ֵ ֺ ू . rafe cameron. clark kent. boys of tommen series. here, there and everywhere by the beatles. booktok biggest hater. paul mccartneys controversially young gf. winter. ireland. flared jeans. smutaholic. 60s addict. . . .
18+ men who cry when they eat you out!! - tw dacryphilia
He’s on his knees between your thighs, shoulders trembling before his mouth even touches you. The first long, slow lick makes his breath hitch—sharp, almost pained, and when he presses his tongue flat against your clit, a low, broken sound escapes him. Not a moan. A sob. Muffled against your wet heat, shoulders shaking harder as he laps at you like a man starved and grieving at the same time.
Tears slip down his cheeks, warm and silent, mixing with your slick on his jaw. He doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. His hands clutch your hips like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded while he cries into your pussy; soft, ragged whimpers vibrating through your core every time he sucks your clit between his lips.
You thread your fingers through his hair, gentle, and he shudders harder, another quiet sob muffled right against your entrance as his tongue pushes inside. He’s messy, desperate, cheeks streaked and shining, eyes squeezed shut like the taste of you is too much and not enough all at once. “Fuck,” he chokes out against you, voice wrecked and wet, “you taste so good—please—please don’t stop me—”
He’s crying openly now, tears dripping onto your thighs as he buries his face deeper, tongue working frantically, nose pressed to your clit. Every sob makes his whole body jerk, but he never pulls away. If anything, he presses closer, like he’s trying to crawl inside you, like the only place he belongs is here, drowning in you. When you come, hard, thighs clamping around his ears, he breaks. A full, helpless sob tears out of him as he licks you through it, drinking every pulse, every gush, crying harder with gratitude or overwhelm or both.
His face is a mess, red-rimmed eyes, tear tracks, your slick smeared across his lips and chin, but he looks up at you like you’ve just given him salvation. He doesn’t speak right away. Just rests his wet cheek on your inner thigh, breathing shakily, still sniffling while his hands stroke your sides in slow, reverent circles. Eventually, he whispers, hoarse and thick, “Thank you,” against your skin, like you’ve done something holy by letting him fall apart on his knees for you.
⭑.ᐟ Please follow my new account, previously rafesteddy ⭑.ᐟ
c/w .ᐟ.ᐟ makeup sex, pathetic!rafe, oral (fem. receiving), fighting, name calling, tension, wearing his sweatshirt during sex, backshot, pressing face into the mattress, praise, spanking, begging, pet names, WAM + downbad per usual
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you mutter into your glass, the words barely contained, the ice clinking sharply as you set it down.
She’s already leaning into him—already touching him, laughing like he just told the funniest joke in the world.
Rafe doesn’t notice a thing.
He’s propped against the bar, cheeks still pink from the game, hair a little damp from the shower, curling at the ends. He’s gorgeous. He’s glowing. He’s also absolutely, completely, catastrophically oblivious.
Her hand slides up his forearm and he just nods—that dopey nod he does when he’s not really listening, smiling politely, but there’s not a thought behind those pretty blue eyes.
Kelce leans back in the booth, eyebrows raised in a silent ‘are you about to kill someone’ way.
And you cock your eyebrow back in his direction in a very clear ‘I just fuckin’ might’ fashion. You down the last of your drink and slide out of the booth.
Your eyes fix on the two of them, stomach dropping as you watch her rise onto her tiptoes, chin lifted to his lips; his eyes dazed somewhere else—until they snap down to her, going wide.
“Yo!” He jerks back so hard he nearly sends Topper to the floor behind him. “What—What the fuck?” His voice breaks with confusion, eyes darting wildly.
She steps back and tosses her hair, feigning nonchalance, but you can tell his reaction stung. She turns away—and the second her eyes lock on yours, she freezes; blood draining from her face.
She bails, pushing through the crowd just as Rafe’s wide eyes find yours.
“What the fuck was that?” He asks, laughing uneasily. He looks genuinely rattled—confused, like he missed the entire scene despite being the center of it.
