Note This small piece deals with brief mentions of fertility struggles, negative tests, and the emotional weight of wanting a child for a long time. While it's ultimately a happy and fluffy story, those themes are present in the background. If you're sensitive to discussions of infertility or pregnancy loss, please be aware of it. Smut is there but like, barely, more fluff and everything with aftercare and lots of emotional intimacy. Also, Clark cries a lot because he loves his wife and baby so much, it's very soft and sweet.
The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the bedroom, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. Clark lay propped against the headboard, one arm tucked behind his head while the other held his phone at a comfortable distance, the screen illuminating his chiseled features as he scrolled through the day's news with half-lidded eyes. The quiet hum of the city at night filtered through the reinforced windows of their Metropolis apartment, but he'd long since learned to tune out the cacophony of the world outside these walls.
Beside him, you were a portrait of peaceful slumber—your dark lashes fanned against your cheeks, your lips slightly parted, one hand curled loosely against his chest as if even in sleep you needed to anchor yourself to him. The sheet had slipped down to your waist, revealing the gentle curve of your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of your breathing. You'd fallen asleep nearly an hour ago, exhausted from another long day at the Daily Planet, and he'd been content to simply exist in this space with you, to feel the warmth of your body against his side, to listen to the steady rhythm of your heart.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Your heartbeat was as familiar to him as his own—he'd memorized its cadence years ago, could pick it out of a crowd of thousands without hesitation. It was the sound of home, of safety, of everything good in his life. He'd spent countless nights with his ear pressed to your chest, listening to that rhythm as you ran your fingers through his hair and whispered sweet nothings into the darkness.
But tonight, as he scrolled past another article about LexCorp's latest questionable acquisition, something made him pause.
Not your heartbeat. Something else.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He frowned, his thumb stilling on the screen as he cocked his head slightly, straining to identify what had caught his attention. At first, he thought it might be a neighbor's late-night television, or perhaps the distant thrum of a passing helicopter—the kind of ambient noise that usually faded into the background of his consciousness.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
No. This was different.
Clark lowered his phone slowly, his brow furrowing as he focused his attention inward, filtering through the symphony of sounds that constantly bombarded his superhuman senses. The refrigerator's gentle hum. The traffic several blocks away. A couple arguing in the building next door. The soft whisper of the wind against the windowpane.
And then—there it was again. So faint, so impossibly delicate, that he might have missed it entirely if he hadn't been specifically listening for it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
His breath caught in his throat.
It was a heartbeat. A tiny, rapid heartbeat, fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, so different from the slow, steady rhythm of your heart that he almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was buried deep, muffled by layers of tissue and muscle, but it was undeniably there—a perfect, rhythmic pulse that seemed to sing with the promise of new life.
Clark's hand trembled as he set his phone aside, his entire body going still as he directed every ounce of his concentration toward that fragile sound. His enhanced hearing allowed him to perceive things no human could ever dream of—the whisper of a butterfly's wings from a mile away, the quietest secret spoken in a crowded room—but this was something else entirely. This was a secret whispered by the universe itself, and it was happening inside the woman he loved more than life itself.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The tiny heart beat on, impossibly fast, impossibly strong for something so small.
“Baby,” he breathed, the word barely a whisper, not wanting to disturb your sleep. His eyes had gone wide, and he felt a familiar pricking sensation behind them—the precursor to tears that he could never quite control when it came to you.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
He pressed his hand gently against your abdomen, his palm resting over the place where your child was growing, and he felt his heart swell until he was certain it might burst from his chest. All those years of hoping, of waiting, of wanting—you'd talked about it so many times, lying in bed just like this, your head on his chest as you dreamed about the future. He'd watched your eyes light up whenever you saw a baby in the park, had held you when the tears came after negative tests, had whispered reassurances that your time would come and now it finally had.
Clark pressed his lips together hard, trying to contain the sob that threatened to escape, but a single tear escaped anyway, trailing down his cheek and dripping onto the pillow. He didn't want to wake you—God, he knew you needed your rest—but he couldn't stop staring at your face, at the peaceful expression that was completely unaware of the miracle growing inside you.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Your child. His and yours. A perfect blend of two worlds, two souls who had somehow found each other despite every obstacle the universe had thrown in their path.
He remembered the night you'd first admitted you wanted children—it had been after a particularly harrowing mission, one where he'd almost been lost to the phantom zone, and you'd held him so tightly that even his Kryptonian skin had felt the pressure. “I want everything with you,” you'd whispered against his neck, your voice thick with emotion. “I want the whole damn dream, Clark. House in the suburbs, picket fence, a baby—maybe two—and a dog that sheds all over the furniture. I want it all.”
And he'd promised you, right then and there, that he'd give you everything you deserved.
Three years of trying. Three years of hope and disappointment, of doctor's appointments and ovulation tests, of holding you when you cried and telling you that it would happen when it was meant to happen. Three years of wanting so desperately to give you the family you craved, the family he craved, that he'd sometimes found himself praying to Rao, to God, to anyone who might be listening.
And now...
Clark pressed his forehead to your shoulder, his whole body shaking with the effort of containing his joy. He could feel the baby's heartbeat so clearly now that he knew what to listen for, that fragile thrum of life that seemed to echo through his very soul.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“I know,” he whispered against your skin. “I know, little one. I hear you.”
You stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping your lips, and he froze, not wanting to wake you. But you simply shifted closer to him, burying your face in the curve of his neck, and settled back into sleep.
Clark wrapped his arm around you, pulling you as close as he dared, and let his mind drift over the realization that was still washing through him in waves. A baby. Your baby. He was going to be a father—a real father, not just a hero who saved the world, but a man who would teach his child to ride a bike, who would read bedtime stories, who would be there for every scraped knee and broken heart.
He thought of his own parents, Martha and Jonathan, the two people who had given him everything even when they had so little. He thought of the way his mother had looked at him with such unconditional love, the way his father had taught him that true strength wasn't about power, but about compassion. He thought of how they'd be over the moon when they found out—Martha would probably start knitting tiny sweaters the second she heard the news, and Jonathan would get that proud, misty-eyed look he got whenever Clark did something that made him feel like he'd done right by his son.
He thought of your parents too—the way your mother's face would light up with joy, the way your father would probably pretend to be gruff about it before pulling you into the tightest hug imaginable. They'd be the kind of grandparents who spoiled their grandchild rotten, who'd show up with armfuls of gifts and stay for hours just to hold the baby.
And then there was Jimmy—goofy, loyal, wonderful Jimmy, who would absolutely be the world's most ridiculous uncle. Clark could already picture Jimmy showing up with a camera, taking approximately ten thousand photos of the baby's first everything, teaching them terrible jokes and sneaking them candy when their parents weren't looking. Jimmy would probably try to teach the baby how to do a “sick kickflip” on a skateboard before they could even walk, and Clark would have to be the one to intervene, rolling his eyes while secretly loving every second of it.
And Lois—grumpy, brilliant, fiercely loving Lois—who would pretend to be above all this baby stuff, who would roll her eyes at the “gushy” things and insist she was far too busy to be an aunt. But Clark knew her better than that. He knew she'd be the first one to volunteer for babysitting duty, the one who'd show up with age-appropriate books and stern lectures about proper nutrition, the one who'd threaten any potential bully with a Pulitzer-Prize-winning exposé on their family's dark secrets. Lois would spoil that baby absolutely rotten, and she'd deny it with every breath in her body.
And then there was Kara—his cousin, the other survivor of Krypton, the fierce and wonderful young woman who had found her way to Earth and into his heart. Clark smiled at the thought of her holding his baby, of teaching them about their heritage, of being the cool, kickass cousin who could fly and punch through walls and still have time to braid their hair and give them advice about boys or girls or whoever they ended up loving. Kara would be the one who understood what it was like to carry the weight of two worlds, the one who could tell them stories about Krypton that weren't sad and heavy, but full of wonder and beauty and the kind of hope that made a person believe in impossible things.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
“You're going to have so many people who love you,” he whispered into the darkness. “Your grandma Martha is going to knit you so many blankets you won't know what to do with them. And your grandpa Jonathan—he's going to teach you about hard work and honesty and what it means to have a good heart. He's going to tell you stories about Kansas, about cornfields and sunsets and the way the world looks when you're standing on a hill and you can see forever.”
He paused, swallowing hard against the emotion clogging his throat.
“And your other grandparents—your mom's mom and dad—they're going to spoil you so much. Your grandma's going to make you all her famous cookies, and your grandpa's going to teach you how to fix things, how to build things with your hands. And they're all going to look at you and see the best parts of everyone they love.”
He laughed softly, imagining the chaos.
“And your Uncle Jimmy—he's going to be the silliest uncle in the history of uncles. He's going to teach you bad jokes and show you how to take the perfect picture and probably try to make you his assistant for some wild scheme. Your mom and I are going to have to keep an eye on him, I'm telling you. And Auntie Lois—she's going to pretend she's too busy and too important for all of this, but she's going to love you so much it scares her. She's going to bring you books and teach you big words and threaten anyone who even looks at you wrong. She's going to be the most fierce aunt you could ever imagine, and she's going to spoil you absolutely rotten, even if she'll never admit it.”
He paused, feeling his heart swell even more.
“And your auntie Kara—your dad’s cousin. You might think she’s a bit crazy but she’s going to be amazing. She’s going to teach you about where we come from about Krypton, about Rao, about the House of El. She’s going to show you that being different is something to be proud of, not something to be ashamed of. She’s going to be the one who understands what it’s like to carry the weight of a whole planet on your shoulders, and she’s going to hold your hand through all of it. Plus, she’s going to be the coolest auntie ever—she can fly, she can bench press a building, and she has the best taste in music. You’re going to think she’s the coolest person in the universe, and honestly, you’ll be right.
The baby's heart continued its rapid rhythm, and Clark let himself imagine what they'd look like—your child, with your fierce intelligence and maybe his own stubborn streak. He imagined tiny fingers wrapped around his thumb, imagined the first smile, the first word, the first step. He imagined teaching them about the stars, about the legacy of Krypton, about what it meant to be a symbol of hope.
He imagined you, glowing with the beauty of impending motherhood, your hand resting on your belly as you talked to the life growing inside you.
The thought made him ache with a love so profound it hurt.
“I love you,” he whispered to your sleeping form, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “I love you both so much it terrifies me.”
He could have stayed awake all night, just listening to that tiny heartbeat—and he almost did, staying perfectly still until the first rays of dawn crept through the curtains. But eventually, exhaustion won out, and he allowed himself to drift into a light sleep, his hand never leaving your abdomen.
