I've had thots about Toppers girlfriend with Rafe and his wandering hands and yall are so turned on you both can't stop touching one another you're practically dry humping in front of everyone (ya know the whole hiding in plain sight)
i did something bad - r.c (18+)
warnings: rafe cameron x kook!reader; cheating; boyfriend!topper (not really lmao poor thing); public sex; dry humping; mentions of alcohol and drugs; possessive!rafe;
You don’t know how the hell this happened.
How you ended up right here, right now, with him. You don’t know where to put your hands, your eyes, or your thoughts. You’re lost, completely speechless. Yet somehow, there's nowhere you’d rather be than sitting here, pressed against Rafe Cameron's thighs.
Yeah, you're dating his best friend. And yeah, you’re in the middle of a roaring party, filled to the brim, at Topper’s house.
Rafe brushes his thumb over your hip, testing the waters. “You okay?”
All you can manage is a weak, “Yeah.”
Oh god. Of course, Rafe would catch every little thing you do, probably has been watching you the whole night.
Your heart stutters when your eyes lock with his.
That hand on your hip grows bolder, fingers tracing your skin in slow circles. If you died right now, you’d die happy. Your biggest turn-on is feeling understood, feeling seen.
Rafe does that for you, all the time. Your boyfriend? Not so much.
“'Been trying to get your attention all night,” he murmurs.
You exhale, hoping to sound casual. “Really?”
This thing between you two is something you can't escape from, no matter how hard you try to be good. In moments like this, you can’t run.
It pulls you in. This attraction between you two is everything you’ve ever needed and wanted, and yet you panic all the same. You know it’s safer to run from him than to run to him like you always seem to do, but the truth is, you can’t stop.
Rafe nods, utter confidence in the gesture. Not that you’d expect any less from the kook king himself, he always knew what he thought and felt, and wasn’t afraid to let people know.
“Why are you surprised, flower?” he murmurs, “You know I only got eyes for you.”
You stare back at him, mouth dry and head empty. You want to call him out on his bullshit, put the truth on a silver platter, and hand it to him, but you’d be a hypocrite.
How can you tell him you hate seeing him with other people when you’ve got a boyfriend yourself? His best friend. You’ve got no moral high ground here. So you just nod. Close your eyes, block out the world, and pretend this is fine.
Pretend you’re anywhere else but here.
He's now grasping both your hips, “Don’t look at me like that. Y'know I mean it.”
A thrill shoots through you (even if you know better), his touch is scorching your skin, “Not doing anything.”
Cheating on a relationship is a distraction, a stupid self-delusional addiction. This will end in a breakup or breakdown... or worse.
You haven’t crossed that line, not physically at least. Not yet.
It feels like you're about to.
“Trust me, you’re doing just enough.”
The way he says it, it sounds like it's the easiest thing in the world, to want you this bad, makes you want to get on your knees and finish the job already. The thought of it has you dizzy.
Of course, your blush is a dead giveaway.
“Don’t know,” one hand moves down, “Don’t care.”
His lips twitch, fingers skirting down, “Yeah?”
His eyebrows rise, eyes flickering over the room curiously.
“Where’s your boyfriend, flower?” He all but purrs in your ear.
Your face is most definitely on fire now.
He stares at you, and you simply stare back.
“What would he think if he walked in here and saw you in my lap?” Rafe’s voice is raspy, “Hmm?”
Every bit of confidence you had is nowhere to be found. He always knows how to play you and it's twisted, but the thought only makes you want him more.
“You think about that?” You ask breathlessly, and the hard outline of his cock through his jeans is confirmation enough.
You should shove him away, feel guilty about how much you want him. But instead, you press yourself against him, his thigh between yours, your brain already melting at the feeling.
“You're really tryin' to make me fuck you right here, aren’t you?”
His voice is lethal, he all but groans, leaning down and sinking his teeth into the side of your neck above your pulse.
“I’m trying to be good, flower.”
“You’re not good, Rafe Cameron.”
His lips on your neck are everything you’ve fantasized about and more.
“Could be,” Those blue eyes fill with mischief, “For you, I would.”
Your stomach drops and you shove him off, ignoring your flushed cheeks. But then he grins, that shit-eating, sarcastic grin of his, and your glare pierces through him, attempting to keep some space between you.
“You think I can’t be good?”
“Know for a fact, you can’t.”
Your reply is mockingly sweet, and for once he doesn’t smirk, in fact, his grin is half-hearted now.
“Right,” His hand works its way from your cleavage, down to your stomach where he lingers for some time, “Good thing you’re dating a good guy, yeah?”
The urge to touch, to be inside you is overwhelming. He’s never felt so desperate to feel someone. The laugh that escapes you is almost bitter, and he knows it. He knows he’s got you.
And the worst part? You’re letting him.
“Yeah, good thing,” You breathe, body fusing into his. Your heart thumps wildly between your ribs and you know you’re going straight to hell after tonight.
“Do you want me?” he whispers, arm snaking around your waist to bring you even closer. Again.
In one swift movement, he pulls you down to the couch he’s sitting on, supporting your body with one hand under your upper thigh, whilst his free hand cups the back of your head, fingers interlacing with your hair. The way you situate yourself on his thigh is so natural that he does give a you a little condescending laugh.