“What the fuck was that, Rafe?”
“I—what?” He blinks, like the question short-circuited his brain. “I didn’t—She just—I don’t fuckin’ know what happened—”
“You don’t know?” You snap.
“No. I swear. I wasn’t even talkin’ to her. She just came up. And then she leaned in, baby. I think she tried to kiss me?”
“You think?”
“I mean, yeah? Don’t you?”
“Obviously!” You raise your voice, staring at him as he stares back at you. “She was talking to you… Touching you. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”
“It was nothing, baby. I swear I wasn’t even paying attention—”
“If some guy tried to kiss me, you’d lose your fucking shit—”
“I’d be in jail.”
“That’s the point, Rafe…”
He steps closer, lowering his head a little, voice warm and pleading. “Baby, I wasn’t flirting. I wasn’t interested—I wasn’t even thinking. I swear.”
“That’s the problem,” you murmur. “You weren’t thinking.”
“C’mon, baby,” he huffs.
“Maybe she wouldn’t have been so confident if you weren’t smiling at her like that.”
“Like that? Like what? I wasn’t—” His head lifts above yours and you turn around, locking eyes on the big screen TV behind you, and sure enough the sports segment is replaying Rafe’s shootout goal in slow motion before he’s mobbed by his team. “I got distracted by myself.”
“Seriously,” you grumble.
You glance back at the screen—his post-game interview from earlier. Rafe’s drenched in sweat and smiling, black compression shirt clinging to his chest, biceps looking like it was painted on. He scratches the back of his neck during one of his answers, arm flexing unintentionally. You turn back to Rafe and sure as shit he’s smiling that same smile, rocking back on his heels with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Your boy looks good,” he hums as he tilts his head down to you, with a dopey grin like that might be enough to get himself out of the doghouse.
You glare back up at him and his shoulders sag, that naturally pouty bottom lip of his working overtime.
“C’mon, pretty—”
“Act like you give a shit, Rafe,” you breathe as you walk away from him and step up to the bar, mouthing to the bartender for your check.
Rafe’s on you fast, chest pressed against your back, hands resting on top of yours, burying himself in your neck.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, honest, like he realizes that yeah, he fucked up. “Don’t be mad at me. You mad at me?”
“I am.”
“No, baby—for real?” His voice breaks against your neck. You laugh, but there’s nothing funny about this, your annoyance building by the second. “I do give a shit, alright? I care so much…”
“I’m gonna go,” you say as the bartender rests the tab on the bar top.
“Is that your tab? Did you—did you pay for your drinks? You serious?” His brows pinch together like the whole situation’s throwing him for a loop.
“Mhmm… And yours too, sweetheart—have a good night,” you smile, mock sweetness, as you snake out of his arms, but he grabs for you.
“Let me come?” He asks softly, desperation bleeding out of his voice and every fiber of his being, not even giving a shit about how pathetic he looks.
“Do you want to come?” You ask, voice sharp enough to sting. “Or do you just feel bad now that you’ve realized you fucked up, Rafe?”
He drags his other hand through his hair—frustrated and slow—lashes fluttering as he tries to think of the right thing to say, anything to get back in your good graces.
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you tight because even if he can’t think of anything, at least he’s got you—trapped to his chest, heart beating against yours. He dips down, kissing your cheek, letting his lips brush against your ear.
“I didn’t realize what it looked like,” he mutters. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick. I should have been paying attention… She caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that—I didn’t even see it comin’. I didn’t think anyone would try somethin’ like that… not with you right there.” His voice lifts a little, flustered and real. “I mean, you’re mine. That’s obvious, right?”
“It didn’t look obvious, Rafe…”
“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbles, pressing kisses along your neck. “I love you so fucking much… Seriously, you don’t want me to come? I can’t let you leave here without me. It’s not safe—it’s not right. You think I wanna go sit back down with those assholes?” He scoffs as the both of you look back at the table, a group of his teammates quickly looking somewhere else, all thoroughly invested in the drama.