The next few days were the longest of Clark's life.
He woke before you every morning, careful not to disturb you as he slipped out of bed first and headed to work at the Daily Planet together, where he spent his days pretending to focus on stories while his mind drifted back to that tiny heartbeat. He wanted to tell you—God, he wanted to scream it from the rooftops—but there was something special about this moment, about being the only one who knew your secret.
It felt sacred.
So he kept his silence, watching you with new eyes as you went about your daily routine. He noticed the way you'd started pressing your hand to your stomach when you thought he wasn't looking, the way you'd been avoiding your morning coffee. He noticed the slight pallor to your skin, the way you'd been more tired lately, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot.
He caught himself staring at you across the newsroom, and when you caught his eye and smiled, he had to look away before you could see the tears threatening to spill over.
“Everything okay, Smallville?” you asked him once, your brow furrowed with concern. “You've been acting weird all week.”
“Just tired,” he lied, and the guilt made his stomach twist. “You know how it is. Big story brewing.”
You accepted the excuse with a skeptical look, but you didn't push, and he was grateful for that small mercy.
Seventeen days after he'd first heard it, Clark came home to find the apartment dark, a single candle flickering on the dining table, and you standing in the center of the room with your hands clasped behind your back.
“Hey, you,” you said softly, and there was something in your voice—a tremor, an excitement—that made his heart start to pound.
“Hey,” he replied, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it by the door. “What's all this?”
You bit your lip, and he watched your eyes grow bright with unshed tears. “I have something to tell you. Something I've been wanting to tell you for—God, Clark, I've been counting down the minutes.”
He crossed the room in two steps, his hands finding your waist, his forehead dropping to yours. “What is it?” he asked, even though he already knew, even though he'd been waiting for this moment for almost three agonizing weeks.
You pulled a small object from behind your back—a small teddy bear wearing a baby onesie, impossibly tiny, with the infamous ‘S’ printed across the front in bold letters—and held it up between you.
“I'm pregnant,” you said, and your voice cracked on the last syllable. “We're having a baby, Clark. I found out a few days ago, and I've been dying to tell you, but I wanted to do it right, wanted to make it special, and—”
You didn't get to finish the sentence, because Clark's lips were on yours, kissing you with a tenderness that made you gasp. He tasted the salt of your tears—and his own, he realized, because they were streaming down his face unchecked, soaking your cheeks, your lips, everything.
“I know,” he whispered against your mouth. “I know, baby. I've known since that night.”
You pulled back, your eyes wide with shock. “What? How?”
“Like three weeks ago,” he said, and his voice was thick with emotion. “You were sleeping after that Gala, and I was just—just lying there, listening to your heartbeat like I always do, and I heard something else.”
Your hand flew to your mouth. “You heard—”
“It was so faint, so small, but it was there.” He pressed his hand to your abdomen, exactly where he'd felt it before. “A heartbeat. Tiny and fast and perfect. Our baby's heartbeat.”
You stared at him for a long moment, your expression unreadable, and then you burst into tears—great, heaving sobs that shook your entire body. “You've known for that many days? And you didn't say anything?”
“I wanted you to have your moment,” he said, pulling you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. “I wanted to see your face when you told me. I wanted—”
“You idiot,” you sobbed, but you were laughing too, your hands fisted in his shirt. “You beautiful, wonderful, impossible idiot.”
“I love you,” he said, and he meant it more than he'd ever meant anything in his life. “I love you so much, my love.”
You pulled back, cupping his face in your hands, your thumbs wiping away the tears that still streamed down his cheeks. “I love you too, Clark. More than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. Your lips parted beneath his, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that was as familiar as it was electric.
“When did you find out?” he asked when you finally broke apart, his forehead still pressed to yours.
“Like four days ago,” you admitted, a watery laugh escaping you. “I have been feeling weird for lm weeks and I took the test that morning, after you left for work and I had the day off. I must have stared at that little pink plus sign for an hour before I could move.”
Four days. You'd known for four days, and you'd kept it to yourself just so you could give him this moment. Clark's heart swelled with love for you, this incredible woman who had somehow chosen him, out of everyone in the universe.
“Four days,” he repeated, shaking his head in wonder. “We've been keeping the same secret from each other.”
“Great minds think alike,” you said, and then you were pulling him toward the bedroom, your hand in his, your steps quick and eager.
“Sweetheart—” he started, but you cut him off with a look.
“I need you,” you said simply, and there was no room for argument in your voice. “I need to feel you, Clark. I need to—I need to celebrate this.”
He needed that too, he realized. Needed to show you, with his body, just how much this meant to him. Needed to worship you the way you deserved.
The bedroom was bathed in moonlight when you reached it, silver light filtering through the curtains and casting shadows across the bed. Clark laid you down gently, reverently, as if you were made of spun glass, and you laughed softly at his care.
“I'm not going to break,” you reminded him, reaching up to pull him down on top of you.
“I know,” he said, but he couldn't help the careful way he touched you, the way his hands traced the outline of your body as if memorizing every curve. “I just want to be gentle. I want to remember every second of this.”
Your eyes softened, and you reached up to stroke his cheek. “I know you do. But I also know you, Clark Kent. I know that sometimes you need to lose control a little.”
He groaned at your words, his body responding immediately to the promise in them. “Honey—”
“Shh,” you whispered, pulling him down for another kiss. “Just love me, Clark. Love me.”
And he did.
His hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with careful precision, revealing the soft expanse of your stomach. He pressed his lips to the skin there, kissing the place where your child was growing, and heard the tiny heartbeat flutter.
“Hello, little one,” he murmured against your belly, and he felt you shudder beneath him. “I'm your daddy. I've been waiting for you for so long. Your mommy and I—we've been dreaming about you for years.”
“Clark,” you breathed, and your voice was thick with emotion. “God, I love you.”
He kissed his way up your body, pausing at your breasts, at the hollow of your throat, until he reached your lips again. “I love you too,” he said, and then he was kissing you with all the passion he'd been holding back for three days.
Your hands found the buttons of his shirt, working them open with practiced ease, and he shrugged the fabric off his shoulders as you tugged it away. Skin met skin, and the heat of you against him made his head spin. He could feel every inch of you pressed against him, could feel the softness of your curves and the strength of your arms wrapped around his neck, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to take you right then and there.
“I need you,” you said again, your hands fumbling with his belt. “I need you inside me, Clark. Please. I need to feel you—I need to feel connected to you. I’m so ready.”
He helped you with his pants, kicking them away along with his boxers, and then he was bare above you, the moonlight painting his muscles in silver and shadow. You were beautiful beneath him, your hair spread across the pillow like a dark halo, your eyes dark with want, your lips slightly parted as you looked up at him with so much love it made his chest ache.
“Are you sure?” he asked, even as his body screamed at him to take you. “I don't want to hurt you, or the baby—”
“I'm sure,” you said, and there was no doubt in your voice. “Everything is Fine, Clark. I just want you now, my love.”
He almost laughed and cry at that, at how perfect you were, already thinking ahead, already making sure everything was in order. “You're so incredible, you know that? Every single day, I'm amazed by you.”
“Now stop talking and make love to your wife,” you commanded, and he couldn't help but obey.
He entered you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, watching your face as you adjusted to the feeling of him. Your lips parted, your eyes fluttering closed, and you let out a soft moan that drove him wild. He felt your warmth surround him, felt your body accept him so perfectly, so completely, and he had to pause for a moment just to catch his breath.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. “So perfect, sweetheart. Every time—every time it feels like the first time. Like I'm seeing the stars for the first time.”
“Move,” you urged, wrapping your legs around his waist, your heels digging into the small of his back. “Please, Clark. Move. I need to feel you.”
And he did.
He set a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust deep and deliberate, designed to make you feel every inch of him. Your hands clutched at his back, your nails digging into his skin, and you arched beneath him, meeting his movements with your own. The sounds you made—soft gasps and moans and whispered words of love—were the most beautiful music he'd ever heard.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, and your eyes opened, meeting his. “I want to see you when you come. I want to watch your face, baby.”
“I'm close,” you gasped, and he could feel you tightening around him, could feel the telltale flutter that signaled your impending climax. Your eyes were locked on his, and he could see the love shining in them, could see how much this moment meant to you.
“Come for me,” he urged, reaching down to circle your clit with his thumb, his movements precise and perfect. “Come for me, my love. Let me feel you. Let me feel us.”
You shattered around him, your body convulsing with the force of your release, and he watched your face—watched the way your eyes rolled back, the way your lips parted on a silent scream, the way your whole body seemed to light up with pleasure. And then he followed you over the edge with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he spilled inside you, his hips driving into you with deep, shuddering thrusts that seemed to go on forever.
“I love you,” he gasped against your skin, his voice broken and raw. “I love you so much. You're everything to me. Everything. I love you, I love you, I love you—”
He collapsed on top of you, careful to keep most of his weight on his elbows, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you both came down from the high. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, could feel the way your body trembled beneath him, and he pressed soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, whispering words of love and devotion against your skin.
“You're so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “So beautiful, and so perfect, and I don't deserve you.”
“Don't say that,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his hair. “You deserve everything, Clark. Every good thing in the world.”
He lifted his head to look at you, and he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face—the kind of smile that made his cheeks ache, that made him look like the farm boy from Kansas rather than the Man of Steel. You looked so content, so peaceful, your hair a mess and your skin flushed, and you'd never been more beautiful to him.
“Can I get you something?” he asked softly. “Water? Tea? I can run you a bath, if you want.”
You laughed, a beautiful, joyful sound. “You're going to spoil me even more now, aren’t you?”
“That's the plan,” he said, kissing your forehead. “For the rest of our lives.”
He carefully pulled out of you, and you winced slightly at the loss, making him frown with concern. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“I'm fine,” you assured him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I'm more than fine. I'm perfect.”
“Let me take care of you,” he insisted, and before you could protest, he was lifting you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom as if you weighed nothing. He set you down gently on the closed toilet lid and started running the bath, testing the water temperature with his wrist until it was perfect.
“Clark, you don't have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.
“I want to,” he said simply. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
You nodded, your eyes shining with unshed tears, and he helped you into the warm water, the gentle steam rising around you. He took his time washing you—his hands gentle as they smoothed soap over your skin, his touch reverent as he cleaned every inch of you. He paid special attention to your abdomen, his palm pressing softly against the place where your baby grew, and he pressed a kiss to your wet skin.
“I can't believe you're really in there,” he whispered to the baby. “I can't believe you're ours.”
