𝐒ummery: After a violent breaking point with her father, Sarah Cameron arrives at the reader's shack drenched and devastated. Following a raw, uninhibited sexual release that serves as her only escape, she confesses that Ward has officially disowned her. In a moment of deep vulnerability and "Pogue" solidarity, the reader offers her a permanent sanctuary, cementing their bond and Sarah's transition into a new, uncertain life away from Figure Eight.
𝐏airing: poguegirlfriend!reader x kookgirlfriend!sarah
𝐖arnings:
Hardcore WLW Smut
Explicit Language (Pussy, Clit, Fuck, Cum)
Detailed Fingering & Oral
Family Conflict / Disownment Themes
Emotional Fluff & Aftercare
The rain is coming down in sheets, a relentless tropical deluge that turns the marsh into a blurred world of grey and black. Inside your shack, the tin roof is screaming under the weight of the storm—a frantic, metallic drumming that usually lulls you to sleep, but tonight, the air feels too charged for rest.
When the knock comes, it’s weak, nearly lost to the wind. You’d think it was just a branch hitting the siding if it weren't for the specific, hesitant rhythm of it.
You pull the heavy bolt back and swing the door open, the damp heat of the night rushing in to meet you. Standing there, drenched to the bone and shivering, is Sarah Cameron. She looks nothing like the "Kook Princess" the island expects her to be. Her blonde hair is plastered to her forehead in dark, tangled clumps, her expensive silk top is ruined and clinging to her skin, and her eyes—usually so bright and calculating—are rimmed with a raw, exhausted red.
The drama with Ward, the suffocating expectations of Figure Eight, the constant tightrope walk of her double life—it’s all written in the way her jaw is set, trembling just slightly.
"Sarah?" you start, your voice barely a whisper. "What are you doing—"
She doesn't let you finish. She doesn't explain how she got here or why she’s out in a gale. She just lunges forward, her hands flying up to cup your face with a desperate, freezing grip. She pulls you into her, her mouth crashing against yours with a force that almost knocks you back into the kitchen table.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a collision of frustration and relief, tasting of saltwater and the frantic need to find a place where she doesn't have to pretend. She’s kissing you like you’re the only thing keeping her from being swept away by the storm, her fingers digging into your hair as she moans into your mouth—a broken, needy sound that tells you everything she isn't ready to say out loud yet.
The storm outside is a violent backdrop to the desperation inside the shack. Sarah doesn't pull away for even a second, her tongue pushing into your mouth with a frantic, messy hunger that tells you exactly how close she is to breaking. She’s shivering, her wet clothes soaking through your own, but the heat radiating off her is a fever.
You stumble backward, guided by her hands as they slide from your face to your waist, gripping you with a strength that leaves bruises. You lead her blindly toward the small bedroom in the back, your sneakers squeaking against the floorboards until your calves hit the edge of the mattress. You tumble back together, the old springs groaning under your weight, but Sarah is already moving.
She’s done with the talk, done with the Kook etiquette, and done with the rules. She shoves your pants and underwear down your legs with a jagged, impatient energy, her breathing coming in hot, shallow hitches. She doesn't even bother taking off her own soaked clothes; she just dives between your thighs, prying your legs wide and burying her face in your heat before you can even catch your breath.
"God, you're so fucking wet for me," she rasps, her voice a raw, unhinged growl against your skin.
Then, she opens her mouth.
Sarah isn't being the "Kook Princess" tonight; she’s being a Pogue’s girlfriend, and she’s being absolutely filthy. Her tongue is a broad, heavy muscle as it licks a thick, wet stripe from the bottom of your opening all the way up to your clit. You let out a shattered scream that’s swallowed by the thunder outside, your fingers clawing at the damp sheets as she sucks the sensitive nub into her mouth.
She’s greedy, her mouth creating a vacuum as she swirls her tongue over you in relentless, sloppy circles. The sound is loud and crude—the wet, suctioning noise of her face pressed against your pussy, mixed with the rhythmic slap of her tongue against your folds. She’s tasting the salt and the sweet, heavy musk of your arousal, drinking you in like she’s been starving for days.
"I've been smelling you on my skin all day," she mumbles, her words muffled by your swelling flesh as she looks up at you with dark, blown-out eyes. "Thinking about how much I wanted to just bury my face in this and forget everything else."
She slides two fingers deep inside you while her mouth stays locked on your clit. She’s driving into you with a hard, unforgiving pace, her knuckles rubbing against your opening with every thrust. She’s stretching you out, her internal movements matching the frantic, wet rhythm of her tongue. You’re shaking, your hips bucking off the bed as the pleasure turns into a sharp, jagged ache in your gut.
Sarah only gets more aggressive, her teeth grazing the side of your hood, sending a jolt of white-hot lightning through your nerves. She’s relentless, her face slick with your juices, her blonde hair matted and messy as she works you toward the edge. She wants you loud, she wants you messy, and she wants you to forget the rest of the world just as much as she has.
"Come on," she hisses, her fingers curling upward to hit your G-spot with a heavy, rhythmic thud. "Take it all. Fucking scream for me."
You’re still shaking, your breath coming in jagged, shallow hitches as the aftershocks of your climax finally start to settle into a dull, warm hum in your bones. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, the weight of her body acting as an anchor. The adrenaline is fading, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that seems to finally catch up with her.
She buries her face in the crook of your neck, and for the first time tonight, she’s quiet. No more frantic kisses, no more desperate hunger. Just the sound of her shaky breathing and the rain.
"I can't go back," she whispers, her voice so small it’s almost lost to the wind outside.
You pull back just enough to look at her, your hand sliding up to brush a damp strand of hair from her eyes. "Sarah? What happened?"
She lets out a bitter, hollow laugh, her eyes welling up with the tears she’s been holding back since she stepped onto your porch. "Ward. We had it out. Everything—the lies, the gold, the way he looks at me like I’m just another piece of property. He told me if I left tonight, if I came to see a 'Pogue' like you, I shouldn't bother coming back." She pauses, a single tear tracking through the salt and sweat on her cheek. "He kicked me out. I have nowhere else, I just—I didn't know where to go."
She looks at you with a vulnerability that makes your chest tighten. The Kook Princess is gone; there's no trust fund, no mansion, no safety net. Just her and the storm.
"Can I stay?" she asks, her voice cracking. "Just for a while? Until I figure out what’s next?"
"Sarah, hey," you murmur, cupping her face and forcing her to meet your eyes. "You don't even have to ask. Of course you’re staying. This is your home now. As long as you want it."
She let out a long, shuddering sob of relief, melting back into your arms. She clings to you like a lifeline, her fingers knotting into your shirt. You pull the thin, salt-worn duvet over both of you, shielding her from the draft and the darkness. Outside, the world is falling apart, but inside the shack, tucked away in the marsh, she’s finally safe.