can we possibly please have some JPC!soda x neutral reader?? where it’s kind of a lazy hour in bed at the curtis house vibe- either the reader slept over or it like nap time after work? preferably with some cuddling, hair play, and/or back rubs?? (i think for all the ones soda dishes out he should get one for himself!) thank you!!
Author's Note: yes ofc anon! I love this request
Gentle Morning
JPC!Sodapop Curtis x gn!reader
The sun was spilling in through the threadbare curtains, painting stripes across the tangled mess of limbs and blankets that was you and Sodapop Curtis.
He had you pulled against his chest, your back pressed to his front, one of his arms lazily draped around your waist. His nose was tucked into the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning slow and steady across your skin. Somewhere between a dream and real life, you heard the faint whir of the box fan in the hallway and the occasional creak of a floorboard as Pony padded around the house—probably in search of cereal or a clean shirt.
But neither of you moved.
Soda let out a little hum against your shoulder, nuzzling in closer. “You smell like my sheets,” he said, voice gravel-thick and still sticky with sleep.
“You smell like sleep and sun,” you mumbled back, smiling to yourself.
“M’favorite combo.” He kissed your shoulder, lazy and warm. “You comfy?”
You nodded, reaching back to stroke your fingers through his messy hair—still soft, even though he’d passed out before bothering with a shower. “Yeah. You?”
He only answered with a little whine and pressed a kiss to your jaw, his hand drawing lazy shapes over your belly.
“I like when you stay over,” he murmured after a beat. “I sleep better.”
“You drool on the pillow.”
“You talk in your sleep.”
You turned your head to glance back at him. “Do not.”
“You do,” he grinned, shifting to press his forehead against your temple. “Said somethin’ about riding a horse made of pancakes.”
You groaned and buried your face in his arm, “You’re lying.”
“Swear on my hair,” he said solemnly, which made you snort.
Then his tone turned softer, almost bashful: “Hey… turn around.”
You rolled slowly in his arms to face him, curling in close, letting your hand come up to brush the tangled hair from his forehead. He looked so pretty in the morning light—eyes still heavy with sleep, a little pink across his cheeks, the corners of his lips upturned like he was constantly caught in a dream.
“Lemme love on you a little,” you whispered. “You always do all the work.”
He blinked slowly, then melted. “You don’t gotta, sweetheart…”
“I want to,” you said, fingers already drifting to the back of his neck, nails tracing lightly under his hair. “You give the best back rubs. Least I can do.”
So he turned, lying on his stomach with a soft sigh. You straddled his hips gently, not too heavy, and pressed your hands to the broad stretch of his back. Sodapop Curtis, golden boy, always full of life and laughter—but he carried more tension than he let on.
You worked your hands in slow, thoughtful motions—over his shoulders, down the length of his spine, right to the base where he always seemed to get sore from standing too long at the gas station. You heard him sigh, long and low, almost a purr.
“Y’don’t have to be good at this,” he mumbled into the pillow. “Just you touchin’ me like this is enough.”
“Don’t say stuff like that or I’ll marry you on the spot.”
“Good,” he said. “Long as I don’t gotta wear a tie.”
You smiled and leaned down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You’re perfect.”
“No, you are,” he yawned.
You both drifted after that—sun-warm and tangled up again, your hand lazily petting through his hair as his breathing slowed beneath you. No rush, no place to be. Just the soft weight of love pressed between your ribs and the boy who never asked for much finally letting himself be held.
And Soda? He didn’t dream about horses made of pancakes that time. He dreamed about you.
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Author's Note: hai
