hii!! can you pls do anything with pope, there is a serious lack of pope fics on this app and hes my no 1 so it rlly sucks lol
she makes the evenings sweeter…. pope heyward & cupcake!reader
🍹🧁 the cut tends to feel alive on nights like this. where they’ve all sunken into the sand of the bonfire. the airs warm. the trees sway with them. and there’s no one to tell them off. they’ve kept this under wraps, not a single damn kook or touron tonight.
it’s just pogues, how it should be.
but despite this, pope still feels like he can’t breathe right.
he’s a bit farther back from the fire, yet he feels like the heat is choking him. everyone’s faces are flickering around him. jj’s shouting about something—slurring his words to hell, john b’s tossing driftwood into the flames as a girl flirts with him, kie’s laughing so hard with some girls that she’s doubled over. everyone’s good.
then there’s pope. he’s sitting on an old cooler that has long since run out of drinks, his shoulders tense.. almost like he’s bracing for an impact he doesn’t know when it’s coming—just that it is.
and it does.
he can’t stop watching you.
you lean against jj’s dad’s truck bed, you’re next to a boy or two with another friend. you’re in pink denim cut offs, where you found those is beyond pope, a cream tank top with a pink bikini under. and of course, pink flip flops. you look awfully sweet… like always.
your hair is catching the firelight like it’s been painted in honey. you’re definitely drunk. not messy, just soft around the edges. your laughter spills easier, your words linger just a second too long. and when you see pope watching you, you grin like he’s the only one you’ve been looking for all night.
you practically dissolve from the boys trying to keep your attention.
pope can feel his heart start to quicken as you get closer. he’s got to play this cool. you’ve been friends for so long—he should always be keeping it cool.
you beam at him, like you do when you get your favorite sweets. “hi, honey,” you whisper into the warm air around him. you’re half stumbling, half floating. “why you sittin’ all serious over here alone?”
pope’s scared you’re going to fall. he gently takes your hand in his and you take this as an invite to slump into his lap. he let’s out a soft groan at the surprise, but his hand lands on your ribs keeping you up right anyway.
you smell like cinnamon, beer, sunscreen, and something vaguely jj. your eyes are like the size of the moon staring down your nose at him. you’re looking at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. he so is.
your eye contact makes him more nervous. he stares off at your shoulder and waved hair, shrugs a bit. “just.. chillin’.” he almost cringes, he’s never said that a day in his life.
you giggle, sway a little. “just chillin’?” you echo, “that’s so tragic, p. this is, like, prime living time!” there is definitely something coconut-y on your tongue, he can smell it everytime you speak.
he lets out a small nervous laugh, “pretty sure ‘prime living time’ is just you trying to get me and j to dance with you.”
you beam, still. “but you look so cute dancing, p.”
your words land too easily, like you genuinely mean them. like it’s not costing you a single thing to say them. it’s almost like you haven’t even realized what you’ve said, but pope does. always does. he feels the heat crawl up his spine and lick the back of his neck, into his ears. jesus…
he tries to play it off, stares down at the frayed rips in your shorts. but you’re already watching him with that open, hazy fondness that makes him forget how to breathe. “oh my god, you’re blushing,” you tease, smiling. “that’s so unfair.”
pope scoffs, there’s no heat behind it. “i’m not blushing.”
he so is.
“you so are. it’s so cute! you’re literally red.”
you reach out for him, your fingertips brushing his jaw, his cheek—he swears the world goes quiet around you two. even the music fades, replaced by the sound of the ocean and your small, sleepy laugh. he can feel jj watching you two from the fire, he’s probably got a fat smirk on his face. idiot.
“see? you’re warm, p,” you murmur.
pope’s freaking frozen. the logical part of him, y’know, the one that always calculates, reasons, rationalizes… has, well, very much disappeared. all he can think about is how close you are, how your eyes don’t look like you’re joking.
he takes in a breath, “cupcake..” it’s become a new name for you in the last few months. blame jj. he’s apparently creative now.
“hmm?”
pope should tell you that you’re drunk. that you won’t remember this—probably. that this is probably a bad idea for you, that he’s probably a bad idea for you. he should be the good son his father raised and offer to get you home to your mama and sisters. but you’re looking at him like he hung the stars… and no one’s ever looked at him like that before.
so, he smiles. shy. small. careful. not too much, but the kind of smile that means he’s already in trouble.
he wishes he could kiss you.
“you’re something else, you know that?” he says.
your snort a laugh, leaning your head forward and against his shoulder. he can smell the product in your hair, something warm. “you like me though, p!”
well, yeah, he definitely does. this is an ever lasting crush. it kills him every now and then, but whatever. it’s you. it’s enough for him. i guess.
pope doesn’t peep a word, he doesn’t have to. he really shouldn’t either, he’ll sound like a broken record. but his silence says everything.
you beam at his silence, face more sleep than awake. you lean into him and press the softest, kinda misaligned, kiss into his cheek/jaw. your forehead slumps into his shoulder, it’s a little aggressive. he winces for you.
but you don’t seem to notice. you drift off there, half asleep against him while the fire dies down and the others start to wander their ways home with faded laughter.
pope doesn’t dare move an inch. he just holds you. he knows this will haunt him. he cares for you so bad.
he wants you so bad.
and yeah, jj is so fucking smirking across the sand at you guys.
whatever, man.