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hunzzzzz · 2 months ago

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OBX TWEETS: part 12 (Rafe Cameron x reader x John B SMAU)

A/N: AHHHHH this is what everyones been waiting for!!!!

TW: SMUT/oral sex f!receiving/virgin reader/first time (kind of)

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, vibrating through your chest as you hung upside down, the cheap beer burning a cold trail down your throat. Two random guys gripped your legs firmly, while Amy your friend, held your skirt securely in place.

Finally, they lowered you back onto your feet, the world spinning for a dizzying second. Beer dripped from your chin, trailing down your cleavage, but you barely registered it, wiping it away with the back of your hand.

Six weeks. Six long, grueling weeks of therapy. Tonight, you needed this release, this explosion of carefree abandon. But a small, cautious voice in the back of your head reminded you to tread carefully. The last time you’d let loose like this, the intoxicating mix of alcohol and hormones had led to a regrettable encounter with a certain buzzcut and a whole lot of messy feelings.

Drama was the absolute last thing you needed tonight. You’d already crossed paths with Rafe near the keg, and thankfully, he hadn’t even spared you a glance. It was almost unnerving, this complete lack of acknowledgment.

Meanwhile, Topper and Kelce sent you pointed glares that you almost found comical. Whatever, you rolled your eyes internally. He was genuinely the last thing on your mind. You had enough of your own shit to deal with. And trying to decipher whatever had him in a pissy mood and blanking you was at the bottom of your list, in fact he was so irrelevant he wasn't even on the list.

Your gaze scanned the crowd until you found your familiar group huddled near the edge of the bonfire. A pang of longing hit you. It felt strange not having pre-gamed with them, but the thought of facing John B was too much to handle right now. You weren’t angry anymore, just… deeply, profoundly hurt. And tonight, more than anything, you needed a night free of that particular ache.

One by one, they noticed you and broke away from their conversation, their faces lighting up with genuine warmth. Pope gave you a cautious hug, his eyes searching yours for any sign of fragility. Kiara squeezed you tightly, whispering a welcome back. You noticed John B amongst them, but he remained a good distance away, thank god.

JJ was the last to reach you, and his hug was less of a comforting embrace and more of a full-body tackle. He lifted you off the ground with a grunt, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he spun you around in a dizzying circle. You leaned back, your hair tangling in the sand as the bonfire and the faces around you blurred into an upside-down kaleidoscope.

“Woah! Easy there, tiger,” he chuckled, his hands landing firmly on your back to steady you, pulling you back to an upright.

“I fucking missed you, you chaotic mess!” You grinned, reaching up to squish his cheeks together, your thumbs digging in playfully. “Rehab was like… a library without any good books.”

“Yeah?” He grinned back, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he finally set you back down. “Well, I fucking missed you more, you beautiful disaster. Every time I tried to pull a prank – and trust me, there were some epic ones planned – nobody would help me! They kept saying I needed to ‘mature’ and ‘think things through.’ Think things through? What’s the fun in that? I got my partner in crime back now. The world better watch out, we’re gonna be unstoppable.” He punctuated the sentence by gripping onto your arms and shaking you slightly.

That was the beauty of JJ. He never pried. Not once had he asked about the soul-crushing monotony of rehab. He just showed up every week, a whirlwind of unfiltered JJ-ness, not that you’d ever admit you looked forward to it. He physically couldn’t go seven days without updating you on the latest ridiculousness he’d gotten himself into: the assignments he’d spectacularly failed, the dating app disasters, the time he tried to ‘borrow’ a golf cart from the country club.

He was a glorious, unhinged escape from the sterile, suffocating world of recovery. An escape from the saccharine smiles of the therapists, the forced vulnerability of group sessions where you had to dissect your feelings like a goddamn frog in biology class, the endless mindfulness exercises that felt like a personal affront to your racing thoughts, and the daily affirmations that tasted like ash in your mouth.

You weren’t kidding when you said it was terrible; it was your own meticulously crafted personal hell. A six-week-long torture session of everything you actively avoided: talking about yourself, being forced to connect with strangers about your deepest insecurities, having your every word and action analyzed and interpreted. You genuinely would have preferred a lobotomy to another goddamn circle time where you had to share your ‘feelings flower.’

Kiara and Pope had cast apologetic glances your way before gravitating back to John B. You just waved a dismissive hand, a small, tight smile on your face. It was completely fine. Really.

You and JJ found a quiet spot by the water, a joint appeared seemingly out of nowhere between you two.

While JJ was animatedly recounting the latest escapades of his borderline-paranoid neighbor, Toby – something involving garden gnomes and accusations of spying – your attention kept drifting. You couldn’t help the magnetic pull of your gaze towards John B. He was perched on a log by the bonfire, the flickering embers casting dancing shadows across his face, and even from this distance, you could feel his eyes on you. A sudden, fierce longing surged through you – a desperate urge to run over, to bury yourself in his familiar embrace, to feel his lips on yours.

“Hello?” JJ’s voice cut through your reverie. He followed your gaze, “You should go talk to him, you know.”

