i’m a suckerrrr for fluffy darry x gf reader who’s lowkey a mom to pony 🥹🥹 pretty pls with chocolate cake on top 🥹🥹🥹
Cookies? Cookies!
Synopsis:
Content/tags: established relationship, fluff, a little suggestive at one point, platonic!Ponyboy x reader(a LOT of this fic is Pony and reader)
A/n: I have seen this trope so many times with Darry and it hits me directly in the heart EVERY. SINGLE. TIME 😭 thank you so much for requesting, enjoy!!
Warnings: vague (canon typical) mention of poverty
“You can only whisk the eggs so much!” Your laugh penetrated the focused silence of the room.
The entire kitchen was a disaster.
Warm smells floated throughout the small Curtis house, the density of flour and sweetness of brown sugar making the entire house smell a little less like motor oil and something pleasant.
Homey.
There were three different bowls sitting on the counter, one with the remnants of baking powder and white flour clinging to the clearness, another with several different ingredients, and the one Pony had.
Why had you given him the eggs? Now you can’t remember.
Either way, he took it on like it was his life mission. Whether it was to get the cookies done quickly or impress you could be up for debate.
He nodded as though he were a soldier going off to war, gallantly grabbing the egg carton from the evil mastermind of the fridge door. He searched the bowl extensively after cracking the shells, ensuring there were none left in with the contents.
Then, like a true warrior, he nabbed the whisk, the one with the broken handle Steve had thrown at Two-Bit just a week before, a new dent on two of the metal head, and began.
His technique was off, and he was clearly eager for your approval, glancing over where you panned out flour and pre-heated the oven. When you instructed him to flick rather than stir, it was as though he’d committed that piece of information to memory.
“There ya go! Much better, Pony!” He glowed, eyes brightening a fraction.
The praises you sent his way caught him off guard, always. He and Soda still needed a mother—and by default, when you and the oldest Curtis started dating, you had adopted the title.
Soda and the others jokingly called you ‘ma’, or ‘mom’ if they were trying to get on your nerves.
Not Pony, though. He seemed to want your affections, your praise, but only on his terms. And you’d accepted that. You’d never be his mother, and you didn’t really want to be. You were okay being his brother’s sister, the one who made sure they always ate, always made it to school on time, and the one there to calm Darry down when shit hit the fan between them.
“Then how much am I supposed to do it? How am I supposed to know when to stop?!” Pony sounded genuinely confused, maybe a little concerned.
“Just when they’re fully whisked! Don’t overdo it!” You scolded, promptly stealing the bowl from in front of him.
“Here, now add it while I—slowly!”
“There we go, see how it’s all..doughy?” You struggled to explain. It’s a little harder to explain baking to someone who has no clue.
“Yeah, I’m not an idiot, you know.” He leaned over the counter, folding the dough like a proper little baker. It almost made tears come to your eyes (not really, but you get the point).
The overly blunt tone only made you roll your eyes, bringing a hand up to smooth over his hair and press the softest kiss to his temple. “I know that, I’m not an idiot, either.”
The kiss made his cheeks warm, shooting you an awkward-but-good-meaning side glance. The majority of greasers aren’t used to softer touch, and despite being young, Ponyboy was no exception.
“Okay,” you started, hands clasping before leaning to grab the chocolate chips. “Now the best part.” You beamed, using a knife to slice the bag’s corner edge.
“Eating them is the best part.” He offered a similar smile, only his eyes sought to make sure you liked what he said. That he hadn’t upset you or made you unhappy.
“Yeah, that too.” The validation seemed to make his shoulders drop.
“Here, how ‘bout you do it,” you handed the bag over, the door creaking open making both of you whip your heads up.
“Hey, I’m home!” Soda’s voice called from the living room.
Soda wasn’t supposed to be home for another hour or two. It made your like pull into a line, brows knotting. Ponyboy noticed, face still a little red from your earlier affection.
“We’re in the kitchen! You can’t come in!” Pony called back, brows furrowed.
The idea to make cookies for the four of you had been your idea initially, but it was meant to be a surprise. And Pony wanted it to stay that way, insistent to keep your gift in tact. It made a knot curl just left of your sternum.
Soda paused, the faint sound of keys jingling going silent. “Oh…kay?” The footsteps receding towards the back of the house, to the boys’ shared bedroom.
You both waited until the door closed before laughing, leaning your head on his shoulder, which he then laid his head on yours. Your laughs were as quiet as you could make them, flour puffing from between your fingers when you tried to silence the giggles falling from your mouth.
After you’d both calmed down, the chocolate chip inclusion started.
“Okay, that’s good.” You patted his shoulder, instructing him to stop.
“No it’s not, I’ve barely started.” He continued pouring.
“You poured half the bag.” You stated obviously.
“And?” He raised his shoulders.
“They melt.”
“See, I’m not an idiot, so I know that.” Just because he liked you doesn’t mean that same sass doesn’t apply with you.
You smacked his shoulder, relenting. “Okay, just a few more.”
With a labored sigh, you both fell back into the broken kitchen chairs. The cookies were in the oven.
And for some reason, you feel as though you deserve a medal. Because despite how smart Pony is, the kid has zero common sense. Or coordination.
So now, as the cookies baked, you needed to get burn cream and bandaids. Because of course he’d burnt himself pushing cookies into the oven.
“I know, I’m sorry..” you cooed, thumb tracing the back of his hand when he winced. The cool cream was certainly only making the burn more sensitive, but it’d help later.
He looked more than a little embarrassed, murmuring a quiet ‘I’m fine’ earlier, before relenting and allowing you to help. You’d patched him up before, after rumbles or fights with the other guys.