Embarrassment claws hot up your neck. “I’m just done, okay?”
“Me too.” He draws back just enough to look you in your eyes. “Please, let me follow you at least. You roll your eyes and blow out a breath, letting him sweat it out a little more. “Baby—”
“No talking.” You lay out the ground rules, wanting to stay mad for a little longer, and his lips quirk in a little smile he tries to fight back, dipping in to hide it, nose nuzzling your neck.
Five seconds of silence—absolutely nothing left for him to say—and you can tell he’s holding back something.
“Don’t do it,” you chuckle tiredly. “I don’t want to talk to you—”
He scoffs, pulling back, meeting your eyes again, bar lights flickering across his face.
“Not even to tell you how pretty you look?” He breathes, and you roll your eyes as he hooks his finger under your chin, guiding you in line with his lips. He kisses you tenderly, lingering close. You can feel a bit of his tension bleed out as his lips skim against yours. “When you’re mad at me,” he whispers.
“Are you fucking serious?” You whisper, lips trembling as you hold back a weak laugh.
“Nah, you’re pretty all the fuckin’ time,” he mumbles as he kisses you so roughly he bends you back slightly, peppering kisses anywhere he can land his lips. “Prettiest girl here—”
“Shut. Up.”
He lifts his fingers to his lips, miming the zipper rolling across them, “silencing” himself. You let out a snort of a breath as he fake-tosses the key with one hand, kissing you before he grabs the “key” with the other, stuffing it in his pocket.
“Fucking asshole,” you murmur, catching it out of the corner of your eye.
Rafe grabs your hand, squeezing tight enough for you to know there was no protesting this. He leads you through the crowd, his big body pushing through the masses, both hands clutching yours behind his back as you trail along.
The two of you step out into the night, wind whipping around you, billowing up your jersey. You pull your arm away, wrapping it around your body for warmth, heading back toward the hotel.
He falls back, one step behind you, moving closer by the second. You can feel the weight of your silence, the tension building between the two of you again as your boots tap against the concrete, the busy college town buzzing around you.
His eyes are on you, never wavering. You can feel his gaze—pleading for you to let him back in. He blows out a breath, dramatic and anguished, praying you’ll ask him ‘what’s wrong’ so he can answer.
You roll your eyes to him as he takes a little breath, blowing it out slowly, trying to be good—but that ship has almost sailed. “Rafe—”
“I was kiddin’ about the smile thing,” he blurts the words out so fast he nearly chokes on them. His shoulders sag and his head falls back, like a weight was lifted off his chest with seven little words. “I thought it would make you laugh… The announcers—they were talkin’ about my game. I’ve been off lately, you know that. It was just nice to hear them not shittin’ on me for once this fuckin’ season.”
He stuffs his hand in his pocket, looking away for a second, speaking to you things you couldn’t waterboard out of him to anyone else.
“And her? I was just being nice. She’s Topper’s sister—”
“Oh, I know who she is.”
“I thought she was just shootin’ the shit, and I didn’t give one. I wasn’t listening—I didn’t realize until she was already leaning in.” He exhales hard, jaw clenched, adjusting the cap on his head nervously. “I’m sorry. I embarrassed you. I made you look bad, and I swear to God I didn’t mean to.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing the top, pulling back before you can form a reply. “—You’re freezin’.”
“I’m fine,” you breathe, but he’s already stripping off his hat and his team sweatshirt. His T-shirt rides up underneath, exposing his full stomach, abs flexed, v-lines kissing the waist of his blue jeans—just as a few girls walk by, letting out a low whistle.
“Fuck off,” you snap, and Rafe bites back a laugh, tugging his hat back on as he walks closer.
“Baby,” he mumbles.
“What?”
“Literally fuck everyone else who isn’t you. I don’t like anyone—nobody’s in your fuckin’ league, alright? Not even me. Now put this on—”
“I said ‘I’m fine.’”