You snapped back to face JJ, a defensive wall instantly going up. “Look, J, I know he’s your best friend, and I appreciate you… trying to be all mature and shit, but I don’t want you caught in the middle of this. I don’t want any of you to have to pick sides or anything. This is between me and him.”

“Hey,” JJ said, his usual goofy grin fading as he placed a hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t be fucking stupid. Nobody’s picking sides, alright? We’re your friends. We’re all just… seeing two people we care about so upset. It’s kinda pathetic, not gonna lie.”

“I’m not upset,” you insisted, crossing your arms stubbornly, your chin jutting out slightly. “If he wants to be a little bitch about it. Then that's his personal problem. It doesn’t exactly keep me up at night.”

JJ looked at you for a long moment, his lips pursed in that way he did when he was trying to be serious but still couldn't quite suppress his inner chaos. “He misses you. Like, a lot. He’s been moping around like a lost puppy ever since you left. It’s actually kinda gross to watch.”

“J, you know what I love about you?” You shoved him playfully, a small smile finally breaking through your defenses. “We don’t do this touchy-feely, heart-to-heart, ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ gay shit.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he sighed dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. “But I’m the one who has to be on suicide watch every night. It’s cramping my style, man! I can’t even get laid with him radiating all that sad-boy energy. Think of my needs here!” He pouted, his attempt at reconciliation somehow both ridiculous and strangely earnest.

“It’s too complicated, J,” you said, shaking your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to resurface. “This is exactly why I never wanted anything to happen between us in the first place. He’s my best friend. He was my best friend.” You quickly corrected yourself, clearing your throat.

“And now look at us. Look at this mess we’ve made.” You gestured vaguely behind you towards the bonfire where John B was sitting, and surprisingly, your outstretched finger made contact with something… or rather, someone.

Your eyes widened in dawning horror. It was a full-blown ‘he’s right behind me, isn’t he?’ moment.

“Hey, uh, can we talk?” John B’s voice, low and slightly hesitant, cut through the painful silence and the crashing waves.

You shot a death glare in JJ’s direction, silently screaming for a warning you hadn’t received.

“Yeah, go right ahead! Lemme just… uh… hosey on outta here.” JJ grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and with a quick, two-fingered salute, he jogged away.

You sucked in a sharp breath and whipped around to face John B. Before he could even get a damn word out, you held up a hand, like, 'Talk to the hand, buddy.'

“Don’t even start,” you said, your voice all tight and shaky. Ugh, get it together, you pathetic mess. “If you came over here to ask me how that little slice of hell they call rehab was, just turn your ass around and walk away. Right now.”

John B rubbed the back of his neck, looking all awkward and shit. “I didn’t,” he mumbled, his eyes searching yours like he’d lost his damn keys. “God, I fucking missed you. Every second.”

“Yeah, yeah, noted,” you said flatly.

He took a step closer, his voice all soft and pleading. “And I’m… I’m fucking sorry. Okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed, a bitter little laugh escaping before you could stop it. Yeah, right. Sorry my ass.

“Thank you for that groundbreaking revelation. Will that be all? Because honestly, I’m not really in the mood for a tearful reunion right now. Still kinda processing the whole ‘being ambushed by my friends and family’ thing.” His face actually fell, like a kicked puppy. Good.

“No, actually. No, I’m not fucking sorry! Not really. I take it back!” He huffed, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I’m not sorry that I forced your stubborn ass to get help! I’m not sorry that I couldn’t just stand by and watch you… slowly fucking disappear! And yeah, you wanna know what else, you oblivious idiot? I’m not sorry for being in love with you!” He was practically yelling now, his voice cracking. Oh, for fuck's sake. Here we go.

You shook your head, fat tears finally deciding to make an appearance, rolling down your cheeks like they had a goddamn agenda. “You sound just like my mom right now, you know that?”

You turned to walk away, your chest feeling like someone had stuffed it with barbed wire. You had to get out of there. But you couldn’t leave it hanging. You spun back around, your voice shaking despite your best efforts.

“That’s what you think I’m mad about? Seriously, John B? I’m not mad that I went to rehab. I fucking needed it, okay? What I’m hurt about… what I can’t get past, you dumbass… is the way you went about it! You lied to me. You went behind my back and planned it all with my mom? You fucking ambushed me! I trusted you. I told you shit I haven’t told anyone else. You were supposed to be my best friend.”

Without waiting for his pathetic reply, you turned and fucking bolted, shouldering past the surprised, nosy faces around the bonfire. Each step was fueled by a desperate need to escape the suffocating weight of your own hurt and his ridiculously timed, completely unwanted confession. Ugh, men.

You shoved past some meathead blocking your path, sending his lukewarm beer sloshing down his shirt. You spun around, ready with a practiced, “I’m so sorry—“ but then your eyes landed on Topper’s ugly, punchable face, and the apology died in your throat.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, asshole,” you spat, scoffing as you whipped back around, not giving a damn about the death glare you could feel boring into your back.