“You can hear them?” you asked, and your voice was soft with wonder.
“Their heartbeat,” he confirmed, looking up at you with tears in his eyes. “It's so tiny, so fast. Like a hummingbird. It's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.”
You reached down to touch his hand, your fingers intertwining with his over your belly. “Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you for wanting this with me. For choosing me.”
“There was never any choice,” he said, echoing your words from earlier. “It was always going to be you. From the moment I met you, it was always going to be you.”
After the bath, he dried you off with a soft towel and helped you into one of his T-shirts—the one you always stole, the one that smelled like him and comfort and home. He carried you back to bed and tucked you in, making sure you were comfortable before he climbed in beside you.
“Sleep,” he whispered, pulling you close so that your back was pressed against his chest, his hand resting on your belly. “I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere.”
“Promise?” you asked, already half-asleep.
“I promise,” he said, and he meant it with everything he was.
As your breathing evened out, Clark lay awake for a while longer, listening to the two heartbeats that meant everything to him. Yours, steady and strong, and the baby's, quick and full of promise. His hand remained on your abdomen, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the skin, feeling the warmth of the life growing there.
“Thank you,” he whispered to you, even though you couldn't hear him. “Thank you for this. For everything. For being you.”
He thought about his parents again, about the phone call he'd make tomorrow, about the way his mother would cry with joy and his father would pretend he wasn't crying while clearly being a mess. He thought about your parents, about how excited they'd be, about how your mother would probably start planning a nursery before you'd even hung up the phone.
A family. His family. Surrounded by so much love it was almost overwhelming.
And as the moonlight continued to stream through the windows, painting the bedroom in silver and shadow, Clark allowed himself to dream of the future—of a child with your laugh and his stubbornness, of a home filled with love and laughter and all the chaos that came with raising a baby. He dreamed of Christmas mornings and summer afternoons, of bedtime stories and first steps and all the little moments that would add up to a beautiful life.
He pressed a kiss to your hair, then another to your shoulder, and he let his hand rest on your belly, feeling the tiny heartbeat that had changed everything.
“Welcome to the world, little one,” he whispered into the darkness. “We can't wait to meet you. Your whole family is waiting for you—all the grandparents, all the aunts and uncles, everyone who's going to love you so much. You're already so loved, and you're not even here yet.”
And somewhere, in the quiet space between sleep and waking, he could have sworn he felt the baby respond—a flutter, a shift, a tiny movement that might have been his imagination but felt absolutely real.
His family. His whole world, right here in his arms.
Clark kissed your hair one last time, let his hand rest gently on your belly, and felt the most content he'd ever been in his life.
“I love you,” he whispered one more time. “Both of you. Forever.”
And as sleep finally claimed him, he dreamed of the future—of tiny fingers and toothless smiles, of first words and big dreams, of a life filled with the kind of love he'd never thought he deserved.
It was everything he'd ever wanted, and more.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The tiny heartbeat continued its perfect rhythm, and even in his sleep, Clark smiled.
Six weeks later, Clark had come home from a particularly long day at the Planet—there’d been a breaking story about some corporate scandal that had kept everyone late, and he’d been forced to pretend he needed to take the subway home instead of simply flying—and found you already asleep when he’d slipped into bed. You’d been exhausted lately, Perry being the incredible boss, saying he’s the baby’s third grandfather and letting you end up your days earlier. Your body working overtime to create new life, and he’d learned to let you rest when you needed it.
Sleep wouldn’t come for him. His mind was too full—full of you, full of the baby, full of the future they were building together. So he simply lay there, his back against the headboard, one arm wrapped around you while the other rested on your abdomen, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your breathing.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Your heart, steady and strong.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The baby’s, so much faster, so much more fragile.
He’d become addicted to that sound, he realized. He’d started counting the hours until he could come home and listen to it again, until he could press his palm against your belly and feel the flutter of new life beneath his fingertips. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced, and he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Little one,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice so soft it was barely a breath. “Your mom’s asleep, so it’s just you and me right now. I hope you don’t mind.”
The baby’s heart continued its rapid rhythm, and Clark smiled.
“I don’t have a lot to offer you, you know,” he continued, his thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin. “I mean, I can promise you the world—literally, I guess. But what I really want to promise you is something simpler. Something better.”
He paused, gathering his thoughts.
“I want to promise you that I’m going to love you with everything I have. Every single day, for the rest of my life. I’m going to be there for every scraped knee and every broken heart. I’m going to teach you how to ride a bike and how to tie your shoes and how to look up at the stars and feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“Your mom is probably going to be better at this than I am. She’s so good at the important stuff—the talking, the listening, the knowing exactly what to say when everything feels impossible. I’m just going to try to keep up with her.”
He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then settled back against the pillows.
“But you know what the best part is? You get to have her as your mom. I’m serious, little one. Your mom is the most incredible person I’ve ever met. She’s so brave, so smart, so determined—she doesn’t let anything stop her. When she wants something, she goes after it with everything she has, and she doesn’t give up. She’s going to teach you how to be strong, how to stand up for what’s right, how to fight for the things that matter.”
He felt his throat tighten with emotion.
“She’s also the kindest person I know. She’ll hold you when you cry and never make you feel silly for it. She’ll stay up all night with you when you’re sick, reading stories or singing songs or just sitting with you so you don’t have to be alone. She’s going to look at you with so much love in her eyes, and it’s going to make you feel like you can do anything in the world.”
He paused, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.
“And honestly? I still can’t believe she chose me. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it. She could have had anyone—anyone in the world—and she chose me. A farm boy from Kansas who didn’t even know who he was until she helped him figure it out. She saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself, and she never stopped believing in me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
The baby’s heartbeat seemed to steady slightly, and Clark felt a warmth spread through his chest.
“I’m going to love you so much,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I already do. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, little one. Your mom and I—we’ve been wanting you for years. There were so many times when we thought it might not happen, when we thought maybe we weren’t meant to be parents. But you’re here. You’re real. And I can hear you, and I can feel you, and I already love you more than I thought it was possible to love anything.”
He pressed his palm more firmly against your belly, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his hand.
“I’m going to teach you everything I know. I’m going to teach you about Kansas and cornfields and the way the sky looks when the sun sets over the prairie. I’m going to teach you about the stars—about Krypton and Rao and the legacy you come from. I’m going to teach you what it means to be a symbol of hope, even when it feels like the world is falling apart.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“But more than any of that, I’m going to teach you about love. The kind of love that your mom and I have. The kind of love that’s patient and kind, that never gives up, that shows up every single day even when it’s hard. That’s the kind of love I want to give you, little one. That’s the kind of love you deserve.”
He felt a tear slip down his cheek, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away.
“Your mom is going to be the best mother in the entire universe. I know that's a big claim, but I'm right. She's already amazing at taking care of me, and I'm a grown man who's supposed to be able to take care of himself. She's going to be patient and kind and strong, and she's going to look at you like you hung the moon.”
He pressed his lips to your shoulder again, lingering there for a moment.
“She's going to teach you how to be brave. How to stand up for yourself and for others. How to fight for what's right, even when it's scary. She's going to teach you to question things, to think critically, to never take anything at face value. She's going to show you what it means to be passionate about something, to care about the world and the people in it.”
He felt his voice break, and he had to pause for a moment to collect himself.
“And she's going to love you so much it's going to make you feel like the luckiest person in the world. Because you are, little one. You really are. You're going to have so many people who love you—so many grandparents, so many aunts and uncles, so many people who are already waiting to meet you and hold you and tell you how special you are.”
He pressed his hand more firmly against your belly, feeling the warmth of you both beneath his palm.
“But the most important thing I want you to know is that I love your mom more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me—and I'm not just saying that because you're in there listening. I'm saying it because it's true. She saved me, little one. She helped me become the person I was always meant to be. And I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying to make her as happy as she makes me.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head.
“You're going to be so loved, little one. By me, by your mom, by all of us. We're going to give you the world—not the literal world, I mean, although your mom probably could convince me to try—but we're going to give you the most important things that are love and safety and the freedom to be whoever you want to be. And that's the best thing we can give you, really.”
The baby's heartbeat seemed to pick up slightly, and Clark smiled.
“You know, I used to worry about being a father. I wondered if I was too broken, too damaged, too much of a mess to be responsible for another life. But I don't worry about that anymore. Because your mom—your mom makes me believe that I can do anything. She makes me believe that I'm good enough, that I'm worthy of the things I want. And I want this—I want you, and I want her, and I want our family.”
He felt another tear slip down his cheek, and he let it fall.
“So just know that you're already so loved. You're already the most wanted baby in the entire universe. And when you finally come to meet us—when you open your eyes and look at us for the first time—we're going to be the happiest people on earth.”
The baby's heart continued its rapid rhythm, and Clark pressed a kiss to your belly, right where his hand was resting.
“I love you, little one. I can't wait to meet you.”
He felt you shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips, and he froze, not wanting to wake you. But you simply settled deeper into his arms, your hand coming up to rest on top of his, even in your sleep, and Clark felt his heart melt.
“Your mom's already protecting you,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder. “Look at her—she's holding onto you even when she doesn't know she's doing it. She's going to be so good at this, little one. So, so good.”
He pressed another kiss to your shoulder, then settled back against the pillows, pulling you both closer.
“And I'm going to be right here, every step of the way. I'm going to hold your mom's hand when she's scared. I'm going to make her laugh when she's sad. I'm going to be the best father I can possibly be, because you both deserve nothing less.”
He closed his eyes, letting the sound of the baby's heartbeat wash over him.
“We're going to be okay,” he whispered. “All three of us. We're going to be more than okay—we're going to be amazing.”
And as sleep finally claimed him, Clark's hand remained on your belly, cradling the tiny life that had changed everything.
He dreamed of a future filled with love—a future where his parents would hold their grandchild, where Jimmy would make them laugh, where Lois would pretend to be tough while melting inside. He dreamed of birthdays and holidays, of first steps and first words, of all the moments that would make up your family's story.
And in his dreams, the baby's heartbeat was the most beautiful music he'd ever heard, a promise of everything to come.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
The tiny heart continued its perfect rhythm, and even in his sleep, Clark smiled, holding his family close.
He couldn't wait to meet them—to finally see the face of the child he'd been dreaming about for so long. But for now, this was enough, you, warm and safe in his arms, and the baby, growing and thriving inside you.
His family. His whole world and it was absolutely perfect.
hcs: reacher w a silly little girl as his partner (in crime & detective work)
1k words
-> Reacher initially doesn't need the help when he starts to investigate bodies washing up on the shore in a beach town. he can do it on his own. he's done it before; putting his nose where it doesn't belong. To solve a problem just because he's compelled to.