The door opened and shut again, softer. “Guys, I’m home!” The masculine voice called from the door. Darry was home. The sound of keys dropping and approaching footsteps made you both panic.
“Don’t come in here!” You and Pony both shouted, eyes wide. Damn, did everybody get off work early today?
He paused a few feet away, before deciding to enter anyways. Of course he had. The smoky smell of the house and urgency in your voice had clearly unnerved the older brother.
“Why can’t I come in here?” He stood in the doorway now, eyes widening the more they explored the space.
As mention prior, the kitchen was a disaster. Flour was piled on the counter, long streaks of it dragging further. The eggs were still out, as well, the broken shells just laying on the table. Chocolate chips and baking powder and vanilla sat in different places all around the space.
“We’ll clean it up.” You started, throat contracting nervously at just how tired he looked. You hoped he wasn’t having a bad day after you’d already gone through the effort.
“Promise.” Ponyboy added, hand still cupped between yours.
With that, his eyes landed on you both. Covered in dough that hadn’t yet been washed off, melted chocolate staining Pony’s cheek, a mix of flour and baking powder rubbed mindlessly on your cut-offs.
And his eyes softened a fraction.
Thinking of it from his perspective, it looked strangely domestic. His hand fell from the door frame, and you stood up, slowly making your way towards him.
Darry looked dazed, in some sort of trance, as though this were a picture he was caught in, before you stepped closer. Slowly, his eyes drifted down to you, his old jersey tucked into a pair of jeans you’d cut the legs off of. You were beautiful, covered in flour and smelling of cheap vanilla extract.
“Uh, yeah, ya’ll better.” He nodded, trying (and failing) to make his voice sound even a bit frustrated.
An arm slung itself around your back, pulling you in tight to his chest. Darry nosed at your hair longingly, other hand still by his side.
“Alright, that’s enough for me,” Pony called, disgusted from behind, ready to leave the kitchen.
“Wait—“ your voice was muffled against the broad expanse of your boyfriend’s chest. “Wait!” You finally pulled back from his (dreadfully strong) arms.
“I need to finish with your hand..”
“The hell happened to the boy’s hand?” Darry spoke up as you grabbed the cream and bandaids, ushering his younger brother to sit.
“Touched the oven rack,” you spoke quietly for him. Quickly finishing with the cream, you slowly wrapped the beige bandages around his middle and ring fingertips.
Once finished, you both stood, and Pony pulled you in for a hug.
It was a little awkward, with his arms wrapped around your middle, face buried in your neck silently. But after a second, your own arms slid around him, hand tangling up in his hair. “Thank you,” he nodded into your skin, making you relax. “For the cookies, and helping me..” he trailed, separating from you only after you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Without another word to you or Darry, he darted from the kitchen.
“I love you.” Darry admitted, covering your own body with his own from behind. Arms snaked around your front, thumbs rubbing into his your jersey, as if he was trying to commit you to memory.
“Easy there, big guy, I love you too.” With a chuckle, you spun in his arms, hands sliding to his chest.
He leaned down, already pressing kisses that grew in vigor to your mouth and jaw, a soft growl vibrating your throat. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I dunno,” he paused, hand sliding to your lower back. “Just seeing you like that with them, it makes me happy.” The last part took him a moment, like getting it out was tiring.
“Hm, we were trying to make cookies as a surprise.” You laughed when he kissed behind your ear, fingers scratching the back of his neck.
“You ain’t gotta surprise me.”
“I know that, I wanted to. Pony thought it was a good idea.”
The kisses stopped. He squeezed you tighter, staring down into your eyes.
“What? What is it?” The intense gaze made you squirm, a nervous smile tugging at your cheeks.
“Nothing, I just love you.” He mouthed at the side of your lips.
“How was work?” Leaning back against the table, you tried to watch the cookies, ensuring they wouldn’t get too dark.
“Don’t wanna talk about work.”
A squeeze of your hips made you jump, kissing him back slowly.
“Okay, well we’re in the kitchen, save it for the bedroom.” Reluctantly, you pushed back on your boyfriend’s chest. It sent him back only a foot, but he didn’t press again.
“I don’t want the cookies to burn.” You called over your shoulder while walking towards the fridge, grabbing a beer for Darry.
“Your hips keep moving like that, the cookies’ll be the least of your problems.”
“Darrel Curtis! Your brothers can still hear you!”
The cookies clattered on the gas stove top. You carefully took your hand out from beneath the pan, and it was immediately akin to a stampede.
You hadn’t expected the rest of the gang to show up. They hadn’t been the last couple days, for one reason or another. It was a simple miscalculation.
“Okay, boys—Keith, be careful!” You yelped when they quickly shoved by you.
“Thanks, ma!” Soda cheerily pressed a kiss to your cheek, smearing crumbs on your face.
“There’s no way Pony helped make these.” Steve grunted as he maneuvered behind you, careful to not shoulder-check you.
“Thank you,” Johnny called distantly, already shoveling a cookie down his throat.
“I helped make them, you can’t have my cookie, Dal!”
“Come take it, then.”
“Boys, share the cookies!” Your voice was hoarse from yelling, a hand resting on your hip.
After they’d all taken (at least) one, you were out. There were no more, and you slowly leaned back against the counter.
The sound of another person joining you against the counter made you hum.
“They good?” The question was nonsense, even if they weren’t, the group of boys had swallowed before even tasting them.
“Perfect,” Darry answered. Something cracked before Darry bumped you with his elbow.
The other half of a cookie. Melted, still hot, actively crumbling onto the floor.
You took it slowly, biting into the dough.
They were good. And the kitchen hadn’t been cleaned that night.