“Say that shit again,” Topper’s hand clamped down on your wrist like a vise. “I fucking dare you.” His face was so close to yours you could smell the stale beer on his breath and the faint hint of Axe body spray. Ugh, still rocking that middle school scent.

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to get your grimey hands off me,” you warned him. You started counting down in your head, each number a silent threat. One… two… three…

“Or what? Huh?” He gave your wrist another painful tug, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Can’t hide behind your phone and your little Pogue posse now, can you?”

“Where’s your precious princess, Ruthie?” you taunted, tilting your head and giving him your most saccharine, mocking pout. “Still busy servicing half of Kildare? Or did she finally dump your sorry ass so she didn’t have to sneak around anymore?”

His face contorted in rage, his grip tightening on your wrist until you could feel your bones protesting. “Where’s your fucking friends, huh? Did they finally fucking ditch your psycho ass too? Did they finally realize what a miserable, unlovable bitch you are? So unlovable that even your own fucking dad couldn’t handle your bullshit?”

You’re not entirely sure what happened in the next split second, everything seemed to blur. One moment Topper was sneering in your face, the next he was on the ground, clutching his nose and howling like a wounded animal.

You heard a sickening crack, felt a jolt of pain shoot up your arm, and noticed your hand was throbbing. There was a high-pitched ringing in your ears, a dull buzzing that drowned out the shouts and gasps around you. You didn’t stick around to analyze the carnage. You just turned on your heel and kept walking, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you headed down the beach, leaving Topper and his wounded pride in the dust.

You finally stumbled to a stop in the deserted car park, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut – your Aunt had dropped you off. No ride home. You kicked a loose rock, sending it skittering across the asphalt, a frustrated “Fuck!” ripping from your throat.

You repeated the action, again and again, until your foot throbbed in protest, joining the chorus of pain from your bruised knuckles. Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic. This was exactly how you’d envisioned your triumphant return from rehab: battered, bruised, and stranded. You squatted down, burying your face in your hands, hot, angry tears burning behind your eyelids.

John B, the guy you were harbouring some seriously complicated feelings for was still on the beach, half your heart hated him and the other half wanted to be back in his arms. Topper was another delightful trigger you’d have to unpack later.

And you were completely stranded, thanks to your current no-contact policy with your usual chauffeur, John B. You’d probably have to call your Aunt, drag her out of bed, further cementing your status as the family screw-up.

You forced yourself to get up, taking a shaky breath. You looked up, wiping angrily at your eyes, and saw him. Rafe. Leaning against his Jeep, his eyes locked on you. He didn’t make a move, didn’t say a word, just stood there, a silent, brooding figure in the dim parking lot light.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” you yelled, the raw edge of your emotions lashing out.

He still didn’t respond verbally, just pushed himself off the Jeep and walked over to the passenger side, opening the door with a deliberate, almost challenging gesture.

Your first instinct was to tell him to go choke on a bag of dicks, but then you spotted the flashing lights of a Sheriff’s car pulling into the beach access road. Topper, the little shit, had definitely called them.

Without another word, you scrambled into Rafe’s Jeep, practically diving into the passenger seat and reclining it as far back as it would go, hoping to disappear from view.

Rafe slid into the driver’s seat, giving you a deeply unimpressed look. “What in the actual hell are you doing?”

“Playing the drums! What does it look like I’m doing? Just drive!” you snapped, your voice tight with anxiety.

Rafe rolled his eyes, the interior light briefly illuminating his annoyed expression. He pulled out of the car park. “Where am I even going, exactly? Your place? Because I’m not wasting gas if you’re just gonna refuse to go in again.”

“Just drop me off right here.” You pointed to the side of the road when you were far enough away from the beach and any lingering law enforcement.

“Leave you in the middle of nowhere?” Rafe muttered, glancing at you. “Fuck no.”

“Pull over, or I swear to God, I’m gonna jump out of this fucking car,” you threatened, your hand hovering over the door handle. He sighed heavily, but begrudgingly pulled over to the side of the first deserted road.

You practically tumbled out of the Jeep and started walking, your pace bordering on a power walk. “Get back in the fucking car!” you heard him call out. You didn’t get far before he grabbed your wrist. A sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips, your skin already tender and bruised from Topper’s grip.

“What? What is it?” he asked, his hands held out in a placating gesture, like he was dealing with a feral animal.

“Nothing! Just leave me the fuck alone!” You huffed, whipping back around and breaking into a jog, but your tired legs were no match for his. He was suddenly in front of you, blocking your path.

“What the fuck is your problem? Huh?” he demanded, stepping right into your personal space.

“Rafe,” you spat, your voice low and trembling with anger and exhaustion, “I’m gonna be so fucking for real with you right now, I don’t have time for your bullshit!”

“Oh, so now I’m the bad guy?” he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief, a sneer twisting his lips. “You’re the one who stood me up, disappeared without a word, and then show up here acting like the world owes you an apology!”

“Oh, okay, you wanna play this game? Fine! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to our oh-so-important date, okay? I’m fucking sorry I have actual, real-life shit going on right now! I’m sorry if your pathetic little ego got bruised! There?! Happy now, you whiny little bitch?” you yelled, your voice raw with fury.

