and watching. When you decided on some clothes, you slipped them on. “Look away,” you mumble, pulling your pants on quickly. He didn’t look away, and you knew it. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he grumbles in reply. He grabbed your shoes and handed them to you.
Soon you were pulling off in his truck, the engine rumbling to life as he drove you out to a secret spot, a spot you guys had found yourselves. It was grassy, with a small pond and a clear view of the sky. Sodapop could rarely hold still, but this was one of the rare moments he could do it for you. To enjoy in time away from friends, work, and just the pure bliss of silence and rippling water.
Sometimes Soda stood and skipped rocks into the pond, but today he just sat in the truck bed, holding you close despite the hot, humid air engulfing you guys. “Thanks for coming,” he said quietly, looking up at the moon; it was almost full now. You nod, taking a sip of your soda. “Thank you for making me come,” you replied quietly.
Soda nods, stealing a bite off your chocolate bar. “Duh, would be no fun without you,” he said, looking down at you and smiling like an idiot. “What?” you asked, smiling back. He shrugs, his gaze getting softer, more distant.
“I was just thinkin’ about how this could be forever. I may not be a construction guy like Darry, but I could make a tuff place, with a pond for you to sit at,” Soda explains, like he had thought about it a million times before. His eyes drifted back up to the sky and he sighed. “You don’t mean like runnin’ away or something?’ you asked, sitting up and staring at him.
Quickly he shook his head. “No, gotta wait for Pony to move out so him and Darry don’t kill each other,” he explains, using his hands to convey it, all mapped out. You giggle, holding onto his arm and burying your face into his slender arms. “Gotta save up money first, so I can treat you right… Can’t work my life away when I could be spending it with you,” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck and his hands moving to tickle you.
“Soda no! I’m gonna hurt you!” You yell, laughing, trying to push his hands off. He doesn’t stop until you were begging for mercy. Your breathing was heavy as he let off, he watched you recover with a smug look on his face before dipping down for a kiss.
The kiss was deep and practiced, his lips moving against yours in a familiar dance, a rhythm only you two knew well. When he pulled back, your lips slightly swollen from the kiss, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before stroking your hair.
“Think Venus is out?” you asked quietly. Soda just gave a low laugh and shook his head. “Maybe, ain’t it too late to see her?” he asked, looking to you for answers. He didn’t know much about this stuff. “Maybe?” you laughed, nudging him with your arm. “That’s not a good answer.”
Soda just shrugs, “I wasn’t focused on Venus, more focused on you,” he said, leaning in for another kiss. “You are relentless. Plus you can thank Venus for all this love and beauty you’re experiencing,” you corrected, pressing your foreheads together instead. “Geek…” he mumbles, his eyes crinkling in the corner as a smile spreads across his face.
The pond rippled quietly as animals swam by. The tranquility of it all was relaxing; no work, no brothers yelling, and no responsibilities but holding onto you. He pulled you a bit closer if possible, resting his chin on top of your head. “I think I could do forever,” he mumbles. You give a slow, sleepy nod.
AN: Drooling, he's so fine. This isn't the best; sorry, guys. I've been rushing these. Based on the Sabrina Carpenter song, enjoy!
In middle school, Darrel Curtis was never the first boy in mind. He was the scrawny kid. He got made fun of for being a greaser—his jeans dirty and reused, holes worn in his shirts. You had always been nice to him, being his partner in projects, sitting with him at lunch occasionally.
He had grown to really like you, his first real crush.
Darry was crushed when you moved away. Afterwards, he kept his head down, worked on himself, and didn’t cause trouble.
It wasn’t until years later that you returned to help your aunt, who had had a baby. You had matured since middle school; now 20 years old, proper and sweet. Your aunt lived near Darry; her neighborhood was run-down.
You were taking the dog for a walk, the hot summer sun beating down on you.
Some people waved as you walked by; others gave a friendly smile. You walked by a familiar house; outside, a man was tinkering with his engine—he wore a sweat-covered tank top, an oily rag over his shoulder. Your aunt’s dog barked, running up to this man. The man peeked out, grinning at the squirming puppy. “Hi, buddy… Long time no see.” his voice was steady and deep; petting Buttercup.
The man stood up, looking you in the eyes. He towered over you, his muscles prominent, and his eyes were cold, pale green-blue ice. You froze; he was so handsome.
“Darry..?” It fell from your lips before you could stop it, your eyes going wide. Darrel Curtis from middle school was standing in front of you. He wasn’t the scrawny kid anymore; a shell of who he used to be. You didn’t remember Darry looking like this; you would’ve remembered.