“Stop being like this—” He whispers, slinging his sweatshirt over your head, catching you inside like a butterfly in a net—trapping you with his warmth and his smell, tugging it down until you’re swallowed in the thick fabric.
He tugs you closer as you pop your arms through, pressing a kiss on your nose, then your mouth.
“You look stunning like this,” he mumbles against your lips. “All pissed off in my clothes—”
“You’re so fucking annoying,” you mutter.
“I’ll win you back. Don’t worry,” he smiles, voice wavering like he’s trying to convince you both—and before you can argue, he bends down and scoops you into his arms without warning.
Your arms sling around his neck—his lips crashing into yours as he holds you bridal-style—rocking ever so slightly as his touch softens, forehead tipping against yours as he starts to walk again.
“There’s no one else for me. I swear. No one else even comes close. You can’t stay mad at me…” He breathes, pressing his cold nose to your neck, making you gasp.
He smiles down at you, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. Rafe smiles, watching you purse your lips, trying not to do the same.
“Please,” he mumbles.
“Ugh,” you groan, going limp in his arms in frustration.
“What, baby?” He laughs lightly.
“You’re such a brat,” you sigh.
“What—why?” He puffs, the vapor of his breath making a little cloud in the cool night air.
“Because I’m trying to stay mad at you… Then, you told me why you’re smiling—”
“Oh shit,” he cuts in. “I swear I was just trying to be honest.”
“Maybe lead with that next time if you know I’m fucking pissed.”
“Noted.”
“Thanks for telling me,” you mumble under your breath.
He holds you a little closer, squeezing you a little tighter. “‘Course,” he answers like it’s easy. “You’re the only person I talk to about this shit.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, resting your head heavy on his chest, letting out a frustrated sound. Rafe pushes a kiss on your forehead, chuckling against your skin.
“M’sorry,” he laughs. “I know you’re pissed—I’m not trying to make you feel bad for me, promise.”
“So full of shit,” you whisper.
“Is it working though?” He teases, just as the door of the hotel opens with a whoosh of heat. Rafe sets you down on your feet, his fingers quickly lacing into yours.
You don’t let go of his hand—and he doesn’t let go of yours.
You walk through the lobby toward the elevator, stepping inside. The silence hums between you as you look at the panel of numbers… an away game, Rafe sharing a room with Top, a private suite all to yourself. You can already see him out of the corner of your eye—yearning, waiting, hoping that he earned a ride to your floor and a place in your bed—as his thumb traces a soft line across your knuckles while he holds your hand.
You lean forward, pressing the twelfth floor, moving back—and he takes the opportunity to pull you into him before you can change your mind.
“Thank you,” he breathes into a kiss, lifting you off your feet, pressing your back into the cool elevator wall. You gasp as his fingers curl under your thighs, his weight driving into yours. “You hear me?” He breathes again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Thank you, baby.” His voice vibrates against your lips as he pins you tight against the wall, gripping you a little tighter.
He smiles against your lips as you whimper into your kiss, the elevator climbing higher. He groans softly, resting his forehead against yours.
“I needed this,” he hums.
“Still mad at you,” you whisper.
“I know, baby,” he mumbles, taking your bottom lip between his, sucking slow. “I deserve that… Wanna celebrate this win with my girl,” he mumbles, soft and breathless.
“Didn’t you leave her back at the bar?” You whisper.
“The fuck are you on about?” He chuckles tiredly.
“Topper’s sister…”
“Blaire?” He asks, like it’s ridiculous—and you correct him.
“Claire.”
“Same shit. Couldn’t pay me enough to care,” he murmurs as the elevator dings at the 12th floor. He fixes his hold, holding on to you tight, carrying you out into the hall, walking toward your room.
“I can walk, Rafe,” you breathe.