“You're unbelievable,” He shook his head, his eyes blazing with a mixture of pure rage and something that still flickered like hurt.

“That’s what I gathered from your emo tweets, princess.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck that you stood me up! But you didn’t even have the decency to tell me what the hell was going on. You could’ve just said something. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t understand?”

“No offense, Rafe, but I don’t owe you a goddamn thing. Least of all an explanation. And also, if I’m such a waste of your time…. Why are you still here?” You hadn’t forgotten about his text messages you had read once you got your phone back.

“You had every opportunity to tell me – anything – you could have said ‘my hamster died,’ I wouldn’t have cared! Maybe just a ‘hey Rafe, not doing so well,’ would’ve sufficed!” He was being deliberately sarcastic now, planting his hands on his hips, his jaw tight.

“Right, yeah, I should’ve just shot you a ‘Oops stuck in rehab’ text. My fucking bad. You’re so goddamn entitled, it’s actually hilarious. I didn’t have my fucking phone, dipshit. They tend to frown upon contraband in those places.” You spat, trying to sidestep him, but he moved with you, blocking your every attempt to create space..

“You didn’t even have the basic decency to text me when you got back.”

“What the actual fuck is happening here? What the fuck is this interrogation? Why do you seem to think we’re some kind of… couple? I think you’re severely delusional—” Your words were abruptly cut off as his lips crashed down on yours.

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your brain momentarily short-circuiting. Rafe’s lips were hard and demanding against yours, a shocking violation that sent a jolt of something akin to pure rage through your veins. It lasted only a split second before you shoved him away with all your might, your hand connecting with his chest with a forceful thud.

“What the actual fuck?” you panted, running your fingers over your tingling lips. Okay, not gonna lie, that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Were you planning on kissing Rafe? Hell no.

Were you still hung up on John B? God, yes.

Did you desperately need a distraction from the swirling mess in your head? Fuck yes.

“Thought I’d shut you up for at least five seconds,” he smirked, a hint of his usual arrogance returning.

Before he could say another word, you wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at his nape, and pulled him down. This time, you initiated the kiss, your lips crashing against his, a messy, desperate collision. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, and his tongue slid into your mouth with a possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

You were so lost in the sudden intensity, the unexpected heat that flared between you, that you didn’t even realize he had backed you up against the cold metal of the car door, effectively pinning you.

He finally pulled away, his face a mixture of confusion and something that looked a lot like lust. You were so fucking confusing, your mood swinging from ice-cold bitch to scorching hot in a matter of seconds.

“Thought you were done with me?” You taunted him, a smirk playing on your lips as you remembered all the unanswered texts he’d left. “Thought you were done with me for good?”

“You make it so fucking hard,” he breathed, his hand now resting on your neck, his thumb lightly trailing over your swollen lips.

“Ever heard of self-control?” You smirked, catching his thumb between your teeth and gently sucking on it, swirling your tongue around the pad, coating it in your hot saliva.

Rafe closed his eyes, tipping his head back slightly, a low groan rumbling in his chest. “I need a trip to rehab too, you’re fucking driving me insane.”

You let his thumb slide out of your mouth with a satisfying pop, keeping direct eye contact with him. “Get in the fucking car. Now.” He didn’t ask, he ordered, and for some reason, you didn’t argue.

You were a mess – upset, tipsy, high as fuck, heartbroken over John B, and furious at pretty much everyone. But in that moment, all of that was drowned out by a burning, undeniable desire, a raging inferno between your legs. And the solution to that particular problem was sitting right next to you, his hand now gripping your bare thigh possessively as he peeled out of the roadside and sped back towards his place.

“You do this shit on purpose, don’t you?” He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his knuckles bone-white, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically see the muscle twitching.

His eyes, usually so vacant, were dark and intense as he briefly flicked his gaze towards you. “Showing up in a skirt that barely whispers hello to your ass, flashing half the damn beach doing a keg stand… you fucking crave attention. It’s almost pathetic how badly you want it.”

“Look at you, all hot and bothered right now,” you purred, shifting in your seat to angle your body more fully towards him, your gaze deliberately lingering on his clenched jaw.

“Poor baby, all worked up.” You trailed a finger slowly up his taut bicep, feeling the immediate tension coil beneath your touch. “I don’t even have to try, and I’m living in your head, rent-free.”

You leaned closer, your breath ghosting over his ear as you stroked a knuckle along his sharp jawline. “Must be exhausting, thinking about me day and night, but you’re barely a fleeting thought in my mind.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight enough to make you gasp, pulling your hand away from his face. “Then why are you here right now?”

You shrugged, “Call it… sheer boredom.”

“Oh yeah?” A dark smirk played on his lips as he clicked his tongue. “Trust me, baby, you’re not gonna be bored after I’m done with you. I fucking promise you that.” His hand returned to your thigh, this time sliding higher, his fingers dipping under the hem of your skirt.

