#cupcake!reader

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.

And now, in hopes to make your day better, you were standing on the South. Bike at your hip as you pushed it towards the parking lot of Heyward's Seafood. You were hoping you might be able to catch Pope and just Pope, none of his friends. That would be awkward. Kiara obviously didn't like you. JJ and John B, you weren't even sure if they knew about you.

You and Pope weren’t anything too serious, right now at least. You hadn't told anyone about him but Sarah, obviously, she's your best friend. Plus, people on the North were meaner than mean when they didn’t like something. And you didn't think Pope had told anyone either. It wasn't a conversation you guys had ever had. You didn't mind all that much. You were having fun with this. The thrill of it all. His sweet face and kind hands. He was an angel.

Mister Heyward was outside cleaning fish when you reached. You placed your bike against the wall and smiled at him as he looked up to the noise. He seemed panicked for a second. “Miss Y/L, is everything alright? Did those damn boys forget something in your groceries?” You smiled even more, a soft laugh. “No, no! Don’t worry. Everything was perfect. I was just wondering..” You took a breath, shoulders deflating a little. “Is Pope home?” You asked softly, carefully. With a smile of course.

You watched the older man before you melt with a knowing smile. “He’s up in his room. You’re more than welcomed up there.”

You were beaming up the stairs of their home with red cheeks and sparkling veins. You reached the boys closed door carefully. You knocked gently, hands folding over your front almost nervously. You had never just shown up. There was always a text. Or a call.

The door was quick to fling open. There was Pope trying to jump into a shoe. You couldn’t help your smile.

He looked up at the silence and automatically dropped his shoe. “You’re here?” He whispered in a shock. You smiled, small. “I know, I should’ve called. I’m sorry. I just.. wanted to see you. You know?”

He looked amazed for a moment. Almost not believing his luck.

You waved a gentle hand at his fallen shoe. “I can come back another time, though. If you’re busy. I don’t want to bother—” Pope was shaking his head quickly, smiling brightening his features. He kicked away his shoe and gently took your closest hand as he yanked you into his room. “I was actually on my way to go see you. I was going to text. Like a heads up. But I know your mom isn’t home yet, so I was going to take my chances. But this, this is perfect.”

You were so damn warm. You smile, head tilted to the side as you squeezed his hand in yours. “Yeah?”

Pope smiled, rolling his eyes at your fond teasing. “Yeah, perfect.” You couldn’t stop your smile as you pushed up on the tips of your shoes and pressed a gentle kiss onto his lips. He leaned into them. Hands still attached, but his free one caught your hip and balanced you. Your other free hand was gently on his bicep. He tasted like honey, summer, and smiles.

“You want to go get dinner? Your favorite place then eat it at the marsh behind your house?”

Today had you feel awful about everything and anything, appetite included. But now, staring at this boy, which his hand in yours. You could definitely eat some food.

You're freaking bored and miss the attention of an almost-boyfriend. (It's complicated. But not really, you’re both just scared teenagers.)

You’re staring at the back of his neck, upside down. Your head hangs over the edge of his bed. There’s a small, soft ball in your hands. You’ve been fidgeting with it for ten minutes now. It’s lost your attention about four minutes ago.

He’s bent over his desk, pencil tight in his grasp. The veins in his arms look like they’re trying to escape. And if you got up, you could lick the tension off his neck. He looks so stressed.. But you aren’t sure why. If there’s anyone out there who’s good at math, it’s Pope.

Still, it’s a test, and then it’s the scholarship, then his future.. and whatever else happens when you’re no longer a high school student. You’re not all that worried like he is.

You can’t bite your tongue anymore. “Pope..” You’re whining. Whatever.

You see the pencil pause and the veins in his arm calm the slightest. He spins around in his chair, his eyes going a little wide at your redden face. “Don’t sit like that. Your heads going to explode, squirt.”

You roll your eyes and roll over onto your stomach and you gasp a little at the funny feeling. Pope sends a smug, knowing smile and you glare at him for being so smart.

“You okay?” He ask regardless, and you smile. It’s all warm and soft and you want to hold his hand. You shrug as best as you can while laying across his bedspread. “I miss you.”

You watch his jaw slack a little and his eyes soften. “What do you mean? I’ve been here. You’re in my room.”

You roll your eyes again, he’s clueless, sometimes. “You know, if you stare at those numbers anymore.. they’re going to crawl off the page and stab your eyes out. They want to be left alone.” Pope snorts at your words and you beam at the noise. “Nice,” he mumbles.

You hum, little cocky smile on your face that he really fucking likes.

You climb off his bed and waddle towards him. You slouch into his lap, you take up one of his legs. He hums and has an arm slip around your waist to keep you floating. He kisses your upper arm gently, the arm that’s right in front of his face. You look down at him, adoring. “Can’t you just, like, take the rest of the night off? The test is in two days..”

He hums, eyes casted up on you. “You know, you should also be studying for this test. This was a study date.”

You roll your eyes, your best trait. “You know damn well that was not going to happen when you texted me. I have two days, like I said. I’ll be fine.” You will not be fine, but you don’t seem to really care.

Pope shakes his head with a warming smile. You know you’ve won. You beam and lean over the rest of him to his desk, you dramatically close his books. “Look. Numbers left you. What can you do now?”

Pope scoffs a laugh and squeezes your waist more. It drags a chill up your spine. “What do you wanna do, annoyance?” He asks up at you, caring.

You light up, like the sun in the morning over the horizon. You look really pretty, he thinks. Your hair is a careless mess from all your shuffling around. Your shorts got indentations on your thighs and they’re loose on your waist from wearing them all day. Your tee has been cropped way too short and hangs off one shoulder with a chopped off neckline. He can see that the straps of your bikini are stabbing into your neck. You don’t seem to mind. He’ll squeeze out the knots from your tanning skin later. He always does. He doesn’t mind. He likes to have you so close.

“Let me take you out, prize boy?”

He laughs again, eyes rolling as his forehead falls onto your upper arm. Your skin is warm against his own. You hum and drag your free arm up and over his hair. He slouches more into your hold. “See, the numbers got you all tense, P.”

He rolls his eyes again, even though you can’t see his face.

“I’m hungry,” he suddenly mumbles. You beam, “guess it’s a date then, hot shot?”

He could suffocate you in admiration. You’re making his skin run hot.

He lets out a shy laugh, and gently shoves you off him. “You’re freaking me out, annoyance.” You beam and scrunch up your nose at him, standing before him. He laughs, more calm. “Alright. We’re going out.”

You squeal a bit, winningly. You struck a hand out for him to grasp. “I’ll pay. My treat.” He takes your hand and scoffs at your words. “Yeah. Alright.”

When his hand is in yours, you squeeze it gently and drag him closer to you. He smiles calmly down at you. You beam and lean up on your tippy-toes, he meets you half way. His lips are soft against your own, and you taste like coconut.