“There’s plenty of shit you can do. You’re also kinda fast and I’m gassed from playin’—winning,” he winks. “I don’t need to be chasing you now, do I? And good luck getting outta my arms, sweetheart,” he says, smug as hell. “You saw that post-game interview. Fuck—your boy’s hot, huh?”
You scoff, shaking your head. “Hot and on my last fucking nerve.”
He huffs out a laugh, switching his grip, holding you with a single arm, stuffing his hand in his back pocket, taking out the key you gave him at the start of the night.
“So there’s one nerve left?”
“Shut up,” you laugh.
“Make me.”
“Shouldn’t have given you that key,” you whisper.
“C’mon, pretty.” He swipes the keycard, the hotel door clicks open, and he pushes it in with his shoulder. “We’ll talk about that when I’m done taking care of you, yeah?”
The door swings shut behind him, and before you can think, your back hits the mattress.
He pulls his shirt off in one rough motion—the fabric peeling up over his abs, those deep v-lines you can never look at without wanting to trace with your mouth.
“Holy shit,” he murmurs, working his pants down his thighs, eyes raking over you, never leaving you once. And then he crawls up the bed, his big hands catching the waistband of your leggings, rough knuckles grazing your skin as he peels them down slowly.
You’re left in his giant black sweatshirt and nothing else.
He kneels between your thighs, gaze dark and soft at the same time, hands planted firm beside your hips.
“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and serious. “I’m sorry. I was stupid. I didn’t see her. I wasn’t paying attention… I hate when you’re mad at me.” His fingers graze your thigh. “I know this doesn’t fix it, but…” He leans down, mouth brushing your knee, your thigh, your inner thigh—just barely. “Can I?” He whispers.
Your eyes narrow on his, and his head falls, resting heavy on the inside of your thigh. His big palm massages you there, so sinfully high that one brush to the left and he’d be right where he’s pleading to be.
“M’begging you,” he mumbles, blue eyes lifting to yours, begging for a touch—for a taste. His breath teases over your pussy, making your thighs draw in, but he holds you open.
“Okay—”
“Yeah? Fuck me,” he sighs, burying himself between your thighs, licking a long, slow stripe through your folds that makes your hips lift and your hands fly to his hair, and moans into you.
He sucks your clit, holding you on his tongue until your thighs start to shake. Two thick fingers tease your entrance—swirling and dipping in, scissoring and curling—leaving you bucking your hips, but he pins you down with his weight.
He licks you slow and deep, tongue fucking into you, then flattening wide in slow drags against your clit until you’re clawing at his hair. Every movement’s messy and wet—each filthy lap of his tongue pushes you closer and closer to the edge. He hums like he’s tasting something sweet, mumbling and groaning between breaths.
“Fuck, Rafe,” you whimper, and he wrestles your hand out of his hair, fingers interlacing with yours.
“C’mon, baby. Gimme it,” he whispers—words buzzing straight through you, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed.
“Oh—holy shit,” you squeal, cumming hard, and he moans when you do. His fingers brush your clit fast, tongue plunging deep to feel every flutter as you squeeze his hand tight.
“Rafe—Rafe!”
His name goes from dreamy to rushed as he flips you on your hands and knees before you even realize what’s happening—and slams his cock into you from behind, hard and deep.
You cry out, head tipping back, fingers scrambling for two fistfuls of sheets. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. Doesn’t give you space to breathe.
His big hands find your hips, pounding you from the back, skin clapping skin. That knot in your belly tangles up again, and fast. You’re wet, so wet—Rafe’s mouth on your pussy earlier left nothing but a sopping mess for him to work through again and again.
You bury your face in the mattress, ass high in the air, and his palm comes down on your head, pressing your cheek into the bed. The tips of his middle and ring finger curl into your open mouth and you wrap your lips around them, sucking hard.
Your moans mumble around his fingers; Rafe’s low sounds of pleasure course through the room. Sweat beads down your chest, your body still swallowed in his sweatshirt—dressed in his name just like he wanted.