You gasped softly, a thrill shooting through you as his fingers pressed against the bare skin of your inner thigh, so close to the juncture that a faint heat bloomed between your legs.

He squeezed the flesh of your thigh impossibly tight, his pinkie brushing against the slick heat that had already gathered there. He almost swerved feeling your raw wetness, “Why the fuck do you have no panties on?” He demanded.

“I like to feel the breeze,” you said, your voice slightly breathless, your thighs involuntarily squeezing together around his invading hand. “It’s no-panties season, Rafe. You should try it sometime.”

Rafe ran every yellow light, the engine roaring as he sped towards his house. He didn’t even bother to offer to drop you home, and you sure as hell didn’t tell him to.

Was this an incredibly stupid idea? Most definitely. But you’d stopped giving a fuck about smart choices somewhere between your tenth therapy session and JJ’s detailed account of his neighbor’s alleged alien abduction. You just wanted to feel something good for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The only reason you’d ever resisted this particular temptation with Rafe before was because your brain had been so thoroughly occupied with John B. It had always been John B, a constant, nagging presence in your thoughts. But now… now you didn’t really give a fuck.

The car screeched to a halt, tires spitting gravel, and Rafe was yanking your door open before the engine even died. “Jump,” he commanded, his voice rough, and you instinctively obeyed, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hauled you out of the car. The sudden rush of cold air against your bare ass made you gasp; your skirt had ridden up to indecent heights.

His hands immediately found purchase on your backside, gripping and kneading the bare flesh, his thumbs digging in possessively as he tilted your head back and shoved his tongue down your throat. You didn’t draw a proper breath until you felt the soft give of a mattress beneath you, his weight momentarily shifting as he broke the frantic kiss.

Rafe had one knee wedged between your thighs, pressing insistently against your damp heat. He watched you, a predatory gleam in his eyes, watching the way your chest heaved, your breasts threatening to spill entirely from your bralette top. God, you were a mess, a beautiful, insatiable mess. He pressed his knee harder against you, and you bit your lip hard, stifling a moan that threatened to erupt.

“Got nothing to say now?” He teased, his hot breath ghosting over your face as he licked your jaw, his tongue leaving a slick trail across your skin before his lips began planting slow, deliberate kisses down your neck.

��Shut the fuck up,” you managed to gasp out, your hips instinctively grinding against his knee, a slick heat building with every friction.

“Seem a little desperate, don’t you?” His hand trailed down your body, his fingers ghosting over your sternum, dipping into your navel, before finally bunching your skirt up to your waist, not wasting another second. His fingers slid through your wet folds, expertly teasing your clit. You bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood, desperate to keep the whimpers trapped in your throat.

“Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you?” His fingers were at your entrance, prodding and teasing, and then his lips were back on yours, a smirk playing on his mouth as he tasted the copper from your bitten lip.

But now, with your lips moving against his, his index finger slipping inside you, a strangled moan finally escaped, his mouth swallowing the sound completely. Then a second finger joined the first, pumping at a relentless pace that had you gripping the bedsheets, your breath coming out in short, ragged gasps.

Rafe watched you writhe beneath him, a sheen of sweat slicking your forehead, your face flushed. He had you completely at his mercy, the incoherent sounds of pleasure bubbling up from your throat, he was in control now. “You close?”

He didn’t really need an answer; he could feel the insistent clenching around his fingers, your face scrunched up in concentration, your eyes squeezed shut. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting how close you were, how his fingers had you teetering precariously on the edge.

And just when you were about to let go, a frustrated cry building in your chest, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, shoving them into your mouth. “Not yet, princess,” he murmured, making you taste yourself, lick his fingers clean of your slick juices. A frustrated whine escaped your throat around his fingers. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” you glared at him, once he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“Be patient, princess,” he smirked, patting your cheek lightly in a deliberately condescending manner. “I’ve got you.”

He stood up, stripping his clothes off in a haste that spoke volumes of his barely contained desire. Your moans, the way your mouth had greedily sucked on his fingers, had his cock throbbing with a primal urgency.

You were propped up on your elbows, watching him with this weird mix of ‘oh god, here we go’ and a slightly morbid curiosity as he gave his cock a few practice pumps. The head was all swollen and this startling shade of pink. It was… well, let’s just say it looked like it meant business. Your heart decided to stage a drum solo against your ribs, a frantic little beat of pure nerves. Holy shit, how the actual fuck is that supposed to fit inside you? You shoved that delightful thought down, right next to all the other anxieties you usually kept tucked away.

You were so fucking over being a virgin, tired of waiting for the right guy to come along. You just wanted to get it done, tick it off the life to-do list, right next to ‘learn to parallel park’ and ‘figure out what the hell a Roth IRA is.’ How hard could it really be? Every girl you’d ever semi-confided in about this whole virginity saga always said it only hurt for a hot minute, like a sharp little sting, and then BAM! Instant good times.

And God, you desperately wanted some instant good times, even if it was just for a little while and with the resident Kook prince. He fumbled with the condom wrapper for a sec, looking like a total doofus, but eventually wrestled the little rubber raincoat on. Right then and there, you kind of wished you’d paid more attention in sex ed.