-> and now somehow he ended up attached to the hip with her. she doesn't understand boundaries or when Reacher tells her "no," cuz she won't take that for an answer and keeps following him everywhere when she realises he's also trying to figure out what's up with the bodies.
-> Reacher tries not to judge people. he's better than that. but she's the most unconventional detective he's ever seen. and she's not actually one. she just. decided to take matters into her own hands when the police hasn't figured out what the shit is going on. And Reacher has to admit that she was smart. because one time he trespassed into a factory that used a chemical that was found in one of the bodies and she runs into him, face first on his back, and she screams bloody murder and Reacher doesn't think when he slaps his massive palm to her face to keep her form getting them found out.
→ her eyes are wide and terrified but when she realises it's just him she physically sags and hugs him, thankful that it was just her new "friend," and not some killer. Reacher realises that night that she managed to figure out the same information as him just as quickly. so he doesn't mind when she tags along as they investigate the warehouse together.
-> anyway, she follows him everywhere and Reacher has a half mind to duct tape her to a street light and leave her there. but he's not heartless. she may not shut up for six seconds but she was smart on her own accords. and her way of thinking is so unique and all over the place that it actually manages to make them progress pretty quickly in their investigation.
-> See, "their" investigation. they're totally besties now!!
-> as much as she is smart and audacious. she's also a little clumsy and forgetful. one time she called Reacher to come to her house and he found her sitting on the pavement, head in her hands and whining because she locked herself out. including her phone. and wallet. and keys. and shoes. and only was able to call him because her neighbour lent her their phone.
"How did you-- Are you stupid?"
She immediately starts crying again, "Just a little bit!!"
Reacher doesn't even question why she didn't use that phone call to get a locksmith over, so instead, he just picks her locks for her. And she jumps on him, giving a big hug while he awkwardly pats her back as she cries in relief.
-> Reacher and his partner who interview suspicious people and when someone doesn't cooperate, she tells him, "Reacher, punch him in the jaw,"
and he stares at her without saying anything, then the man looks at them and when he's about to open his mouth again, Reacher's fist makes contact with his jaw with a crack.
-> "I made you a sandwich,"
"Thanks," Reacher doesn't even ask what it is before he takes a big bite, his head was throbbing and his sides hurt from jumping on a moving car. Their main suspect has escaped and they almost got ran over by a train too. but at least his partner made lunch for them this morning. the said sandwich was a little squished because of the mess that was in her bag, but it's delicious either way (cuz it's made w love!)
-> "we should get matching bracelets," His partner says while they're in a gas station after almost being hunted and killed in the woods. Reacher is drenched in sweat and she's covered in dirt and leaves. He's trying to get them back to town as safely as possible while she's thumbing at the random merchandise. At the end, they hitch a ride on a firetruck after his partner asks some firefighters if they could. She manages to talk the whole way through without giving out any sensitive information to the firemen about what they were really doing in a gas station in the middle of nowhere without a car. which Reacher is grateful for because now he can focus on figuring out their next step.
-> "I think we should kill him," comes out of her mouth when a random drug dealer/contract killer is being a nuisance and rude as hell (he's tied up to a chair that's hanging from the ceiling upside down by a chain)
Reacher doesn't kill him but he does beat the living shit out of him when he reveals he's had a hand in torturing and killing the families of people just to blackmail them into keeping quiet in a corruption plot. SHE kills him after. with a single gunshot. and then complain all the way home that the gun burned her (it just got hot quickly in her hand and she doesn't like the feeling).
-> If they get locked somewhere, let's say in a basement behind a steel reinforced door, she immediately turns to him, "Can you break it?"
"Break what?"
"The door? So we can get out?"
"With what? My fists? What do I look like to you? The Hulk?"
".... uhm yes actually, you kinda do,"
"... I don't even know what to say to that, and I can't punch the door and break it, it's at least 10 inches of steel,"
-> when they escape from a burning warehouse, they're exhausted and bloody and bruised up and stink of ash and oil. Reacher's partner is exhausted, breathing like she was running out of oxygen as they slowly make their way down the road on foot. Reacher realises she was shaking and looked like she was ready to fall face first on the floor, so he stops and turns around, bending his knees a little, "Get on, silly monkey,"
That immediately makes her crack a smile, she doesn't look so miserable anymore as she gets her hands on his shoulders and climbs on his back like an adorable backpack. She sniffles against the back of his neck, arms wrapped around him and Reacher hums and keeps going. Eventually she falls asleep and he makes sure not to walk too fast, as to not jostle her around.
summary : one eventful night brings you closer to your gentle giant.
pairing : fem!reader x ritchson!jack reacher.
trope : skilled ex-military man meets ordinary civilian & they fall in love while on a dangerous mission.
genre : fluff + romance.
word count : 1.3k
warnings‼️: crude language + mentions of blood + mentions of violence (nothing too graphic!) + reader gets called a ‘bitch’ + a knife + patching up wounds + a kiss scene + things get a lil heated (🌚) still sfw for the most part!
The only sources of sound are the crickets chirping outside and the occasional crack and snap of a worn out engine in an old ass vehicle.
You’ve washed your face and changed into some pajama pants and a tank top. You're sat atop your and Reacher's shared bed in some three star hotel room, wondering how fucked up tonight got.
It was supposed to be a simple stakeout. You and Reacher were meeting with someone at a bar a little outside of Margrave.
But of course, shit hit the fan as soon as possible.
You were drinking a soda, waiting on Reacher to finish conducting his little interview when jackass and friends came over.
“Why you drinkin’ all by your lonesome, hun?”
You act deaf but that just pissed them off.
“Hey. You fuckin’ deaf or somethin’?”
You look at them sideways which makes them laugh and oddly enough, think you’re playing hard to get.
“Come on now, baby, don’t be like that.”
“Yeahh, we could show you a real good time.”
The one that looks like the leader of the trio winks at you and you just can’t stand it anymore.
You pay for your soda, get off the stool and turn around to walk away when one of the three stooges grab your wrist, yanking you back.
“What the fuck—?!”
“Where you goin’?” He doesn’t sound so pleased but you don’t give a fuck.
You punch the guy restraining you in the nose, hard.
“You fuckin’ bitch.”
“You’re gonna pay for that.”
You blink and feel yourself being shielded.
Reacher.
You feel his large hand on your arm, maneuvering you behind him as he takes on the three short and scrawny (compared to mountain man over here) bastards quite easily.
Obviously, it’s not a bar fight without somebody playing dirty and pulling out a weapon at their convenience, and that’s exactly what happened!
Reacher is nicked along the lines of his abs before he snaps the guy’s wrist, jamming the knife into the other dude’s shoulder.
You winced and looked away.
Reacher rounds up the last dickhead and turns his lights off (temporarily) before you both skedaddle outta there.
And now you’re here.
Reacher opens the bathroom door to let some steam out, you observe his shirtless and injured state.
“Reacher...” Your guilt shows.
“Don’t worry about it, Y/n. I’ll be fine. I was just doing—”
“Please don’t say ‘my job’.”
He looks at you with an amused smile. The mountain man takes out the first aid kit and starts disinfecting his wounds.
You walk over and sit beside him on the counter, taking the alcohol soaked cotton ball and dab it gently.
It’s quiet again for a few minutes, no sign of awkward silence.
It’s strange, you didn’t even know this man a few weeks prior and now you’re cleaning his wounds. Not to mention, you’ve never seen the guy half-naked before and hot damn is he built like a Greek God.
You feel yourself heating up.
“It doesn’t look like it’ll need stitches, right?”
Reacher’s too busy staring at you. Your fixated eyes, your furrowed brows in concentration. He lowers his eyes towards your lips, slightly bitten in focus.
“Reacher?” You blink up at him.
“No.”
The husk in his voice catches you off guard. You gulp harshly, focusing back on the task at hand.
“You didn’t have to go that hard, you know.” You change the topic, dismissing the almost electric atmosphere.
He tilts his head at you like a confused dog. “Those bastards were harassing you, so I handled it.”
He says it with such clarity that you’d think it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You shake your head playfully, a smile tugging at your lips from his show of ferocity for you.
“And I appreciate it, I do.”
“I sense a rebuttal.” He quips.
You laugh through your nose. “I just wanted to say that despite your valiant efforts,” You pause to press a bandaid on his abs.
“Uh huh.”
“I was doing just fine.”
“That you were.”
He says it like he’s proud, like he’s so relieved to see you have your own back and toughen up when it’s time.
You know the world is a cruel place and that sometimes, only the strong survive. But you proved your strength and he recognizes it.
You meet his eyes and see him staring back into them. You see the different shade of blue in this light and angle; a dimly lit orange hue casts a nice glow onto his freshly shaved, chiseled face.
“I never noticed the many,” He inhales. “Freckles and moles and little scars on your face.”
“Now that I think about it, your nose is kind of big.” You humor him.
He squints his eyes playfully.
You really hope he picks up on the fact that you’re flirting. You want him to break the ice; to make the first move but would he be so willing? You think he’d be a tease and let you grow frustrated before appeasing.
“What are you thinking about?”
His hand comes up to rub the ends of some strands of your hair together, liking the softness of it.
“You.” You boldly answer.
He raises an eyebrow at your declaration. “What about me?”
There’s that voice again, god. The low timbre with the breathy whisper.
The smell of wood and cologne, everything clouds your senses.
Your breathing quickens just a tad when you feel the feathery touch from his fingers touch the sliver of exposed skin on your hip.
You wore the tank top because you were comfortable but now you applaud yourself for the smart choice.
He inches closer and closer; you could just push yourself up on your heels and meet him halfway.
Your eyelids flutter, fighting the battle between closing them to enjoy the moment or keeping them open to see the suspense.
Will he, won't he?
Suddenly, he leans back with a tube of Neosporin and screws the cap back on. Your eyes open up and he holds up the tube, pretending he wasn't just about to indulge you in your wildest fantasies.
“Really.”
You know he knows, but he just has to be a teasing little shit about it.
His face cracks and his lips split open to reveal the most beautiful smile; it makes you smile a little, too.
“Alright, alright. I’ll stop.” He croons.
He leans forward and grips the countertop, trapping you between him. His gaze dart around your face before landing on your lips. He takes a deep breath.
“Can I—”
“Yes!” You pull his face in with both hands, not wasting any more time.
He laughs into your mouth and you find yourself wanting to hear more of it.