Your vision goes hazy as your climax burns through you—his name leaving your lips in a breathy sob. Your whole body clenches, back bowing, sharp and dizzying.
“That’s it, baby,” he grits through his teeth.
His hand moves from your face to the bottom of his sweatshirt, bunching it up in his big fist, gripping it tight like leverage, pounding you through it.
“Takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he slurs, fucking you rough until you soften around him completely.
He slows down, letting you catch your breath, rocking into you nice and slow.
“What do you think, baby? Think I earned it?” He mumbles, scooping his arms around your body, pulling you back to his chest. “Give it to me… You on top—”
Your gasp slices through his words as he pulls out, shifting to sit, resting his back against the headboard, reaching for you.
Your body trembles as you climb on top, straddling him, taking his thick, slick dick in your fist. A cock-drunk smile spreads across your lips, eyes lidded and low; just enough space between the two of you for him to watch as you sink down on him, taking every inch.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he mumbles as his lips claim yours, your hands resting on his shoulders, knees digging into the mattress on either side.
His eyes roll back, head falling against the headboard as you grind down slowly, dragging your hips. Your lips find his neck, sucking hard enough to leave your mark.
Rafe’s hands slide up the backs of your thighs, disappearing beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes, palming your ass under the fabric.
He lifts the hem with one hand, spanking you with the other, hissing when your pussy clenches tight at the sting. “My perfect girl,” he groans under his breath.
You press your forehead to his, lips barely brushing his mouth as you whisper his name, your body rolling again and again.
“Gonna fuckin’ cum, baby—” he mutters like he’s not ready yet. His calloused hands roam up your waist, thumbs brushing beneath the soft cotton, just under your breasts.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into your ribcage as he thrusts up into you from below, sweatshirt bunched around your waist, your name rasping off his lips as you come undone—and he follows.
His cock pulses deep inside you, your body milking him for every last drop, leaving you both panting into each other’s mouths.
You shiver as he slowly peels the sweatshirt off, stripping you bare in his lap—skin to skin, chest to chest, hearts pounding against one another.
You’re still smiling when he cups your cheeks and pulls you in for a kiss. His forehead rests against yours, lashes low, tongue wetting his bottom lip.
The room is spinning is gold lights, muffled music in the background, everything is too warm and too close. Rafe’s on the floor, knees spread, pupils blown wide like the world’s cracking open before his eyes.
You’re on the couch, your pulse in your throat, half of the time feeling like the air is too distant from you.
He lazily drags his palm up your thigh, taking in every movements of your body.“You feel that?” His voice is rough like a train wreck, almost slurred with the buzz in his blood. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not,” you whisper, eyes closing slowly.
He laughs, not in the least fooled by you, seeing how the snowflakes you inhaled have taken its tool on you. “Yeah, you are.”
His thumb presses into the soft skin right above your knee, and even the touch feels like a shock. The air tastes sharply electric. Rafe leans in, breath hot on your leg. His hair falls into his eyes, and he doesn’t bother pushing it back, he just looks up at you through it.
“God, you’re pretty like this,” he tingles your skin, as he gently scoops a straight line on your thigh. “Let me have you.”
Your head tips back, as you feel his nose drag across your skin. He shakes his head after he inhaled, his fingers dig in making you gasp.
Everything blurs, his grip, your breath, the heat of him between your thighs, as he licks off the tiny bit of cocaine left on you.
“Rafe…” he’s so careful as he looks back at you, thumb rubbing into the same spot his face was on, palming it, covering it with his hand.
“Baby, you’re tired, really had too much.” He makes sure to take slow movements as he brings your body against his, leaning you into his chest. Rafe sits down, back to the couch, kissing your temple. “It’s okay, sleep off, princess. Sleep it off, it’s gonna be better when you wake up.”
༉‧₊˚. 𝒟on’t smile because it happened baby, 𝒞ry because it’s over.
summary: just exbf!rafe being pathetic
⚠︎ english is not my first language so pls keep that in mind
It had been almost three months since you broke up with Rafe. The breakup was messy and loud — things thrown across the room, words said that he could never take back. The tension from that night lingered everywhere, whether it was you at the beach with friends or Rafe stepping into the country club.