Rafe grabbed your ankles, pulling you roughly to the edge of the bed. You still had your bralette on, your skirt a tangled mess bunched around your waist. He didn’t bother with formalities, didn’t bother to undress you further. He was feral in his need, and honestly, a part of you was too.

He spread your legs wider, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Been wanting this for so fucking long,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he positioned himself between your thighs. The head of his cock slid through your slick folds, the tip brushing against your ridiculously sensitive clit, sending a jolt straight to your core. His grip on your hips was bruising.

“What you waiting for then?” You managed to get out through gritted teeth, the anticipation a sharp, almost painful ache. You were half-filled with a reckless excitement and half-terrified of the unknown. He was big, thicker than you’d imagined, and you had absolutely no clue what to expect sensation-wise. His prolonged teasing wasn’t exactly helping your nerves.

“So fucking impatient,” he hissed, kissing his teeth as he lined himself up at your entrance. “Need to fuck that bratty attitude right out of you,” he spat down at your opening, smearing it with his tip, a crude attempt at extra lubrication that did little to soothe your growing fear.

“I swear to you, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m fucking leaving—“ The threat died in your throat, your breath hitched as you felt him push inside. It was met with immediate, searing resistance. A sharp whimper escaped you, the stretching sensation intense as his thick mushroom tip tried to wedge its way past your tight walls. Your muscles clenched reflexively, your body screaming in protest, trying to physically force him out, “—fuck.”

“Fucking relax— you’re squeezing so fucking hard,” he grunted, pushing in a fraction more. The pain was sharp, like being torn apart. Tears burned in your eyes, and you squeezed them shut, but they still escaped, hot and wet against your temples. “Fuck— you good?” Rafe hovered over you, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb.

“It fucking hurts,” you whimpered, your voice small and shaky as he finally bottomed out, the sensation of being completely full almost unbearable. “Ow fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was so deep inside you, you could practically feel him pressing against your stomach.

“Just relax, you’re so tense,” he murmured, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Relax for me, princess.” He stayed still for a moment, letting your body try to accommodate his size, his impressive girth. It felt less like pleasure and more like a goddamn baseball bat was currently trying to tear you in two.

“Hey, open your eyes.” He demanded softly, and your eyelids fluttered open, your blurry vision focusing on his face looking down at you, his expression holding a strained restraint as he fought the urge to fuck you dumb.

“Just move— fuck—“ Maybe if he pulled out, you wouldn’t feel so stretched, so full. Maybe if you got a moment of relief, it wouldn’t feel so… “FUCK!” You yelped as he pulled out almost completely and then thrust back inside, the force sending another wave of searing pain through you.

“What? What? What’s wrong?” He stilled inside you again, his arms braced on either side of your head. “Just relax, you a virgin or some shit?”

“So fucking what if I am? It’s not your fucking business,” you snapped, even through the throbbing pain, your default defense mechanism kicking in.

“What the fuck?” He sat back on his knees, pulling out of you completely, making you hiss at the sudden movement. He looked down at the sheets, a prominent red stain blooming on the white cotton. The condom he’d used was stained a worrying shade of pink, and a few droplets of crimson were still trailing down your inner thighs.

“You’re a fucking virgin?” He stood back up, tossing the condom into the overflowing trash can and pulling on his discarded boxers. “Don’t you think that’s something worth mentioning?” His voice was tight with a mixture of shock and a definite hint of panic.

“The fuck is your problem?” You sat up on the bed, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar rawness between your legs.

You awkwardly adjusted your skirt back down over your hips, feeling exposed. One minute Rafe was inside you, all heat and urgency, and the next he was pacing around his room like a caged animal.

“If this is about the sheets, I’ll fucking clean them for you, you uptight prick.” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to project an air of nonchalance that you definitely weren't feeling. He was being kinda melodramatic right now.

“You’re. A. Fucking. Virgin,” he said slowly, his voice laced with disbelief and something that sounded a lot like regret as he squatted down in front of you, his gaze intense.

“You don’t have to sound so disgusted,” you snapped, a defensive prickle rising up your spine.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me that?” He pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Why the fuck does it matter?” You retorted, avoiding his gaze. “How does it affect you? You still got your dick wet regardless.”

“It fucking matters because that shouldn’t have been your first time!” He exclaimed, his voice rising with genuine frustration, a look of self-disgust flashing across his face. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall, or maybe himself.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting fucking candles and rose petals from you, Rafe,” you shrugged, trying to play it cool, even though a small, wounded part of you was screaming. “This is just a hook-up, right? That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“No. It’s not. That’s not how your first time is supposed to be… fucking hell, you’re so fucking annoying sometimes,” he muttered, running a hand roughly through his hair.

“HEY! If me being a virgin is such a fucking inconvenience, I’ll fucking leave,” you shot back, jumping to your feet. You managed to take a few wobbly steps before he was spinning you back around, his grip surprisingly gentle this time.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading.