You’re lifted from the countertop with such ease, you’re reminded of his strength. Time and time again, his strength makes an appearance enabling your attraction to him to increase.
Reacher’s hands squeeze at your hips when you lick his bottom lip, wanting a taste of something more.
He nips at your throat, leaving love bites messily across your neck and soothing the pleasurable pain with the coolness of his tongue.
You bring him back to you and kiss him with tongue and teeth, feeling your nerves on fire and your heart about to burst.
He groans when your legs tighten around his abdomen. “You keep doing that, I won’t last.”
You giggle at the that and think about teasing but your resolve is weak when he lays you down on the bed.
You see a sparkle in his eyes, the kind that hypnotizes you; makes you want to swim in the turquoise waters of his mind.
“I’ve got it bad for you.” You softly admit.
Your hands are in his hair, softly toying with the brown strands.
He kisses you with such fervor, you can feel everything he’s ever wanted to say.
You can feel his desperation, his devotion, his care for you. You feel his longing in the way he holds you, in the way he kisses you soft and slow.
He pours his emotions into the searing kiss and you can cry.
To know someone cares for you as much as you do for them is rare, but never not found.
Imagine riding the hell out of dal (or tbh any of the Matt characters you listed in ur recent post) and he leaves bruises on ur ass and hickeys all over ur neck and he wraps his big arms around you and just like ughhh
Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy! 🤍
Warnings: fem!reader, smut, pnv sex, spanking
Hit me my darling tonight
There you were. Sprawled upon Dallas’s lap, bouncing up and down rhythmically as if you were riding a carousel pony, lights flashing behind your eyes like fairground lamps, red and burning hot.
Your thighs strained with the effort of each rise of your hips, slamming back down onto Dallas’s, eliciting a loud moan from the both of you.
It had been an intense five minutes, and Dallas watched you with a smug look, betrayed by the parting of his lips and roll of his eyes.
Seeing you ride him so desperately sparked the most scorching flame within him, spreading throughout his whole body and melting into yours.
You were so beautiful to him, with your tits bouncing and stomach tautening each time you sank on his cock.
His hips thrust up into yours, matching your pace and intensifying the pleasure. He refused to let you do all the work yourself, insisting on giving you princess treatment even when you sought control.
“Fuck Dal.”
Your voice came out whiny and needy, not going unnoticed by him.
“Shit, look at you, so needy for my cock? Just gonna fuck yourself dumb, huh?”
His words were teasing and breathy, that smug look still plastered on his face as he felt your walls stretch and flutter around him.
You picked up your pace, ignoring the searing sensation in your muscles; you just needed him so fucking badly, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.
Dallas groaned as he watched you with an animalistic stare. Pupils blown wide and fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, lifting you with ease and yanking you back down roughly.
He suddenly pulled you down onto him, chests flush against each other’s and his big arms enveloping you.
He started sucking your neck, making you cry out. In this new position, you could feel him so much deeper, his dick rubbing against the front walls of your cunt and stomach. You felt so full of him it had you seeing stars, tears threatening to stream down your face.
Though it wasn’t long before they did so. Dallas began to bite your neck, and his hand rose to smack your ass; the sharp sound of flesh meeting combined with the stinging sensation had you sobbing in his arms.
If it wasn’t for the sheer lust you had coursing through your veins, there would be no way in hell you could continue riding him the way you did. The whole of your body overcome with blinding satisfaction.
Dallas continued his assault on your ass, undoubtedly leaving bruises there as well as on your neck, bruises that would surely be impossible to cover and would lead to some uncomfortable questions.
But you couldn’t care less about that right now. You were mumbling incoherently, and Dallas was groaning into your neck with every bite, sending electrifying vibrations into you.
You two were now fucking with unleashed, sinful desire. It was almost dangerous how good it felt, as if you were both on the brink of explosion.
He held you tightly in his arms, leaving no room for escape, grunting as he felt you begin to flutter and tighten around him, a telltale sign that you were nearing your peak.
“Are you close, baby?”
He cooed lowly into your neck.
You could only muster a weak nod; anything else was way too much.
“Aw, can’t say anything? Feel that good?”
His teasing unravelled something in you, shooting you into your climax.
Dallas watched in awe as you trembled above him and let out the most sinful moans that you simply couldn’t hold back.
“That’s it, baby; there you go.”
With a groan, he followed, lifting you off him just enough to spill all over your tits, now glistening with his cum.
He ran his hands over your tender, bruised flesh as you crumpled into him, soothing you after such a rough round.
“You okay? Wasn’t too much, hm?”
You shook your head, enjoying the feel of him surrounding you, holding you.
hii! can you do a story with steve randle where the gang and reader are at a party, and reader gets kinda drunk and is all clingy and whiny to steve. and then turn it into smut towards the end? if that makes sense 😭
⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ “You want me to take you infront of everyone?” — ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʀ.
18+ . ────୨ৎ────
⋆·˚ ༘ * — author : HI BABES SORRY FOR LEAVING YOU GUYS FOR SO LONG. IM BACK I PROMISE. This lowkey is rushed i’m sorry :(
⋆·˚ ༘ * — warnings : F!Reader, mentions of drinking, pet names, P in V, reader is slightly tipsy, Steve X reader
────୨ৎ────
YOU went to a party with your boyfriend, STEVE , like usual. The gang wanted some action so they tagged along too, except Ponyboy, who Darry made stay back because he didn’t want him to be hungover for school the next day.
You were feeling a little ansty that night, so you decided to have a couple of drinks, but apparently you had a drink too many because here you were now, clinging onto Steve’s arm as he leans up against a countertop.
“Hi, Stevie.” You giggle, smiling cheesily as him.
“Hey.” Steve replied, releasing your grip on him, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you into a hug.
“You’re flat out drunk aren’t ya’, baby?” He said cracking a grin, looking down at you, to which you just giggled and buried your head in his chest, you might’ve wondered where the gang was, if you weren’t drunk.
Dallas was drinking a cold one on the couch while having his arms wrapped around two chicks, one blond, the other brunette.
Soda was getting surrounded by girls, to which he tried to avoid because he still hurt over Sandy.
Johnny was sitting on the other side of the couch with Two-Bit.
But, you didn’t really care. The alcohol in your system only made you want one thing.
Steve.
“I want you, Stevie.” You whined pouting, looking up at him as he took a sip of beer.
This made him almost choke, he wasn't expecting you to be so forward.
"Just wait, sugar. We are gon' leave in a little bit." He replied, turning his face away from you, trying to hide his reddened face.
"Noo, I want you now." You whined, kissing his neck. You reached down and grabbed his waist, pulling him against you.
"Wait. Or do you want me to take you right here in front of everyone?'
Steve whispered into your ear, his voice low and sultry. He wasn't being serious and was obviously messing with you, but you weren't so opposed to the idea.
"Freak."
He teased upon seeing your mischievous smile at the idea.
"You don't wanna wait, huh?" His voice shifted, and he sat down his beer. Steve leaned his head down and kissed you.
"Mhm", you whined against his lips, leaning into the kiss before dropping your head down to kiss his juggular.
He didn't reply, he just pulled back and grabbed your hand and led you towards the bathroom of whoever's house you guys were in.
You followed him, stumbling slightly over god knows what was on the ground, you didn’t bother to look down. Probably beer bottles and shoes.
Steve pulled you into the bathroom and closed the door behind the two of you.
You didn’t waste a second. You hopped up onto the bathroom counter and grabbed the ends of your shirt, yanking it up over your head and Steve did the same with his.
As soon as your shirt came off, his lips were on yours again. He had his palm against your cheek his lips moved with yours. You and Steve’s breath smelled of alcohol but neither of you cared.
He then reached down and placed his hands on your waist.
“You sure you don’t wanna wait till we get home, baby?” He breathed against your neck as he whispered into your ear.
You felt your panties getting more and more soaked every single that was wasted without him pounding into your tight cunt.
“Yes.” You whined, almost begging with anticipation.
Steve wasted no time. He lifted you up, setting you down onto the counter.
He stood between your legs, hands reaching for the button of your jeans.
He quickly took off your jeans, pulling them down to your ankles in a quick motion, not bothering to take them off fully.
Then he stood up and started to take his off, revealing an tent his boxers.
Holy fuck. He was huge, even with his cock confided by his underwear.
You let out a soft gasp, your pink, puffy lips parting as you watched your boyfriend’s hand reach into his boxers, pulling out his cock.
The tip red and throbbing, pre-cum dripping down from the slit.
Steve let out a shaky breath as he gave his cock a few hard tugs, it slapping against his stomach slightly when he let go.
You wasted no time, quickly hopping off the counter, wrapping your arms around his neck as your lips met his.
Steve hoisted you up, you immediately wrapping your legs around his waist like instinct.
The brunette then turned his body and stepped towards the wall. He pressed your back against the cold tile of the bathroom.
You let out a soft gasp at the sensation, feeling your slick sliding down the lips of your needy cunt.
“You ready?” Steve huffed, his chest rising up and down quickly with want and desire.
You nod, and Steve props you up against his thighs, his free hand reaching down between him and your drooling pussy to grab his cock.
He slid the tip between your folds, pulling a soft mew from you as you tried to grind down.
He tuts, pulling his member away from you.
“Patient, gotta prep my princess. Make sure I don’t leave ‘er too sore.”
You whined before he pressed his tip against your hole, sliding his cock through the slick of your cunt, using it as lube before he slid his dick inside.
It started slow, sensual.
Steve’s hands gripping your waist as he slowly thrust into you, his pace almost painful.
But once he felt like you were ready, he didn’t hold back.
His cock slammed into you at an intense pace, making you take the whole thing.
“Steve.” You cried, your forehead pressed against his shoulder, his muscles flexing underneath you.
Your brain turning mush as your boyfriend slammed against your cervix. You could’ve sworn you felt his tip hit one of your lungs.
Sweat was dripping down his forehead, the bathroom suddenly felt a lot warmer as your moans echoed against the tiles as you felt your climax approaching.
“ ‘Finna— hah, gonna—gonna cum.” You breathed out. Steve didn’t reply, he just kept his pace.
You tilted your head away from him, your breath heavy.
Steve’s hand slid underneath your bra, his thumb grazing against your hard nipple, the skin sensitive to his touch.
You whimpered and closed your eyes.
“Ya like that, don’t you?” He leaned against your head, his free hand grabbing your chin and forced you to look at him, not slowing his pace as his cock furiously pounded into you, almost animalistic.
You came undone just at his words, not being able to form your own as you let out a loud, erotic moan.
Steve’s pace speed up as he began to chase his own high.
