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track vi. I THINK HE KNOWS! (pope heyward x sunny!reader)

“he got that boyish look that i like in a man”

you couldn’t help yourself. you had such a crush on pope heyward. he was smart, brave, kind, and oh so handsome. you had to have him.

you walked up to him at a party, all smiles. he’s chatting with a girl. her name was kiara, you seemed to recall. you needed to stop it.

a kook by blood, when pope realizes it’s you trying to get his attention, he takes a cautious step back. “uh, d’you need something?”

“hey! i just wanna talk,” is all you say softly, smiling.

“about what?”

“pope, just walk away, she’s a kook—“ you hear kiara whisper, which makes your smile fade, hurt by her rudeness.

“just wanna get to know you, s’all,” you tell him, having no problem with forwardness, even though your voice is all sad and nervous now.

seeing your genuine upset over being almost-rejected, he feels guilty, he nods and puts a hand on your shoulder, guiding you to sit on the steps of john b’s porch, where the party was. it perks you back up instantly.

“what’s your name again?” pope asks, ever so politely, and you tell him. “i’m pope,”

“i know,” you tell him. “i mean— everyone knows the pogues after you guys found el dorado. so brave,”

“brave?”

“mhm. i could never go into a scary rainforest with no phone or anything, just for gold. it’s super brave, what if you got lost or something?”

“nah, nah, we wouldn’t get lost, big john had a compass…” he goes into the small details of finding the treasure, all the thought that pope, specifically, had put into this. you’re just batting your eyelashes, listening to every word.

“so you’re really smart, then,” you concur from his words. “what do you wanna be when you grow up?”

“a coroner.”

“wow.”

“what about you?”

“ummm, haven’t thought that far ahead. taking a gap year,”

“that’s okay. i guess i am too. you don’t have to know just yet, we’re young,”

he’s sweet too. so you tell him. “you’re really nice. my older brother told me all the pogues were mean,”

“funny, uh, that’s what my dad says about kooks.”

“am i mean?” you ask, misinterperating his words.

“no, baby, you’re good. you’re very kind,”

baby. “good,” is all you say softly, in a bit of a trance.

you two talk for a bit longer, wearing his sweater because it’s chilly and his father always told him to be a gentleman to sweethearts. until the party dies down, and he offers to drive you home in the twinkie.

“this is a cute car,” you say softly as you sit inside. “home-y,”

“yeah, it is, huh? we all decorated it, john b’s had it forever, refuses to get rid of it.”

“i like it. cozier than kook cars,”

somehow during talking (you two haven’t stopped), his hand lands on your thigh. not that you mind, it feels like you’ve known him ages, you’re already comfortable around him.

pulling into the rich side of the island, you tell him your address and he pulls into your driveway.

“alright, it was really nice meeting you, baby,” pope smiles. “sleep well, mkay?”

you nod. “yeah night—“ you start, but cut yourself off. “hey.” you start.

“yeah?”

“i don’t normally do this, but, do you wanna… come in? my parents aren’t gonna be home for a couple days,”

he scratches his head, thinking. “uh, for what?”

“i think you know.”

rafe cameron x reader

c/w: oral male receiving, language, praise, face-fucking, cum tasting, degradation, + pet names.

499 words

You never know what version of Rafe you’ll get when he walks through the door after a long day—but you’re always waiting, ready to give him exactly what you both need.

Sometimes he’s wound up, storm still in his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, just unzips his pants, cock already heavy in his hand, fist tangling in your hair, dragging you down.

You’re on your knees in a second, lips stretching wide around him, tongue laid flat as he feeds it to you. He groans when you choke, hips setting the pace—deep, filthy strokes that make your throat burn. His baby blues lock on yours, jaw tight as he grinds every inch down your throat like it’s the only thing that can settle him.

Other nights, though, it’s you who takes over. You don’t wait. You kneel between his legs, tugging his slacks open and pulling him free before he can even process it. He’s thickening quick in your hand, twitching hot against your palm until he’s stiff and begging for your mouth. And when you wrap your lips around him, wet and hungry, it’s game over.

His thighs spread wide, his head drops back, and his fingers sink into your hair. He doesn’t guide—you’ve got him handled. He just clings while you fuck his cock with your mouth, messy and perfect. Your spit soaks your chin, dripping down your throat as you swallow him deeper, gagging yourself on purpose just to feel the way he jerks in your mouth.

“Jesus fuck—look at you,” he pants, voice breaking. “Messy little slut—gonna fuckin’ drain me dry, huh? My perfect fuckin’ girl with her mouth full of me.”