There are people everywhere.
The party rages on, but it only feels like there's two of you. You stare into each other’s eyes, panting shakily – lips inching closer and closer together. Rafe lingers there, flushed pink lips parted, waiting patiently for your move.
“Rafe?” Your voice is quiet, and yet he still hears you despite the music.
You’re not sure how much longer you can stand so close without devouring him whole.
His eyes flicker to yours, “Yeah?”
Before you know it, his lips crash into yours roughly, bruising them. He’s so hungry for you, your touch. He has wanted this for so, so, so long, so have you.
The hard press of him is pushing right against your center, it feels torturous. As if his stupid muscular thigh wasn’t enough. You ground yourself down on him, breathing a moan against his lips.
“My flower,” He pants into your mouth, tongue swiping against your bottom lip, “Gonna be good for me?”
You rock against him, your teeth grazing his lips. His fingers untangle from your hair, and cup your cheek, pulling you in closer to deepen the kiss. You push yourself further against him, still moving your hips.
He groans against your cheek, thrusting up. A large hand slides down your neck, grips it, earning him a sudden, breathy whine from you.
Your legs tighten around his waist, “Yes.”
“Don’t tease,” you whine lengthily, frustration so pent up it leaves you breathless, “You know my answer.”
“Do I?” He hums, fingers rubbing tight circles into your clothed clit.
You try hard to focus on the budding feeling inside you, to chase it so you can finally know what a proper orgasm feels like.
Can’t remember the last time you had one, delivered by a man.
“I want you,” You mumble, grazing your teeth on his pulsing throat as you suckle on his skin, leaving behind a bruise-like mark, “Always want you more.”
“Fuck—” he gasps, hips giving an involuntary jerk, “I’m never letting you go back to him, you know that right?”
Your grip around his neck tightens, fingernails digging into his tanned skin, “All yours.”
You’re so, so wet and you haven’t discarded a single piece of clothing.
All he wants to do is replace his thigh with his cock but, he can’t.
Not here anyway, so he settles for this, he’d settle for anything you give him right now. Lost to the sensation, his head falls back, his eyes screw shut, breathing coming out in short pants.
“C-Can we–Oh!– Can we leave?”
“Easy,” He hums, eyes still squeezed shut, brows gathering, “Not yet.”
“Please,” you beg quietly, squeezing his waist with your legs as your body tries to shove him closer.
Your pussy swells with pleasure, moans becoming deeper and more strained. He knows you’re close. He’s not far behind and there’s something so primal about making you cum in a room full of people, who’ve yet to take a second look at you two, the alcohol and the drugs in their veins becoming your accomplices.
He feels the tension in your body, how it seizes up, trying to fight the unbearable orgasm pooling in your pelvis. The sound of his husky groans in your ear is about to send you over the edge – stomach muscles relaxing.
He relishes in the way you’re staring into his eyes with your mouth open. It feels so good, how his body completely envelopes yours.
You can’t believe you’re about to cum from dry-humping Rafe Cameron.
“This what y'want?” He mutters.
You nod as best you can with his palm on your throat.
“Couldn’t fuckin’ wait, huh?” His jaw ticks. “That desperate?”
Fuck, you’ll tell him whatever he wants if he’ll just touch you.
Focusing on the budding feeling, your hands grip his veiny forearm. You thank God for his sleeves being shoved up to the elbows, cuffed there, and being able to feel the muscle twitch in his forearm.
You let go of any thoughts, allowing your body to take over, whining into his shoulder and grinding erratically into his hand.
His voice is shaky from the buck of his hips, your face in already in his hands before you can shrink away. He's gripping your jaw between desperate fingers and tilting to your chin up.
“So fuckin' good, flower.”
When Rafe begins to bounce his leg up and down and you bite your lip to silence your moans.
“If you ever let him touch you again, I’ll break his fuckin’ arms.”
A desperate moan seems to be the only thing that your brain can come up with. You can feel the fire through his lips; you can feel it radiate off his body.
He leans in to brush his lips against yours—feverish. His tongue swirls through your mouth from desperation starting to lock inside his chest.
Truth is, you've made him feel all kinds of things over the years. He needs to feel you, needs to touch you, constantly, he waited enough.
After the searing memory of Topper’s hand on your waist, lips dangerously close to yours earlier, he needs to be close to you.
"M'gonna come—baby, please let me,” You cry out and dig your nails into his skin, chest heaving rapidly.
"Go ahead," He gulps, ready to take you home, dropping his forehead against yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, "'M right here."
Your stomach churns as the thin thread that is holding your composure together dies. The tip of his nose drags over your jaw, a soft kiss pressed there as he nudges your head to fall back onto his shoulder. And then he has you shaking, teeth digging into his skin to stop the loud noises dropping from your lips, while he's sucking your neck, tongue, and teeth stinging and soothing, mumbling praises and filthy promises.
He doesn't let up, not when your clit begins to throb, or walls pulse.
Not until you're shaking so hard through your orgasm that you are all but crawling up even further (if that's possible) in his lap, leaving you unable to breathe.
He tells you, although you haven’t moved, lifting a hand to your face to brush the hair back from your eyes, lingering before his gaze slides up to yours.