Muttering nonsense about how pretty you were between quiet whimpers.
He removed his hand from your chin and reached down between your legs, pressing his thumb against your clit, rubbing circles.
His cock twitched inside your soaking cunt as he spilt warm, white ropes of cum into your pussy.
As you guys both came down from your high, preparing for a possible second round, you suddenly heard the bathroom doorknob twist.
Your face went red as you remembered that you guys forgot to lock the door.
Hey! Could I request a Dallas x reader where she has a dirty mind but is actually quite innocent and hasn’t experienced anything so Dallas just teases her. Then if you’re willing to write smut where he shows her what it’s really like whilst still being teasing and a bit gross but gentle 💖
boyfriend!dallas is innocent!readers first
you were sitting on his lap when it happened. his hands were on your hips, your head tucked into his neck, and the movie playing in the background had been long forgotten. you’d whispered something dumb, something you meant as a joke. something about riding him like the girl in the movie rode that stupid horse— and dallas froze.
then he laughed. not mean, but not sweet either. that crooked grin you knew too well.“ you say shit like that,” he said, dragging his hands a little lower, “but you get all squirmy if i even talk about gettin’ your shirt off.” your face burned. “i was just— i didn’t mean it like—”
“nah,” he cut you off, amused. “don’t walk it back now. i know how your brain works.” you whined a little, burying your face into his neck. he pulled back just enough to look at you. “dirty little mind, huh? always thinkin’ nasty, but you still blush every time i grab your ass.”
you tried to push him away, but he held you there, grinning. “s’ alright, baby. i like it. you think nasty, but you’re still all— soft. untouched.”
“i’m not untouched,” you mumbled. he raised a brow. “sweetheart, i’ve touched you plenty. but you haven’t been touched yet, not like that. not properly.” you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to. he could read you too easy— could tell just by the way your thighs shifted on his lap that you were thinking about it now. thinking about him.
and he leaned in, voice lower, rougher. “you want me to be the first, huh?” you nodded slowly, breathing shallow. “yeah.”
he kisses you for a long time first— deep and slow, like he’s trying to calm you down, or maybe like he’s already imagining how you’ll sound when he’s inside you. every time you shift under him, he smiles into your mouth like he knows you’re trying to hide how badly you want it. “take these off,” he mutters, tugging lightly at the waistband of your shorts. “let me see you.”
you’re shy, but you do it. he sits back on his knees as you slide them down, and his eyes drag over your thighs, your panties, the way you’re already wet through the cotton. he laughs lowly, mumbling. “well, shit.” he groans. “little miss innocent is all wet.”
your heart’s pounding. you mumble back, embarrassed. “im sorry—” he leans down and kisses your inner thigh, slow and hot. “no, babydoll. that’s a good thing. just means your ‘bout ready.” he mouths over the damp spot between your legs and hums. “anyone ever touched down here, kid?”
you bite your lip, shaking your head. “only me.” he grins. “gonna change that.” and he does— spreads your legs open and drags your panties down your thighs, then settles between them like he’s getting comfortable. he licks a slow stripe up your slit, then groans again. “you taste so fuckin’ sweet.”
your fingers dig into the sheets the second he flattens his tongue against your clit. he keeps the pressure steady, slow but firm, and when your hips jerk, he just grabs your thighs tighter and holds you down. he’s way too good at this. almost makes you remember how experienced he was, and how experienced you weren’t. almost.
“that’s it, baby.” he mumbled between your thighs, the vibration making you squirm. “don’t fight it.” your breath gets quicker, little whimpers breaking free as his tongue circles you, flicks over your clit, then dips lower to tease at your entrance. your thighs tremble.
“dallas—“ you breath out. you don’t even have to finish your sentence. he can tell you’re close. “go ahead,” he murmurs, thumb replacing his mouth so he can talk. “cum for me, baby. you got it.”
when you do, he moans against you, like your body reacting to him turns him on more than anything else. and once you stop shaking, he crawls back up your body and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “you feel ready now?” he asks, against your mouth. you hum a yes, making him grin.
he groans low in his throat. “shit, you’re gonna wreck me, kid.” you feel the blunt head of him press against your entrance, and you go still. he slows down a bit, not fully. “dont freak out on me now, baby. gonna give me blue balls.” you bite your lip. “i know, ‘m sorry. just nervous.”
“i got you, doll.” he kisses your jaw, your cheek, your lips. “i’ll go real slow.” he starts to push in, and even though it burns at first, he doesn’t stop touching you— his hand slips between your legs, rubs slow circles over your clit to ease the stretch. he watches your face the whole time.
“god, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he grits out, voice shaky. “can barely get in.” you cling to his shoulders, and finally, he bottoms out. you’re full in a way you’ve never been before— stretched, aching, but god, you’ve never felt anything like it.
he holds still, letting you breathe. “tell me when,” he says softly. “i’m not movin’ ‘til you say.” after a minute, the burn fades into something else. needier, deeper. you nod. “okay.”he starts to move— slow, shallow thrusts that drag along every inch inside you. you gasp, nails digging into his back.
“you feel me, sweetheart?” he groans, starting to push in deeper. “feel me fuckin’ you open?” you nod, dizzy with it. “feels good, dal.”
“yeah, it does.” his lips brush your ear. “you were made for me, baby. perfect lil’ cunt, all mine. all innocent.” the filth just pours out of him— “so warm,” and “so fuckin’ tight,” and “i’ll ruin you for anyone else.” but every word is laced with something softer underneath it. awe, almost. like he can’t believe he gets to be the first. like he’s obsessed with it.
he lifts your leg up over his shoulder and thrusts in deeper. you gasp, louder this time, and he groans like he’s losing control. “that’s it,” he pants. “you like it like that, huh? deep? bet you touched yourself imagining this.” you nod frantically, tears pricking at your lashes. “dallas— i’m gonna—”
“cum for me, baby,” he growls, picking up the pace. “let me feel it.” you fall apart with his name on your lips, and he fucks you through it, grinding in slow until your walls stop clenching. only then does he let himself go— pulling out and finishing all over your stomach with a rough groan.
he collapses beside you, dragging you into his chest immediately. “you good?” he asks after a second, voice rough and low. you nod, dazed and sore and glowing. he kisses your temple, before reaching over to the table and grabbing a cigarette. “you’re too fuckin’ sweet for me, kid.” he mumbles, shaking his head with a grin.
you hum, sleepy. “yeah. always was.” and dallas just grins, cause he already knew.
a/n : this is cute i like
tags : @cadescig @cades-outsider @enchantedstarfish @heavenlyangelbaby @cameronsbabydoll @johnnycadesthoughts @johnnycadesslut @1tsjustj @let-down-and-hanging-ar0und @harajukub4rb1e @browneyebby @avroravia please let me know if u want to b added to the outsiders taglist !!
Synopsis: You’ve always been shy, everyone who knows you knows it. Including your boyfriend Dallas who can’t help it when you’re trying to wiggle away from him and hide your face in your hands and the sheets while he’s fucking you, but makes fun of your shyness.
WARNINGS: smut, p in v, heavy degrading, shy!reader, light pats, mocking, reader hiding herself, facial, heavy language
:Requested by anonymous
"Shy," is always the word people use to describe you, always the thing that makes you distinct. As a kid, you were always hiding behind your parent, or talking really quietly when it was your turn to read in class. When people come to talk to you, you tense up, looking to the floor instead of their eyes, and speaking in mumbles rather than words.
So when it came to be that you were dating Dallas, it was a shock to most if not all—the tall, intimidating hoodlum who shouted and flipped off cops, and jumped little kids. The boy who didn't have a shy bone in his body is dating the sweet shy girl, who gets nervous when people as much as say hello to her. How you two even met, or came to be was a mystery, and there seemed to be no possible story to explain how you two came to be.
How you two worked, a mystery as well. You are so timid, and he is the exact opposite. A lot of times you'd be seen hiding behind Dallas, tightly gripping his hand as he squeezed yours for reassurance. In reality, he dealt well with your shyness. Which was a shock. He knew that you were shy, and didn't try to push you too much, although he definitely has his moments where he does.
Like right now, as he has you lying under him on your bed. Cock deep into your flushed, soaking pussy. Your hands are covering your face, one pressed to your mouth, the other shielding the other half of your face. All while you keep trying to bury yourself in the sheets, like you're trying to wiggle away and melt into the bed.
"Doll, where ya going?" Dallas chuckles, gripping you harder by your waist, pulling you down to meet his thrusts.
You let out a little whimper, turning your head away. Dallas shakes his head; every time you guys had sex you'd retreat into this shy little creature. Hiding away your face, shutting your eyes, covering up your mouth to seal in your whines and whimpers, closing your legs to hide that beautiful cunt between them. Your face was always red and flushed, even your neck and tips of your ears a bright cheeky red that never went away.
It's nerve-racking letting him see you like this, completely bare and naked. Knowing that he's the only person to see you like this. How can you not help but be shy when he's entering your body in places no one else has, making you cum on his cock. Leaking out that creamy white liquid, watching you wither and squirm as you try not to cum. Watching all the ways your body responds to him. It's embarrassing the way he gets you like this, completely brainless, pathetic, and your only response is to hide away and pretend that you're not there high on ecstasy.
Dallas inevitably finds it funny. He has that big dopey smirk on his face, and you know if you even glance at it you'll probably catch on fire and burn away from embarrassment. You don't respond to him, keeping your head buried deep in the sheets.
He chuckles and tries to push away your hands, but it's like trying to pry away metal from a magnet, "Baby move your hands."
You vaguely shake your head, the thought of him seeing your face makes you tense up.
He sighs and stops his movement, pulling out. Your body freezes and you blink; your hole pathetically clenches around nothing, almost trying to savor the feeling of his cock.
You let out a little whine at the loss of contact.
"Move your hands away, or I'm gonna leave you like this, and not let you cum," you gasp and your eyes go wide, peeking over your hand to look at him.
He sees those shaky little eyes, peeking over to see him, and smiles, "I wanna see those pretty eyes look at me, always hiding away like you're afraid of it. Like you don't like it."
You blush crimson, pulling away one of your hands while the other covers your mouth as you chew on your lip. Eyes a little watery as your body is desperately trying to savor the feeling of pleasure, dwindling through you.
"I-..." you let out a little noise meekly, barely being heard.
"Put your hands down now," you huff and pull your hands down to your side. Instantly feeling a wave of embarrassment and vulnerability as those dark brown eyes stare right at you. Your shoulders tense, and you keep flickering your eyes to somewhere, anywhere else in the room.