“No, I heard you loud and clear, fuck you—”

“No, hold up,” he cut in, his voice suddenly softer, almost… bummed out? It was weird. “Listen, I’m actually kinda feeling like a dick right now, not gonna lie. God, I would’ve totally done that whole thing differently. Like, way differently. That was a total shit show, my bad. I would’ve, you know, been gentler and stuff. Maybe even, like, actually kissed you properly, all over. Fuck sake, you’re making me sound like a total tool, and yeah, maybe I am one right now.”

He took a deep breath, his gaze losing some of that hard edge. “That’s why you should’ve told me, so I could’ve… I could’ve made it special for you. I don’t give a fuck if you’re a virgin. I just… I wish it hadn’t been like that for you.”

“Dude, it’s fine, you’re not my boyfriend. Doesn’t matter,” you said, trying to play it cool with a sarcastic little punch to his shoulder, shifting awkwardly on your feet. Okay, maybe it mattered a little. Scratch that, it mattered a lot. “Now that we’ve had the super fun virginity reveal, uh, can you maybe drop me home?”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Fuck,” Rafe muttered, taking a step closer. When you didn’t bolt or even flinch, he took another, placing his hands gently on your hips. He backed you up slowly until the backs of your knees bumped against the edge of the bed. “Let me… let me make you feel good, first. For real good. Then I’ll drop you wherever the hell you want.”

“Yeah?” You ran your fingers through his short, spiky hair, the texture surprisingly soft.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your forehead with a tenderness that made your stomach flip. “Let me spoil you, princess.” He kissed you again, and the urgency from before was completely gone, replaced by a slow, sweet tenderness that melted some of the tension in your shoulders. Your fingertips traced up his chest, drawing him closer until there was barely any space left between you.

He left a trail of soft kisses down your jawline, his lips lingering at the hollow of your throat before moving lower, towards your cleavage. Your lacy bralette shielded your breasts, your nipples already hard and poking against the fabric.

“I’m taking this shit off,” he grunted softly, his fingers fumbling slightly with the clasp before pulling the straps down, revealing your bare skin.

“So fucking perfect,” he breathed, his eyes dark as he admired your exposed breasts. The cool air was instantly replaced by the wet warmth of his mouth as he latched onto your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, his hand cupping your other breast, squeezing it gently. He swapped over, his kisses sloppy and adoring as he pushed your breast deeper into his mouth, savoring every inch of your skin.

It felt like a do-over, a second chance. Not one you’d asked for, but one that Rafe seemed determined to give you, like you deserved it. Before, he’d been so caught up in his own head, his own needs overpowering everything else. He’d been so consumed by the fact that he finally had you in his bed, a fantasy he’d chased for way too long, that he’d rushed it, been too rough. He’d seen the tough exterior, the way you acted like nothing fazed you. But beneath the sharp thorns underneath all that sharp-tongued, don't-mess-with-me attitude, he now sensed a delicate bloom, untouched and sweet.

And now, a newfound reverence stirred within him. He yearned to linger, to inhale the intoxicating scent of your vulnerability, to coax your petals open with exquisite care, until you unfurled completely beneath his touch.

“Rafe,” you gasped softly as he bit and nipped at your scorching skin, sending shivers down your spine. His free hand moved down from your hip, his fingers gently caressing your inner thigh.

“Hmmm?” He finally unlatched from your breast, his gaze now softer, more focused on you. He sat up on his knees, his hands hovering near the hem of your skirt before slowly, deliberately pulling it down your legs. “This okay?”

“You just had your dick inside me two minutes ago, and now you’re asking if taking my skirt off is okay?” you said, a hint of your usual sass returning, though your voice was still a little breathless.

“If you didn’t have such a sharp mouth, you’d be so much fucking hotter,” he grumbled.

You instinctively snapped your legs closed, giving him an unimpressed look. “Sorry,” he smirked, gently forcing your legs apart again. Lying completely nude in front of him felt surprisingly intimate, the way his hungry eyes were taking you in. He leaned down, leaving a trail of kisses down your sternum, his lips tickling your navel, making you squirm.

“Gotta taste you, yeah?” He looked up at you, his eyes full of a raw desire that made your breath catch. You gave him a shaky nod, and he followed the path of his kisses lower, towards your mound.

He took his time, his gaze reverent as he admired your body. Drool glistened on his lower lip at the sight of your swollen vulva, your labia glistening with the sticky residue of your arousal, your tight little entrance aching to be filled. Damn, you were pretty. Pretty, pretty pussy, and all his… well, soon to be his again.

He pushed his face into your heat, the softness of your inner lips sending a jolt of pleasure through his body. He stroked his flattened tongue up and down your folds, groaning loudly when you instinctively pushed at his head, a pathetic attempt to regain some control. Rafe gently but firmly kept your thighs apart, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he continued to lavish attention on your most sensitive spot, taking his time to savor the taste, the smell, the sound of your wetness splashing against his tongue.

His groans mingled with yours, the vibrations adding another layer of delicious torment. He sucked gently on your lips, humming against them before releasing you with a soft pop and then gently swishing his tongue around your tight little hole.

