Sunset Eyes (Darry Curtis X Reader Smut)

Tripple Feature

Darrel Curtis had never been a man of many words. It wasn’t that he lacked the knowledge, he had read books on just about any subject. A straight-A student doesn’t get those grades by accident. It was probable that the only thing Darry didn’t know was what to say.

Stony faced, quiet, and wound up like a spring. Always working, sleeping, or lifting weights. A stranger would look at him and assume he was just like any other greaser; stupid, hot-headed, and itching to fight.

When you had come to visit, you made your presence known. Soda and Ponyboy took to you just fine, you really hadn’t expected yourself and Pony to get so close. Maybe it was because you liked sunsets as well as him, took the time to think about books. He liked that you made him think more. And of course, Sodapop was kind to you, always trying to include you in a conversation with the gang. You appreciated it but weren’t around the gang enough to know if it was making a difference.

You’d picked up a little job as a ticket cashier at the movie house, it paid alright, and you were allowed to take the leftover popcorn home. Pony and Soda always thanked you for it, but Darry wouldn’t touch it. In fact, you had to sneak most of your cash into his wallet when he was sleeping; he wouldn’t take it otherwise. Darry almost treated you like you were another mouth to feed, and you’d have been lying if it didn’t bother you. It had taken Soda’s begging and pleading for you to stay and help. Darry knew he needed another set of hands around the house but getting him to admit it was almost an inhuman task, even for the middle brother. It had been a few months, but that didn’t mean that Darry was used to you. He offered you his bed and he’d find some other place to pass out, like the easy chair or the beat-up sofa, and was borderline offended when you told him you told him you’d be sleeping on the couch.

You two argued at least three times a week, if not more. Usually, the subject you doing too much around the house or that he didn’t need you to be working overtime. Today though, you’d made a fatal error, saying ‘you shouldn’t have to raise them by yourself,’ which he interpreted as him not doing a good enough job keeping them out of trouble. You scrambled, trying to assure him that isn’t what you meant, but his ears burned, and his jaw seemed like it was as set as a stone.

“Darry I’m not saying you can’t raise them; you’ve done a fine job! Everyone needs help from time to time.” You’d said it as gently as humanly possible, but that famous temper came out just the same.

“Oh yeah, a fine job I’ve done! Soda dropped out and Ponyboy almost goddamn died because I wasn’t keeping an eye on ‘im!” He threw his hands up in frustration.

You heard the screen door open and shut, the mutterings of his younger brothers hushed but still audible.

“Now you just shut up!” You shouted. Pure silence filled the air like a thick fog, and you pointed your finger right toward the middle of his chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the look in his eyes was slightly fearful. “You’re 20 years old Darry, I am too. I can’t imagine dropping my whole life to take care of my brothers. You’re doin’ the best you can, so I swear, if you don’t sit the hell down, take a break and let me help you, I’ll-”

“Y’all are fightin’ again?” Soda says nonchalantly, strolling into the kitchen and grabbing two chocolate milks from the fridge. “I swear y’all  oughtta be married at this point.”

“Real funny. You know what? Maybe you shouldn’t-” Darry begins but stops flat when you hand Sodapop two quarters.

“Soda, why don’t you take yourself and your brother down to the drive-in? I hear they got a new Paul Newman picture showing there; Pony’ll like that, I bet.”

Sodapop just smiles that sweet, childish smile and scoops his little brother up from the living room couch. The only sound now is the door opening and closing once again, and Darry’s hard, ragged breathing. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him this mad.