"Always so shy, always burying your face in the bed," he laughs. He grabs both of your legs and pulls them apart, re-slots right back into you. You let out a squeak and bring your hand up to cover your mouth.
"Hey—" he slaps the side of your hip, "What'da I say?"
Your eyes go wide again, flickering back up to him, "Y-y...ou."
"Come on spit it out."
"You said d-don't cover my face..." you say quietly, head dipping down into your chest like a sullen kitten getting kicked.
"There, ya go," he grins and thrusts back deep inside you. Plunging right into that spongy spot your body loves. You gasp and let out a whimper. Every time you let out a little noise you're almost shocked that it came out of you. Like you didn't know you ever could make those slutty little noises of pleasure. As he starts to fuck you again Dallas's words start to trickle out of the other ear you just heard them in. Starting to hide your face back into the sheets, and closing your eyes again.
He grabs a hold of your jaw, squeezing tight as he turns your head back towards him, "Aw you're getting shy again slut? Too much? My cock too good for you, you're getting all embarrassed."
Your breath leaves, and your lip trembles, pulling it back to chew on, "Always gotta hide away from me when I'm tryna fuck you. You don't like my cock?"
You barely register what he's saying to you, like a machine your jaw is like rust. Unable to speak, unable to even open.
He pats your cheek, "Open up, tell me you like it."
"I-I," you feel the breath knocked out of you, his cock splitting you open. You want to cry, feeling like a thousand eyes are upon you but it's just his, "I-I love...y-your cock."
He grins big and wide, hips cracking against your pelvis as he plunges deep into that gooey spot. Unable to shield your mouth and conceal your moans you let one out, high and involuntary. You gasp and clench down on your jowls to not make another noise.
Dallas immediately notices, "Nu uh, open your mouth."
Your eyebrows dip down into that pathetic look, the one that says you're too shy, too nervous. Dallas doesn't care anymore.
"Open your mouth, I wanna hear you moaning for this dick."
He presses his thumb to your lips and pushes in, pressing down on your jaw. Opening your mouth wide, no sound can be concealed or hidden away.
You feel your brain start to melt, saliva pooling around the corners of your mouth, and around his thumb. Your body arching up into him, moans ripping out of your throat. You desperately try to find something to shield yourself, cover up, or hide away. But you can't, you can barely even look away with Dallas holding your jaw so tightly in his grasp.
"This makes you shy? Me fucking you open with my dick, moaning and shit, making you feel good."
You nod, tears forming in your eyes from the proximity, from Dallas's eyes on you, from bare vulnerability.
He lets out a snicker, "Can't hide anymore, leaking around my cock like a whore. Y'know that? You even realize you're creaming around me?"
The degrading continues, even after he finally pulls his thumb out of your mouth, and lets you bury your head back in the sheets. He's got your legs pressed to your chest, cock deep inside your walls, grazing against your cervix as he speaks right into your ear.
"Just imagine everyone else seeing you like this. Seeing you're not so shy and sweet, but really just a slut who craves my cock."
You whimper and pout, tears pooling at your waterline. He's being mean, his words striking right into your chest, his cock thrusting right into that spot that's making you see white.
"D-dal..." you whine, trying to seep into the mattress.
He tugs at your jaw and has that dangerous glint in his eyes, "Come on, cum all over it. Don't need to be shy bout it."
You back arches up, pressing into him. Your eyes go wide as you feel that pressure and heat in your lower stomach press and press into you till it snaps. You grip onto Dallas's shoulders, legs twitching and wrapping tightly around him as white light fills behind your eyelids.
"There ya go," he rubs a few right circles on your clit with his thumb, making you spasm around him, walls clenching deliciously, which makes his head all fuzzy from the tight compact.
He swiftly pulls out and runs a hand along his shaft, stroking up and down while the other hand grabs you, forcing you on your knees at the edge of the bed.
He pumps his dick in his fist fast, and throws his head back as he cums, spurting hot ropes onto your face, giving you a nice creamy facial.
You gasp, mouth opening up to a sliver opening. Some land right on your tongue, and globs leak down your glossy lips seeping into your mouth.
He sighs from release and grabs your face, rubbing his thumb against your cum covered lips. Looking at his cum drizzled all over your face, not able to hide your face away into the creases of fabric, or your hands.
You stare up at him with wide eyes, lips parted, your cheeks bright red, cum dripping down the bridge of your nose and down the lines of your face.
"Wish I had a camera so I could show everyone your dumb face covered in my cum, then everyone would know how much of a slut you are. Wouldn't be able to hide then would ya?"
Your eyebrows twist down, lashes battering against your cheeks, lip protruding out. You shake your head no.
He smiles, "Good, now lie back down. Don't wipe a single drop of that cum off."
I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY I NEED THAT WHITE BOY
*the twin!curtis anon crawls out of the shadows at 2am*
i miss them….. if you don’t mind writing more with them… possibly darry’s twin!reader being at the rumble with them or like what she’d do before/after it? ngl i don’t have many ideas rn
have a lovely day!
Author's Note: yes yes yessssuhhh! also so so sorry that I'm just getting to this now anon, I hope you enjoy!
gotta protect you
Darrel Curtis x platonic!twin sister!reader
The afternoon before the rumble was tense.
Not loud.
Not angry.
Just tense.
The kind that sat in the Curtis house like storm clouds.
You sat at the kitchen table while Darry paced.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Like he was wearing a path into the floorboards.
"Darry."
No answer.
"Darry."
Still nothing.
"Darrel."
He stopped.
Slowly turned.
"What?"
"You've been pacing for twenty minutes."
"I'm thinking."
"You're worrying."
His jaw tightened.
Same face as hers.
Same eyes.
Same stubbornness.
Different ways of carrying it.
"Someone's gotta worry," he muttered. You sighed.
Because underneath all that tough older-brother nonsense, Darry was scared.
Not for himself.
For everyone else.
For Soda.
For Pony.
For Johnny.
For Steve.
For Two-Bit.
For you.
Especially you.
"You know I'm coming."
"No."
"Darry—"
"No."
"Darry."
"Absolutely not."
She folded her arms. He folded his.
The twins stared each other down across the kitchen.
Neither blinking.
Neither backing down.
Sodapop walked in.
Saw them.
Immediately turned around.
"Nope."
The screen door slammed behind him.
By the time evening arrived, Darry had already lost the argument.
Mostly because you simply refused to stay home. And partly because she was every bit as stubborn as he was. Which was unfortunate.
For him.
"Darry."
"No."
"I'll stay with Steve."
"No."
"I'll stay with Soda."
"No."
"I'll literally stand on the sidelines."
"No."
"Darry."
"No."
You pointed at him.
"You are impossible."
He pointed back.
"You got that from me."
When they finally arrived at the rumble field, the air felt electric.
You hated it immediately. Not because you were scared. Because everyone looked angry, really angry.
The kind of angry that made people stupid.
Made them reckless.
Made them forget they were human.
You stood beside Soda as the greasers gathered.
The Socs on one side.
The greasers on the other.
Silence stretching between them.
Then movement.
Then shouting.
Then chaos.
The second the rumble started, Reader realized one thing.
Darry had been right.
Not about staying home, you still would've come.
But about how ugly fights really were.
Movies made it look exciting.
This wasn't exciting.
People were getting hurt, friends were getting hurt. Your family was getting hurt. Every punch made her stomach twist.
"Darry!"
You saw him stumble.
Not badly.
Just enough to make your heart stop.
Then he was back on his feet.
Fighting again.
At one point you found herself helping people off the ground, yelling warnings, pulling someone away when things got too rough.
You wasn't throwing punches, you were trying to keep everyone alive.
Which honestly felt harder.
And then it was over.
As suddenly as it had started, rain falling.
Everyone exhausted.
Bruised.
Bleeding.
Breathing hard.
The greasers had won.
But you looked around and thought:
It didn't really feel like winning.
Not when everyone looked like they'd been dragged through hell.
The walk home was quieter than you'd ever heard the gang.
No jokes from Two-Bit.
No smart remarks from Steve.
No laughing from Soda.
Just tired footsteps.
Rain.
And breathing.
Back at the house, you immediately went into caretaker mode. Because somebody had to.
"Sit down."
Steve blinked.
"What?"
"Sit."
He sat.
She handed him ice.
"Two-Bit."
"What?"
"You're bleeding."
"I've been bleeding."
"More than usual."
"...fair."
Sodapop got a split lip cleaned.
Steve got bandaged.
Two-Bit got patched up.
Even Darry wasn't allowed to escape.
"Sit."
"I'm fine."
"Darry."
"I'm fine."
"DARREL."
The entire room went silent.
Because you had just used the voice.
The one that sounded exactly like Darry.
Darry finally sat.
Grumbling the entire time.
You cleaned a cut above his eyebrow.
Neither of you spoke for a minute.
Then—
"You okay?"
The question surprised you, so much so that you looked up.
He wasn't asking about the cut.
He was asking about everything.
The rumble.
The fighting.
The fear.
All of it.
You swallowed, then nodded.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then—
"You?"
Darry looked around the room.
At Soda.
At Steve.
At Two-Bit.
At everyone alive.
Everyone home.
And for the first time all day, some of the tension left his shoulders.
"Yeah."
Another pause.
Then he nudged her shoulder.
The twin version of a hug.
The one neither of you would admit was affection.
And you nudged him right back.
Because that was the thing about being Darry Curtis's twin.
They didn't say "I love you."
Not often.
But sometimes it showed up in cleaned wounds.
Shared exhaustion.
A shoulder bump after the worst night of your life.
Pregnancy cravings! - Darry Curtis X Pregnant!User
AN: Sorry, guys, I've been slacking... School is almost over and it'll be back to two a day, but rn just one a day cause I'm stressed. Also, next year I start IB? Wth? Why'd I do that? Tyler Durden fic next cause I'm so hyper fixated on Fight Club rn. (No one judge I'm searching for dividers)
Darry always knew he was gonna be a father. Even after working hard for his brothers, he knew it was where he wanted to be. He belonged as a pillar in the family, where he taught little boys how to play football, let little girls do his makeup after work, and where he saw his wife mothering them better than anybody else.
He had finally found his other half, you. Darry had no doubts, the happiest man on earth as he got on one knee. The ceremony was small, and moving out felt bittersweet, but everyone was finally starting their own lives. Ponyboy was off to college on a scholarship, Sodapop was living with his girlfriend, and their friends were carving out futures of their own. You and Darry had found a nice house in the country, with a small stream and enough land to settle down. Darry has worked for years to afford his share, and your parents helped with the rest as a wedding gift. You had a small farm, big windows in the house, and plenty of space for children to run.