His tongue then lapped languidly over your pulsating clit, with absolutely no intention of rushing your pleasure. Tasting you, making you writhe beneath him, hearing his name fall from your lips in an anguished cry of need was all the reward he needed for his exceptional willpower in not just bending you over and taking you again.

He used his nose to bump teasingly against your clit while stretching your opening with his hot, wet tongue, sending a wave of sensation that made your eyes cross. You squirmed beneath his hold, a whimper escaping your lips, all semblance of control lost. You could only cling to his hair, your thighs trembling as you endured his loud, wet slurping and the intoxicating vibrations that accompanied his low growls.

Your desperate cries turned into breathless gasps as he ate you harder, your grip on his hair tightening as more moans bubbled up from your chest, slowly melting into the overwhelming stimulation, teetering on the very brink of release.

“Rafe, please,” you gasped, your head falling back against the soft pillows, your mouth hanging open as trickles of pleasure slowly seeped from your core, and Rafe happily licked them up.

“Can’t wait to make this pussy mine,” he breathed against your slick skin, planting one last, lingering kiss on your swollen clit, panting heavily from having spent a continuous, uninterrupted half-hour between your legs. It was a pleasure unlike any you had ever experienced; your thighs were still trembling with aftershocks, a light sheen of sweat glistening on your forehead and neck, which he was now licking off as he moved back up to your lips, planting a firm kiss, making you taste yourself.

Despite your attempts to pry his boxers off, Rafe restrained your hands telling you "not tonight". You didnt fight him too hard because your body was exhausted. After a quick shower with him, you were wrapped in a soft cotton shower gown and back in his bed. He’d followed you in, only pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and now he was wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chest pressing against your back under the covers.

“Stay,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. “Just for a little longer.”

You didn’t immediately pull away, “I should probably get going,” you said, though the words lacked any real conviction.

“Come on,” he tightened his grip slightly. “It’s late. Just… stay the night. We can order takeout, watch some stupid movie.”

“And then what?”

He chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your ear. “Then… we can figure that out in the morning.” He paused, his tone becoming more serious. “I missed you, you know.”

You scoffed softly, though a small part of you felt a strange warmth at his admission. “Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously,” he insisted, his chin resting on your shoulder. “It was… weird without you around. Even with all the yelling and the drama.”

For some reason, with him, it felt different. With your friends, you’d plastered on a fake smile, told them it was ‘challenging but ultimately transformative,’ spewed all the therapy buzzwords you’d been forced to learn. But with Rafe… maybe it was because you’d genuinely thought he couldn’t care less, that you were just a fleeting annoyance in his life. Maybe it was the anonymity of his perceived indifference that made it easier. Whatever the reason, the carefully constructed wall you’d built around your rehab experience felt like it was starting to crumble.

“It was… awful,” you admitted, the words feeling surprisingly easy to say out loud to him.

“Awful how?”

“Just… everything,” you sighed, a wave of the remembered misery washing over you. “The forced group therapy where everyone shared their ‘feelings flowers’ and talked about their ‘inner child.’ The mindfulness exercises that just made my anxiety worse. The daily affirmations that felt like I was lying to myself twenty times a day. It was like… my own personal version of hell.”

You paused, then added with a dark chuckle, “I genuinely think I would have preferred a lobotomy or hardcore jail time.

Rafe was quiet for a moment, his arms still wrapped around you. Then he squeezed you gently. “Sounds pretty rough.”

“Rough is an understatement,” you said, a bitter laugh escaping you. “It was torture. Being forced to talk about myself, to dissect every single messed-up thing in my head with a bunch of strangers and some overly enthusiastic therapist who kept telling me to ‘embrace the journey.’ I just wanted to punch someone.”

“So you didn’t, though?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Tempted,” you admitted. “Very, very tempted. But surprisingly, I managed to restrain myself. Mostly.”

“Well, I’m glad you're back.”

“I'm not.”

He frowned slightly, his thumb gently stroking your arm. “Why?”

You sighed, the weight of the past six weeks suddenly pressing down on you again. “Honestly? Not really. It’s… complicated.” You hesitated, then decided to just lay it out there. You were so physically tired of the charade. “I’m staying with my aunt right now. Things with my mom… they’re not great.”

He didn’t pry, just nodded slowly, his eyes full of a surprising amount of understanding.

You continued, the words tumbling out now, a dam finally breaking. “God, I’m so sick of pretending everything’s fine.....” You trailed off, the raw honesty feeling both terrifying and liberating.

Rafe listened intently. He reached out and gently stroked your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low and sincere. “If you ever… if you ever need somewhere to crash, you can always come here. Seriously. I’ve got the spare rooms, plenty of food. I’ll even… I’ll even try not to be a complete asshole.” He nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck.

Yeah, right. Rafe offering you a safe haven? That’s about as likely as pigs flying over the Outer Banks. You brushed off his words as some kind of weird post intimacy dream. There was no way he was that nice, no way he actually cared.

The exhaustion from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, finally caught up with you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and the warmth of Rafe’s body next to yours was surprisingly comforting.

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