He wasn’t handling it well. He tore through girls like he was changing out a pair of dirty boxers, doing anything he could to forget you. But it never worked. Everything reminded him of you, your laugh, the way your smile lit up an entire room even if it was just the two of you. He regretted every outburst, every fight, every moment his jealousy got the better of him. He hated himself for all of it.
Tonight marked exactly three months since that night. Rafe, desperate to take the edge off and feel something for the first time in weeks, let Topper drag him out to a club. The music was pounding, bodies pressed together everywhere, the stench of alcohol practically hanging in the air. Rafe had more than a few drinks in him, but he was still sober enough to know where he was — enough to feel miserable.
He leaned against the bar, fingers wrapped around his glass, eyes drifting aimlessly through the room. Topper was beside him, talking about something, but Rafe wasn’t listening. He was looking for something he couldn’t name — or someone he didn’t want to admit he hoped was there.
He looked exhausted. Dark circles carved under his eyes, hair falling into a messy, greasy middle part instead of its usual slicked-back style. He looked like he’d been running his hands through it all night.
Then he heard it.
Your laugh.
His heart dropped. For a second, the club felt small, suffocating, like he was right back in the middle of your last fight. His head snapped up, eyes scanning the crowd until he spotted you.
You were leaned against the wall, laughing at something someone said.
Someone who wasn’t him.
JJ.
The exact person every fight had circled back to.
And there you were, smiling, giggling, shoulder nudging JJ like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Rafe’s stomach twisted violently. He felt sick like physically, nauseatingly sick. Before he even realized he’d moved, he shoved off the barstool and bolted for the bathroom, ignoring Topper calling his name. He kicked open a stall door and dropped to his knees, hands shaking as he started to throw up.
Topper rushed in after him. “Dude, what the hell is going on with you?” he asked, kneeling beside him.
“S-she’s here,” Rafe slurred, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “i’m not following.” Topper frowned. “She’s fucking here! W-with him. With… JJ.”
Topper’s eyes widened in understanding. He sighed, handing Rafe some tissues and rubbing a hand on his shoulder. “Rafe… man. You need to chill. There’s like plenty of fish in the sea. You’ll find someone better.” Topper sighed, stupid smirk forming on his face.
Rafe shook his head wildly, breath hitching, panic rising in his throat. “No- no, no, not someone,” he choked out, voice thick and slurred. “I j-just… I just want her.. Just her.”
summary; you left the party with rafe and woke up in his bed the next morning
“what the..?” you muttered, scrolling through the images sarah sent you. the amount of messages from her was staggering, it made you stressed.
you never regretted leaving your phone on more than this time. your head was pounding and the endless buzzing wasn’t helping. no, it made you even more frustrated.
did you seriously left with rafe?
the message jolted you awake. she’d sent photos too - blurred shots from the last night of you and rafe, his arm around you, a wide drunken smile on your faces while the both of you were leaving the party together, looking all too close.
then your eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness in the room. it wasn’t your house. but you barely had the time to react before a strong hand pulled you back, with some face pressing into your shoulder. then came his voice, the one that made your stomach flutter.
“way too early for this.” he mumbled, his voice laced with sleep. his strong grip holding you tight against his bare chest. your cheeks flushed the second you realized that the both of you had completely no clothes on, with only the sheets covering you up.
your heart raced, but his warmth held you there.
“oh my fucking god.” you muttered almost too quiet for him to hear, but he did. and he even chuckled at that, nuzzling his face into your skin and kissed your shoulder lightly.
“don’t tell me you’re too drunk to remember.” he muttered, peppering your skin with soft kisses.
the whole girl code was broken with that single night where rafe took you home and did things that were completely and utterly wrong. you never really talked with him before, knowing only that you should keep away from him no matter what.