You and Darry hadn’t exactly been trying for kids, but you weren’t preventing it either. When there was positive news in the mail after getting blood work, you were both overjoyed to learn you were pregnant. Darry had squeezed you tight, unable to believe it. You had cried, and he wiped away your tears, getting onto his knees and kissing the soft skin of your stomach.
Darry understood all the mood swings and cravings, always comforting you through them. Tonight was the same as any night. You were in bed, lying on your side, rubbing your swollen stomach. Darry was nearly asleep, the darkness and calm tranquility of the room lulling him to sleep. Until you shifted, sitting up in bed. “Darrel… Are you awake?” you ask quietly, shy at first. You put a hand on his arm, and he perked up sleepily. “What, my love?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eye, slowly propping himself up. “Feeling okay?” he followed up, looking over you carefully. He was always overprotective, now especially with a sweet baby on the way. You give him a nod, rubbing your stomach, brow furrowed seriously. “Dar, the baby really wants ice cream with strawberries on top or a sandwich…” you said quietly, using the best puppy dog eyes you could muster. He lets out a chuckle, the deep soothing sound rumbling in his chest. “Scared me, thought something was wrong,” he grins, pushing the cover aside and getting out of bed. “There is something wrong, baby and I are starving, and you have to feed us,” you say, reciprocating a sweet grin. He shook his head, padding out of the room to scour through the kitchen. He got out bread, crafting a beautiful peanut butter and jelly sandwich just for you. He padded back in, the sandwich wrapped in a paper towel. “This okay?” he asks, handing it to you, helping you sit up. You smile, nodding. You take the sandwich, wasting no time to dig into it. Darry climbs back into bed, nuzzling close and rubbing your belly. “Thank you… Feel the baby kicking?” you asked, looking at Darry. His face was filled with pure love and admiration as he felt your skin, felt the little feet kick against your belly. “Of course,” he said, stealing a bite while you laughed. “Hard to believe that's really a piece of us in there, huh?” Darry adds, his eyes moving slowly from the baby to your eyes, he can’t help but smile before kissing your cheek. “I know, I can’t believe it either… Wonder how big they're gonna be,” you wonder aloud, taking another bite of the sandwich. “This is so good…” You mumble.
Both of you sat in the quiet, sharing the sandwich. Once it was gone, Darry helped you lie back down, tucking you in and adjusting your pillows. He kisses your forehead, holding you close. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers softly as the room falls dark.
We are hungryyy!! pls more Darry stuff? smut or normal idec you write him so good 🥺🫰pls and thank you
🥹 Thank you pookieee I get so scared I’m mischaracterizing these babies even tho i know their canon stuff like the back of my hand.
This literally could get a smutty part 2 if y’all want.
There weren’t very many places Darry could be truly alone with you. He usually divides his time only between work and the house. His job required him to be at many strangers’ houses and with a team of other guys and the house usually had at least his brothers if not the whole gang lounging about.
But then, he discovered how quiet the abandoned lot could be.
The truck being turned off and the stifling Tulsa heat creeping through the cracked windows were the least of your worries as Darrel showered your cheeks, neck and shoulder in wet, hurried kisses, steely fingers digging into your hips and keeping you firmly in his lap.
In times like this, Darrel Curtis was a man starved. He didn’t have to hold back when the two of you were alone in the lot, blanketed by the night sky. He could be the whipped barely-twenty year old that he was. He could be selfish and indulge in kisses and your touch. He couldn’t easily do that anywhere else.
Darry groans against your shoulder. “Missed you so much, baby. Thought about you all day.”
You sift a hand through his hair, cradling him to your chest. “I missed you too, Darrel. Couldn’t wait to see my pretty boy.”
You felt him smile against your skin and mutter, “‘m not pretty.”
“Yes you are,” you countered with a kiss to the crown of his head. “My pretty man~”
Darry chuckled and lifted his head to peck your cheek. “I’m supposed to be tuff, sweetheart.” You met him in a proper kiss before he tacked on, “But I appreciate it.”
You cupped his face and kissed him again, melting against his sturdy chest.
He could have spent all night like that if he could.
Notes: This is so cute to me, enjoyyyyyy! I love Darry
Well, shame on you for trying really, you just wanted to spend time with Darry but the problem was, Darry isn't very easy to spend time with when it's Saturday and he's on the couch with the whole gang, gathered to watch football and be slobs all the day, you'd come in and decided to plop yourself on Darry's lap ignoring Two-Bit making fun of you for it
You'd been watching this football game for what felt like.. maybe years now? Perched on Darry's lap while Darry watched so closely you would have to slap his arm to remind him not to start squeezing you too hard with anticipation, you were so lost you didn't really know what was happening unless you heard the collective cheer from the gang
"What's actually going on?" You scrunch your nose, whispering your question to Darry as Two-Bit gives the most amused side eye you've seen, making your own eyes roll, Darry looks at you amused "Football game"
You look back at him completely opposite and unamused "I know that stupid- I don't have a clue how to play football though do I? So how do you even play football, go ahead" You poke him in the side to make him laugh, it doesn't really effect him all that much since he's decently built, which everyone knows
"Well you see that little guy? That's the kicker" Darry points to the TV and you hum "who kicks the ball" you say like you're mockingly guessing and Darry gives you a quick swat on the back of the head with a sweet smile "see? Already getting the hang of it smart girl" he hums to himself
You almost giggle at the new and random pet name, and Darry just pats your waist "Okay, okay, well there are eleven guys on each team and what they do is just try to get the ball into the end of the opponents side yeah?" and you nod a little
"Doesn't look as simple as it sounds" You almost laugh and Darrel just shrugs "Well, the offense gets 4 tries each to get the ball to that side, it's a good game" He waves his hand passively with a little grin, you almost laugh at how he explains it too
"And they have all them roles who do their stuff and all that annoying stuff don't forget that- or all the billions of rules huh?" Two-Bit adds with raised eyebrows and Soda chuckles, Steve grins a little "Yeah, rules that you forget everytime we play egg head"
You just laugh a little and sink back into Darry who just grins, maybe obnoxious Saturday football wasn't all that bad after all, not if you got to spend it like this
Authors Note: Guys, this is my first kinda freaky fic, everyone clap, I guess? Kinda short, sorry... but can we all agree Darry's a chubby chaser? I can't prove it yet, but I know damn well Also, I just know he'd give good after care. Would you guys like more things like this? Lmk!! Enjoyyy
Sweating and heavy breathing, you both collapsed into his bed, the sheets tangling around your bodies. You got a rare moment of silence, where you could decompress and get some well-deserved pleasure from each other. The moonlight cast a shadow on you both, the candles on your nightstands flickering steadily as you both recovered from a roller coaster of emotions.
You thought it had ended there. Darry ran his hands over your bare skin, down your arms, giving you gentle and soothing kisses. “Was I too rough?” he asked. You knew his ears were red without even looking. You shook your head. “Perfect,” you replied, lifting a hand to run it through his hair. He needed reassurance from time to time. He cared that it was the best for you. It was never about him in those moments. Your raw pleasure alone made him happy. He nuzzled into your hair before he stood up. “Where are you going?” you whined softly, missing the heat of his skin against you. He slipped on sweatpants before scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom. “Not far, don’t worry. Gotta take care of you…” he said, setting you on the sink counter. He started a warm bath, not caring that it was late at night. “Dar, I’m alright… I don’t need all this,” you insisted, watching him. You brought your knees to your chest, feeling shy in the open. “I want you to have this, I promise.” he slowly picked you up, setting you in the warm bath. Once the tub was full, he gently guided a soapy cloth across your skin. He washed your back, your legs, your stomach, occasionally applying kisses to your damp hair. “Need your hair washed?” he asked as he ran the cloth over your collarbones. You shrugged, “Why not?” He grinned. You loved it when he played with your hair. He worked the products through your hair, until it was smooth. His fingers dug in, rubbing your scalp with practiced and talented hands. Once he was done, he started to drain the tub, grabbing you a towel. You stepped out, drying yourself.
After that, he picked you up over his shoulder, happy to show off his muscles any time he could. He set you on his bed, rifling through the shared drawers. He picked out his old flannel and some of your underwear. He rubbed lotion into your delicate skin, you shied a bit. “Why are you acting shy? As if we weren’t as intimately close as humanly possible twenty minutes ago,” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, rubbing it into your thighs. “It’s just different, you aren’t getting anything out of it,” you replied, your eyes watching his calloused hands glide along the skin of your thighs. “I do get something out of it, I get time with you. Now relax!” Darry insisted, helping slide new underwear up your legs and securing them, then helping your arms into his flannel. He leaned forward, stroking your wet hair as he pressed his forehead to yours. “Love you,” he whispered into the night. You smiled, lacing your hand in his free one. “Love you more…” you replied. Soon after he helped you into bed, making the bed around you as you settled in. Darry fumbled around, blowing out the candles, putting your towel away before peeling back the covers and climbing in next to you. He pulled you close, his eyes tracing your face in the dim outside lighting. “Thank you,” you mumbled sleepily, officially spent and pampered into pure relaxation.
He was right where he wanted to be–next to his favorite girl in the world, wrapped in his flannel, and thoroughly pleased. He kissed your jaw before allowing his breathing to lighten and drifting off, the familiar smell of your skin soothing him into sleep.
•he’s a little awkward with you in the beginning. not in a shy way, more like he doesn’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t demand anything from him. you’re just there, smiling, asking if he’s eaten, brushing dust off his sleeve like it’s nothing. it confuses him how easy you are to be around and the fact you just want to be around him.
•you bring out a version of him no one else really sees. sodapop might catch glimpses of it, the way darry’s voice lowers when he talks to you, or how he listens, actually listens, when you speak. you soften the edges of him without even trying.
•he worries about being too much for you. like his life is too heavy, too complicated, and you deserve something lighter. but you never make him feel like that. you meet him with patience, with warmth, and slowly he starts to believe that maybe he’s allowed to have something good.
•he doesn’t do pet names. not really, but with you? it slips out sometimes. “c’mere, sweetheart.” and the way he says it?? yes please.
•he tries to be good. he really does. but when you’re being all soft and affectionate, smiling up at him, touching his arm like it’s nothing, you can feel the shift in him. his jaw tightens a little, his hands flex. he looks at you for a second too long. “you don’t even realise what you do to me, do you?”
a/n: i felt a little weird writing this because rip patrick but this idea came to me and i love him so much so if i post this lemme know what you think. :)
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