You saw it in his eyes; he recognized you. He smiled quickly, a real one—he smothered it quickly, like it ached to have it. “Wow… Been a while…” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. If you looked closely, you could see his ears burn red with embarrassment.
You continued to stare. He was carved out of wood now, his jaw strong, and his arms smudged in motor oil. His tank top stretched against the confines of his broad chest. He looked just like his father had; more alluring even. “You are Darry,” you blurt, eyes going wide.
“Last time I checked,” he quipped, giving a nervous laugh as your eyes inspected him carefully. “Sorry,” you mumble, the dog whining at both your feet. “You look…” You pause, and Darry answers for you. “Different. I know,” he said quietly.
In high school, his confidence had been high, but now, as he turned into more of an adult, he saw less and less of the attractive young kid he had been then. He slowly started to feel older and older, the cold look in his eyes scaring even himself some days.
“Good. Really good,” you correct, giving him a small smile. His heart flutters, and he feels like a 13-year-old kid all over again. Your eyes burned holes through him; he could stare forever. “Not so bad yourself,” he mumbles; his flirting skills had gone way downhill.
After a good half an hour of catching up, Sodapop came sauntering out, walking next to Darry. “Dar, I told you not to fix it. You know I can do it better,” he complains, sticking his hand into the engine, wrenching a certain spot with ease. He slammed the hood down. “All good, big brother,” Soda teased with a big grin. Darry just gave him a look. “Don’t be rude, Soda. This is an old friend from middle school, remember?” he asks, introducing you both.
“Oh right, the girl that you had the hots for and were mopey ab—” Darry sends an elbow into Soda’s side, earning a small ‘oof’ from Soda. Soda was just as handsome, his smile so charming you couldn’t help but smile back. “See you around, I’m gonna go meet Steve, Evie, and Sandy at the lot,” he said, walking away.
Darry’s eyes returned to you; you just grinned. “Sorry, he’s still the same… Just older,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry about it, you remember how my family was…” You giggle a little. The sweet laughter made his eyes drift to you, looking at you like you hung the moon for him. “I’ll see you around, Dar. I’ll be here all summer,” you say, walking off, your shoes clicking on the sidewalk.
He watches you walk away, his mind scrambled.
After that, Darry saw you every time you walked the dog, at the grocery store, even when he was playing football with the gang; he saw you walking by.
Of course, you saw him too. Once you saw him, you couldn’t stop noticing him. On the walks, you'd see his back muscles ripple as he carried lumber to his truck, making you walk your aunt’s dog straight into someone’s mailbox.
A few days later, he was fixing a neighbor's fence, his shirt stripped off and discarded. You saw and immediately turned the other way, but the dog wasn’t so compliant. Running straight up to him, jumping on Darry’s legs excitedly. “Traitor…” you mumbled under your breath.
He pet the old border collie, ruffling its fur before standing up. “Hi,” he said casually, as if his skin wasn’t glistening with sweat. It was hard to look away from. You stared before giving him a small, “Hey.”
An awkward silence stretched between you guys as you stared, mouth agape. “You alright?” he asked, running a hand through his face, a smile spreading across his face. Suddenly, he felt just a tick more confident. You closed your mouth and nodded, “Just taking Buttercup for a walk…” you squeaked. It was unfair, seeing him like this. Something you couldn’t quite have due to all his responsibilities. You just had to admire.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, squatting back down to continue his work. His hands were rough and calloused from all the labor. “Yeah… I just—when did this happen?” you blurt, gesturing to his muscular stomach. His cheeks flush a little as he shakes his head. “You act like I’ve been replaced. People do change after 7 years, you know?” he teased. Looking up at you, his eyes sweet and almost innocent.
“I know, but I leave town and come back, you’re built like a statue or something!” you word vomit. You clasp a hand over your mouth out of embarrassment and walk away, the dog in tow. He shakes his head, a smile plastered on his face. He hadn’t had something real like this in what felt like years. He felt so light around you, despite the gap of time.
Next time you saw him in the grocery store, you exchanged ‘hi’s’ before you grabbed baby formula and walked off. He watched you walk before calling your name, making you turn. “You walk by a lot,” he said, sheepishly rubbing his neck like it was just a comment. “We could… do something sometime. Properly. If you want.”
You giggled. You couldn’t resist his charming face, his sweet eyes, and that little smile he saved just for you. “I thought you’d never ask.” He paused before his eyes lit up; Darry tried to keep calm, steadying himself and nodding.
As you turned to leave, he let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, he got a rush, excited to have something to look forward to for the first time.
You walked out of the grocery store smiling like an idiot, all alone. Finally, he had asked you out, and it felt like everything was aligning just right.