He twitches hard when you moan around him, your throat milking him, and it’s like he’s unraveling in your hands. His abs flex, his thighs tremble, and he starts babbling—begging almost, voice cracking as you stroke and suck and slobber all over his fat cock.

“Don’t stop—don’t you fuckin’ stop—baby, please, that’s it, holy fuck—” His eyes roll back, his grip on your hair tight enough to sting, but he still won’t pull you off. He wants every second, every inch, every filthy noise.

And when he breaks, he breaks hard—cock jerking in your mouth as hot cum pours down your throat. You swallow greedy, messy, humming around him like you can’t get enough. He groans, hips stuttering as he ruts weakly into your mouth until he’s all tapped out.

When you finally pull off, lips swollen and chin shining, you lick him clean with slow, deliberate flicks of your tongue. He stares at you, not knowing whether to fight through the overstimulation if it means keeping you like this.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me with this mouth, pretty girl,” he mutters, voice hoarse, face twisted in awe. His hand cups your jaw, thumb smearing spit across your lips like he can’t help himself. “Who’s mine? Who owns this mouth, baby?”

“You. I’m all yours…”

“Shiiiit…” He groans, chest heaving as he stares down at you like you’re unreal. “Lucky me, huh? C’mon, pretty—open up.”

“ come on, no one's gonna know / oh, baby, won't you ruin my plans tonight? ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | outer banks. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ ditzy bimbo reader who just likes attention ノ smutty content but no p in v, just implied exhibitionist smut ノ suggestive material ノ dubcon ノ purposeful intoxication of reader ノ objectification ノ exhibitionism.

RAFE CAMERON who waits ‘til you’re just drunk enough to get you into a limo with him and all his friends. you laugh and you play, getting flirty and frisky. there’s a part of him that thinks you’re trying to stay cool in a situation where you’re outnumbered, but a larger part of him is impressed that you look right at home. in the middle of a bunch of hungry men, letting them subtly bully you while you take it all like a little champ. it’s like you belong in the center of this kind of attention… like you’re asking for it.

you get pulled into laps and you push boys’s heads away when they get too close to kissing on your neck. you don’t mind the hands on your hips or how their grips get a little stronger when they’re grasping onto your dress. you cry, “rafey, save me!” in a faux pout, jumping onto him to tuck your head under his chin and sliding your hand under his coat against his chest. “they’re being mean.” you insist, but it’s all in good fun.

“‘rafey, save you?’” he parrots in facetious disbelief, condescendingly humoring you. he exchanges silent conversation through gazes with his buddies, asking if you’re for real right now; if you know what you’re doing to them; if you care. “they’re not so bad, ‘promise.” he plays into your little game, nodding up to one of his friends to the side as if to say, check this shit out. “c’mon, they’re looking lonely, go on.” rafe kicks you off his lap with an encouraging push until you land on your heeled feet. the force doesn’t stop there, guiding you into the hands of the others. one clutches onto the skirt of your outfit, yanking you to him to press you flush against his chest. you shy away, flinching one of your eyes as you pinch your neck, pushing him out of your space as you feel his nose close in on the corner of your jaw.

“stop!” you squeal, escaping the hold only to stumble into a seat of your own with the fabric ridden up so far every guy catches a glimpse of the color of your panties. disheveled and breathless, you brush your hair out of your face with a gust of air out of your mouth. slumped into the leather, you don’t register how your spaghetti strap peels off your shoulder, or how your heated skin is caressed by stranger’s hands. “where’s rafe? i want rafe.” you insist.

“i’m right here, princess. how’re you feeling? want something to drink?” he asks as he slots in next to you, sunning you with his body heat. everyone knows he’s not talking about water. his arm settles behind your head, and you gravitate towards him, leaning your head on him. a single thick finger of his comes to hook under your hem, leading the line up to show his compatriots more of the lace trim on the cute underpants you decided to wear. to ease you into this, his arm wraps fully around you in an embrace, sweetly caressing your arm with the tips of his digits.

“i’m getting hungry…” you sleepily tell him, ending the sentence with a yawn that makes him bite down onto his bottom lip. you toe off your heels delicately, picking your legs up to lay next to you on the seat.

vaguely, rafe answers you just to lead you to believe he’s listening, “uh-huh…” you nod to yourself to confirm it. “we’ll… uh—we’ll get you something later, okay? jus’… do something for me first.” your brows furrow as you feel his hand wedge between your thighs, strength beginning to pry them apart one by one.